Naamah's Kiss (31 page)

"Stone and sea!" I breathed in the palace courtyard. "It's just a building like any other," Raphael assured me. "Only larger."

"So you say." I gazed at the storied tiers and spires, the expanse of carved marble and granite looming above us. "Only understand that this architecture is as wondrous to me as any gift I might carry in my blood."

He inclined his head. "Fairly spoken."

Guards in the blue livery of House Courcel ushered us through the massive doors. I couldn't repress a shudder upon entering the overwhelming edifice. I'd grown more accustomed to being indoors, but this was far and beyond any man-made structure I'd ever encountered. When the doors closed behind us, my breath came short.

"Are you all right?" Raphael inquired.

I nodded. "One moment." Raphael's footman Jean-Michel was a step behind us, carrying a gift intended for the Kinga rare orchid in a blue and white porcelain pot. He halted with a bemused look when I turned to touch the orchid, stroking its delicate purple petals. I breathed in its faint, sweet scent and felt better. "Let's go. I'll be fine."

"If you're not, tell me." Raphael settled my hand on his arm and gave me a serious look. "A gathering of this sort has overwhelmed more experienced souls, Moirin. And remember, you're still recovering from your injuries."

"Oh, those," I said dismissively.

"Yes, those." He squeezed my fingers. "Promise?"

"Yes, my lord physician." I looked up at him under my lashes. "If I survive the evening, are you prepared to pronounce me quite recovered?"

His unreasonably gorgeous mouth quirked. "We'll see."

We proceeded down wide, gleaming marble halls. Servants and guards gave us curious looks. I could hear a whispering tide of gossip trailing in our wake. There was a queue of peers outside the doors to the great hall where the King's fete was being held. I gazed at a dozen backs clad in velvet and satin and brocade, my nerves strung taut. There was a royal herald announcing each set of guests as they were admitted. All too soon, it was our turn. Raphael presented his invitation, printed on thick, creamy paper.

"My lord de Mereliot." The herald inclined his head, then looked at me. A crease formed between his brows. "And your companion?"

"Lady Moirin mac Fainche," Raphael informed him.

The herald repeated it soundlessly, then cleared his throat and announced us.

Heads turned.

We had a clear path to the dais where the King and Queen were seated and exchanging pleasantries with the elderly couple who had preceded us. My nails dug into Raphael's arm as we approached. I could hear the whispers.

"That's the one!"

" found her in the street"

" half-Cruithne, by the look of her."

I wished the elderly couple ahead of us would never leave. I had begun to think this was a very bad idea and wanted very much to be elsewhere. But, of course, they finished their business with their majesties and moved aside, and I was brought face-to-face with King Daniel and Queen Jehanne.

He was a tall, well-built man of middle years with dark hair, blue eyes, and a bemused smile on his face.

She was exquisite.

It was the sort of beauty my mother had described long agoa fearful symmetry, keen as a blade. And yet it was delicate and ephemeral, tooas delicate as the petals of an orchid. Her hair was pale gold, so pale it was almost silvery. It was piled atop her head in an intricate coronet, a lone lock left loose to curl along the graceful column of her white throat. Her skin was so fair, it was nearly translucent.

Her eyes

Jehanne de la Courcel's eyes were a light hue of blue-grey, like periwinkle blossoms. They sparkled unexpectedly as her gaze swept up to meet mine, her chin rising as she took stock of me.

"Oh, my." Her voice was sweet and light and teasing. "Are you a rival or a present?"

I flushed.

"Your majesties." Raphael bowed. "Congratulations to his majesty on the occasion of his natality." He beckoned to Jean-Michel, who came forward to present the potted orchid with a bow. "A small token from a rare strain Master Lo Feng and I have been cultivating."

"Yes, my thanks, very nice, I'm sure." King Daniel waved for a servant to take it away. His bemused gaze rested on me. "And you are ? Forgive me, I didn't recognize the name. Mac Fainche? That's Eiran nomenclature, but I fear I don't follow."

"Raphael is having a jest," the Queen said lightly. "Haven't you heard? His carriage struck down some poor lass in the street a week ago and he's taken her into his household to make amends." She snapped open a fan and fluttered it. "Isn't that so?"

"It is," Raphael agreed in a smug tone, deliberately drawing out the moment of revelation. I had a strong urge to kick him in the shins.

