Naamah's Kiss (46 page)

I didn't tell Raphael about the gift Marbas had given me. I couldn't.

For one thing, I was days in recovery this time and lacked the strength to talk. Raphael tended me himself. I woke a few times to see his worried face, then drifted back into sleep. When I finally woke for good, I felt a hollowed out shell of myself. Raphael sprang to my bedside.

"Moirin?"

"Aye." My voice was raspy and frail.

He gave me water and felt at my pulse. His hair hung lank and unwashed, there were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked nearly as bad as I felt.

That's when the guilt hit me.

I'd been offered the gift he wanted so badly and I had refused it. I'd refused it because it came with a poisonous taint, and I didn't trust the Circle of Shalomon with such deadly knowledge. Not even Raphael.

I couldn't tell him.

"No more." Having satisfied himself that I wasn't about to expire, he gave my hand a firm squeeze. "I've told the Circle that we'll have to continue without you."

A topaz jewel nestled in my thoughts. I took a sip of water. "How do they mean to proceed?"

Raphael stroked my hair. "You needn't concern yourself."

I pushed myself upright and drank more water, clearing the hoarseness from my throat. "Just tell me."

He hesitated. "We're of two minds. Some want to try to summon Marbas again, reckoning it will be easier since he's already been bound once. Claire and Orien are working to perfect the conjuration to force him to take human form. Others among us want to summon the lesser spirit Caim."

"Marbas has already answered you as a beast," I said. "He's not bound to reply a second time as a man."

Raphael nodded. "I suspected as much. So did Lianne. It's much the same trick Valac played. Cairn's gift is the speech of birds and beasts and all living creatures." A spark lit his tired eyes. "'Twould be a wondrous gift."

"And one that once mastered would prevent them from tricking you thusly again," I observed.

"Exactly." He refilled my cup with cool water and handed it back to me. "But you're not to take part in it."

"I'm not a child, Raphael." I sipped the water slowly. Relentless guilt gnawed at me. I was keeping too many secrets from him. "Give me one more chance. If I could win but one gift for you, to my way of thinking this would be a passing fine one. The world would be a kinder place for it." I gave him a weary smile. "Although D'Angelines might cease to hunt for sport if they knew their prey's terror."

"That wouldn't be such a bad thing," he murmured. "Moirin you're sure?"

"I am," I said with as much firmness as I could muster.

Raphael knelt beside my bed and lowered his head like a penitent, lashes veiling his eyes. "I should refuse you."

I touched his strong jawline. "But you won't."

His lashes swept up. His gaze was filled with weariness and hope. "One last attempt. After this, no more."

"No more," I agreed.

He kissed me. "I'll tell the Circle."

It was almost a week before I felt strong enough to return to the City and resume my lessons with Master Lo Feng. There had been a cold snap while I was recuperating. The ground was frozen hard and there were only a few brittle brown leaves clinging to the trees. This time we met in a small courtyard at the Academy. Bao had already spread the mats around a small, ornate brazier. Neither of them seemed to feel the cold. I was wearing a fine new cloak that Benoit Vallon had designed for methick, luxuriant sable velvet lined with gold silk. I wrapped it around me and shivered.

Master Lo Feng gave me a long, long look, but he didn't reprimand me.

"Sit," he said. "Learn the Breath of Glowing Embers."

I sat, shivering and obedient.

Bao leaned over the brazier and blew softly on the coals. Their hot crimson hearts quickened, turning bright orange. They pulsed beneath a fine coating of ash, colors shifting like fiery jewels.

"The embers breathe in air and breathe out heat," Lo Feng said. "Even as we breathe in cool yin energy and exhale hot yang . The human heart is your precious ember. Breathe through your mouth into your heart. Feel the energy you inhale stoke it. Feel it pulse within you. Breathe out its heat."

It was hard. I was too cold to concentrate. I gazed at the embers, trying to find the rhythm.

I gazed at Master Lo Feng. His serene face comforted me, but it didn't help.

I gazed at Bao.

Like his mentor, he sat so very still in repose. But his face wasn't serene. He breathed through parted lips, faster than I would have thought by the slight rise and fall of his chest. His face was exhilarated. I knew without being told that fire was the element closest to his nature.

I matched my breathing to his and realized that it resonated with the shifting hues of fire within the coals.

In and out.

Flaring and fading in time with my beating heart.

Bao opened his eyes. "You not cold anymore."

I startled at the sound of his voiceand realized it was true. I wasn't exactly warm, but the cold that had permeated my bones was dispelled.

"Bao." Master Lo Feng delivered the gentle reproof without opening his eyes.

Bao gave me a faint smile and closed his eyes.

I closed mine, too, and breathed.

Somewhere in the days that followed, Raphael and Jehanne made up their quarrel. He didn't tell me about it, but he didn't have to. I knew her scent. I wondered if he'd promised to give me up after all. I wanted to ask him, but every time I thought about it, the topaz jewel of Marbas' gift sparkled in my thoughts, sending a covert pang of guilt through me. I kept quiet. After the next summoning, I would ask him.