"As always, your solicitude is to be commended." Jehanne's fan fluttered. "But it's quite unfair of you to misrepresent the childand quite inappropriate at a royal fete." She laughed. " Lady Moirin? You do the poor girl an unkindness. Not everyone recognizes your sense of humor, my lord."

"Nor when it is absent." Raphael bowed again. "This is no jest. Surely, your majesties would wish me to extend every kindness to a descendant of House Courcel itself."

A gasp ran through the room.

The King glanced at me in inquiry.

"Daughter of Fainche, daughter of Eithne, daughter of Brianna, daughter of Alais," I said to him, executing a passable curtsy. "Of the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn. Well met, your majesty."

He stared.

No one spoke.

It was Jehanne who broke the silence with laughter. It was a bright, infectious sound. "Tell me it's true!" she said to Raphael. Something unspoken passed between them. She shook her head, diamond eardrops scattering myriad points of light. "A bear-witch? Only you would dare!"

"Oh, it's true." Raphael rocked back on his heels a little, clearly enjoying himself. "Moirin has a signet ring passed down for generations, and a letter of introduction from Bryony Associates authenticating it."

"Moirin can speak for herself," I said with irritation.

"She's here searching for her father," he continued. "It seems he was a Priest of Naamah."

Queen Jehanne arched one perfect brow. "Oh, my."

The news went around the great hall in a whispering susurrus. I felt hot and conspicuous. For a mercy, the King raised one hand, and silence followed.

"Well met, Lady Moirin," he said firmly. "For generations, the existence of descendants of House Courcel among your people has been but a distant rumor. We are pleased and honored by your presence in our Court today."

Relieved, I curtsied again. "Thank you, your majesty. The honor is mine."

"But not the pleasure?" the Queen inquired. Her lovely face was perfectly composed, but there was a note of subtle malice in her voice.

"Jehanne," her husband murmured.

She glanced sidelong at him. Whatever was between them, it was deeper and more complicated than it appeared on the surface. "She seeks to learn the ways of the Court. Shall we not do her the courtesy of hearing her reply?" Without waiting for his answer, she looked back at me with those sparkling eyes. "Well?"

"Pleasure," I echoed. "As to that, it is yet to be determined, your majesty."

Her laughter rang out again. "Well said!" The fluttering fan gestured.

"Go forth and see if you might manage to enjoy yourself." She inclined her head at Raphael, the edge returning to her voice. "I trust that's your purview, my lord."

He smiled at her, showing his teeth. "I'll do my best."

I was grateful to be dismissed. Raphael steered me to an unoccupied corner of the hall near a balcony window.

"You acquitted yourself very well," he said in a low voice. "Wait here. I'll fetch you a glass of wine."

I leaned against the archway onto the balcony. Across the hall, I could see the Queen leaning forward to greet the next set of guests. She had been an adept in the Service of Naamah. Even if the good ladies hadn't told me, I would have known it. Naamah's gift lay over her like a glittering cloak. "Was it everything you'd hoped?"

Raphael followed my gaze. "Yes."

I closed my eyes. "Good."

A few moments passed, not a long time. I let the cool wind from the balcony play over my skin. It felt good.

"My lady Moirin?" an unfamiliar voice said.

I opened my eyes. A young man near my own age stood before me. He had dark, waving hair caught back in a ribbon and deep blue eyes. Aye?

He grinned. "You look like you'd rather be well away from this crush. I'm told you're distant kin. Would you care to see the Hall of Portraits? Meet your ancestors, as it were?"

I looked for Raphael and spotted him some distance away. He had two goblets in his hands, but he'd been waylaid by Denis de Toluard and a couple other men, and was deep in animated conversation, gesticulating and spilling wine. "Is that permitted?"

"It is if I say so." The young man's grin spread. "I'm Thierry. Thierry de la Courcel. And anyone who discomfits Jehanne, I'd like to know better."

The good ladies' gossip came back to me. King Daniel had a son and heir born of his first marriage. "You're the Dauphin."

Thierry bowed. "Guilty as charged."

I smiled at him. "I'd love to."

We slipped out of the great hall, followed only by the gazes of a hundred pairs of watching eyes, none of which were Raphael's. Thierry escorted me up a flight of marble stairs and down a corridor. A lone guard attended the door to the Hall of Portraits. He bowed and admitted us without question. Slanting golden light illuminated the portraits that hung the length of the hall.