There was a fete to celebrate the debut of a new poem by Lianne Tremaine. I accepted an invitation to attend as Prince Thierry's guest, assuming that Raphael would be escorting the Queen. I was wrong, but Raphael dealt graciously with it.

"No mind," he said when I told him. "I'll just be another courtier dancing attendance on her majesty."

"You're not angry?" I wished he would be, just a little.

He laughed and shook his head. "You're a free woman in Terre d'Ange, Moirin. Thierry's a handsome lad and the heir to the throne." And then he kissed me, his tongue probing my mouth, until desire flooded my loins. Raphael lifted his head, eyes gleaming. "Besides, he doesn't make you feel like that , does he?"

"You can be cruel," I informed him.

He only laughed again. "You're the one chose to let yourself be courted by the Dauphin."

It felt passing strange to see Lianne declaim her poem. I'd met her as the King's Poet, but I'd come to know her better as a member of the Circle, a white-robed figure engaged in shadowy rituals in a barren stone chamber. Here she wore a gown of bronze silk that suited her coloring and stood before the glittering court in a well-lit salon, speaking in measured tones.

She was very good.

Her speaking voice was pleasant enough, but it was her words that stirred the heart. The conceit of the poem was that it was written in the voice of a long-dead poet, Anafiel Delaunay, mourning his slain lover. Thierry explained to me in a low whisper that these things were all true, that Delaunay had been a famous poet and the beloved of Prince Rolande de la Courcel, one of his own ancestors and mine.

"Rolande was killed in the Battle of Three Princes," he whispered. "And although he mourned him deeply, Anafiel Delaunayyou might know him better as Anafiel de Montreve, the mentor of Phedre no Delaunay de Montrevenever did write about his grief."

I nodded and bade him to hush.

It was a terrible, beautiful poemat once vivid, yet spare and haunting. At first I thought it was brave of Lianne to write from a man's perspective about things she couldn't possibly have experiencedthe horror of warfare, the clamor and chaos of the battlefield, the agony of seeing one's beloved cut down before one's eyes. But soon I forgot about the author, caught up rapt in the experience as she gave voice to one man's measureless grief.

There was silence when she finished. Everyone looked to the King and Queen to take a cue from their response. I wiped my eyes, wondering why someone with such a gift would seek even more.

And I wondered, too, what it would be like to love someone so deeply that it felt as though your own heart died with them.

"Magnificent." King Daniel applauded, and we all followed suit. He rose to present Lianne with a token of appreciation, a sapphire pendant on a gold chain. She bowed her head and he placed it around her neck. Jehanne approached and took Lianne's hands in hers, kissed her on both cheeks. I stifled a spasm of envy. Her blue-grey eyes were bright with tears and there wasn't a trace of artifice in her expression.

Afterward, servants circulated with trays of delicacies and wine. My appetite was finally returning after the last summoning. I ate three flaky pastries in quick succession and drank a glass of red wine.

"That was fast," Thierry said with a smile. He took my empty glass. "Where's the fellow with the wine-jug? I'll go find him."

I smiled back at him. "Thank you."

I thought I should congratulate Lianne and tell her how much I liked the poem, but there was a throng of people around her. Near the doorway into the salon, the King and Queen were speaking quietly, their heads close together, guards in House Courcel livery standing a respectful distance behind them.

Curiosity overcame me.

No one was looking. I summoned the twilight and stole near.

"made you melancholy, didn't it?" Jehanne was saying. She searched his face. "Let me leave with you."

"No, no." Daniel raised her slender white hand to his lips, kissed her palm, and folded her fingers over it. "Stay. Please stay. You know I'm bad company at such times."

She smiled up at him. Tears yet sparkled in her eyes. "Never."

"Liar," he said fondly. "Leave me to my memories, Jehanne. I'll see you anon."

Jehanne pressed his hand to her cheek. "You're sure?"

He withdrew it gently. "I'm sure. Go tend to your errant courtier." A shadow crossed his face. "Do you think you might manage to keep him out of whatever trouble he's courting?"

She sighed. "Elua knows, I'm trying."

"I know." King Daniel kissed her lips, then took his leave. She gazed after him with an expression of such tenderness and sorrow, it made my heart ache for her.

And then she squared her shoulders and turned to sweep back into the salon, so quickly and decisively that the swirling skirt of her gown grazed mine.

I took two hurried strides backward and collided with a servant. A tray of savory tarts clattered to the floor. I winced, letting the twilight slip away.

The manservant gaped, then scrambled to clean up the mess, muttering apologies. Everyone in the room stared.

Jehanne regarded me without speaking.

I closed my eyes. "I'm so very sorry, your majesty."

"Are you?" she asked.

With reluctance, I opened my eyes. Her exquisite face was utterly unreadable. I'd trespassed where I had no business going, and both of us knew it. I answered honestly. "Yes."

"Good." She swept past me.

The denizens of the Court turned their attention elsewhere.