"Here." Thierry led me to the far end. He pointed. "That's my father as a young man. And there, my mother."

"She has a kind face," I offered.

"She was a kind woman." He touched the frame with lingering gentleness, then moved onward. "My grandmother, Josephine." A striking, sorrow-stricken face. He pointed out portraits of two men alongside her. "This was my grandfather, Gautier. And my great-uncle, Jean-Philippe. The ones who vanished along with their entire fleet and crew."

"Vanished?" I repeated.

He nodded. "Seeking the Master of the Straits' secrets. You know the story of how he hid the pages of the Book of Raziel?"

"I do." It was said the missing pages held the secrets to controlling the very elements themselves.

Thierry sighed. "They say he hid his secrets too well, or at least his accomplices did. Pity. I suspect my father's fear of change and exploration comes from the effects of that ill-fated expedition. Mayhap the Book of Raziel was meant to stay hidden, but it doesn't mean Terre d'Ange cannot explore the world."

I hazarded a guess. "Terra Nova?"

"Would that we could at the least establish a base there" He shook himself. "No mind. I don't mean to burden you."

I moved down the hall, pausing before a portrait of a woman with merry eyes. "And her?"

"Ah." Thierry smiled. "My great-grandmother, Anielle. They call her reign the Years of Joy. Firstborn to the horde, as they called it, although there were only three of them." He went a few paces farther. "Imriel and Sidonie's children."

"The D'Angeline prince," I murmured. "The one who slew the magician Berlik."

He didn't shy away from the comment. "Yes."

They were together in the portraitthe Queen of Terre d'Ange and her Prince Consort. The artist had captured a genuine spark of intimacy between them.

I looked at the next painting. "This must be Alais."

"Indeed."

In Alba, Alais de la Courcel was remembered for her wisdom and her role as an ollamh , a learned counselor who served as advisor to the Cruarch Talorcan and brokered peace among the folk of Alba. I never thought of my famous ancestor as a young woman, but she was, hereyoung and uncertain, her expression wary and tentative. Since I felt much the same way, it was oddly comforting to see. "Her line isn't represented?"

"No." Thierry colored a bit. "Since it parted ways with House Courcel and went on to become wholly Alban, no. But here you can see your" He counted on his fingers. "Great-great-great-grandparents, Drustan mab Necthana and Ysandre de la Courcel."

"Ah." I contemplated the royal couple who had united our countries for the space of their lives and longer. The Cruarch Drustan was wholly of the Cullach Gorrym, black-haired and brown-skinned, with black eyes gazing out from the mask of woad warrior's markings that had largely gone out of fashion by now. Queen Ysandre was D'Angeline through and through, fair-haired and fair-skinned. "They seem an unlikely pair."

"And yet historians agree that it was a love-match." Thierry stole a glance at me. "No more unlikely than your own parents. Is it true?"

"So it seems." I smiled ruefully. "Though I cannot claim it was a love-match, since they didn't even bother to exchange names."

"Does it trouble you?" he asked.

"No." I touched my breast-bone. "My mother says she felt the spark of her diadh-anam draw her to him. She would never lie about such a thing, so there must be some purpose in it. I want to know, that's all. My lord Dauphin how am I meant to address you?"

He smiled. "Your highness is the proper form, but I'd take it as a kindness if you'd call me Thierry."

"Thierry, then," I agreed. "Do you suppose her majesty Jehanne is sufficiently discomfited? I suspect we ought to return."

"I suppose." Thierry leaned close to me, touching the bare skin of my back and inhaling. "You smell like wind."

I blinked. "Wind?"

"Wind from a faraway place," he said. "Sunlight on green leaves. Is he your lover?"

"Lord de Mereliot?" I frowned. "I'm not sure."

"No?" Thierry stroked my shoulder. "That's a passing odd thing to be uncertain of, my lady."

"Is it?" I pulled away from him. "If you are asking if he has bedded me, the answer is yes, although there wasn't exactly a bed involved and it was more my idea than his. If you are asking if his intentions toward me involve anything beyond discomfiting Jehanne de la Courcel, I am uncertain, just as I am of yours. Though I should hope that the reasons behind your motives differ."