Naamah's Kiss (57 page)

At the gates of the Sanctuary, her Captain of the Guard rang the bell. A priestess with a broad, pleasant face came in answer. I watched him bow and indicate the royal carriage, watched her nod and indicate an outbuilding where he and his men could wait. There were no men allowed in the Sanctuary.

The priestess smiled as Jehanne descended from the carriage. "Your majesty, we're so very pleased by your decision."

Jehanne inclined her head. "Thank you, Sister."

The priestess glanced at me, her eyes widening. "You must be"

"Moirin," I said. "Of the Maghuin Dhonn."

"My lovely witch." Jehanne summoned the hint of a smile. Tired or no, she did enjoy unsettling people.

"Of course." Eisheth's priestess swallowed. "Well met."

She led us into the Sanctuary. It was a simple, rustic place. In an unadorned chamber, more priestesses in blue robes came to help Jehanne undress. They took down her hair, removed her jewelry. They gave her a long white linen shift to wear. I had an uncomfortable memory of the Circle of Shalomon donning white robes in the summoning antechamber.

It passed when we went back outside. The path to the mouth of the cavern was worn smooth by thousands upon thousands of women's feet. When we entered the cavern itself, I had a sense of homecoming. It wasn't as snug and comforting as the cave in which I'd grown up, nor as spectacular as the hollow hill beyond which lay the stone doorway, but it felt good to me.

We descended a series of well-worn granite stairs. Candles tucked into rocky niches lit the way.

I smelled water and minerals.

There was a crude stone rim around the spring-fed poolancient work, Tiberian or older. The milky-white water steamed gently in the cold air. On the far side was an effigy of Eisheth kneeling, her hands cupped. Votive candles flickered around her, flickered in the cavern walls.

Jehanne took a deep breath.

"I'm here, my lady," I murmured.

She nodded.

Two blue-robed priestesses knelt and took the hem of her white shift, raising it. They stripped it from her. Naked, Jehanne shivered. The priestess who had admitted us approached her, a flagon of oil in her hands. Her pleasant face looked grave.

"May Eisheth grant your prayer's wisdom," she said softly, anointing her fingers and touching them to Jehanne's brow. She tipped the flagon, touched Jehanne's breast-bone. "May Eisheth's love fill your heart." Once more, lower. Anointing the junction of her thighs, her nether-lips. Places I'd kissed and caressed only last night. After this, it would all be different. "May Eisheth hear your prayer and fill your womb."

Jehanne shivered harder.

I didn't know if it were fear or the cold air.

The priestess gripped her shoulders. "Immerse yourself in the womb of the earth."

She hesitated, then stepped gracefully over the stone rim and sank into the warm, mineral-rich watersank and submerged. Her pale hair floated on the surface. Milky water streamed from her as she rose. Wisps of steam rose from her skin. She looked like a young goddess newly minted at some divine forge.

"Well done," the head priestess said gently. She handed Jehanne a thick wax taper. "Now light it at the altar and make your prayer. Place the candle in Eisheth's hands."

Jehanne waded through the thigh-deep water. She bowed her head before the effigy. Her fair skin glimmered in the candle-lit cavern, the beautiful lines of her marque bisected by her wet hair.

She lit the taper. "Blessed Eisheth hear my prayer," she said in a rush, dripping wax into the effigy's cupped hands. She planted the taper firmly in the melted wax. "Open the gates of my womb."

The lit taper held and burned brightly.

Everyone sighed.

It was done.

In the weeks that followed the ceremony, Jehanne withdrew from me. She wasn't cold and distant; I received regular invitations to dinners and other functions, and she made it clear she still considered me her royal companion. But she paid no visits to my bedchamber.

I understood. Whether or not she had committed wholeheartedly to the notion of getting with child, she had committed to it, and set about doing it with considerable determination. There was precious little I could do to assist in the process, and I sensed she didn't want the sort of distraction I provided just now. So I kept myself busy. I continued my lessons with Master Lo Feng and tended to his snowdrops. I paid regular visits to the Temple of Naamah to badger Noemie for news of my father, of which there was none.

I visited other temples, hoping to get a better sense of Blessed Elua and his Companions. Some were proud and fierce, like Azza and Camael. Some were a mystery to me, like Kushiel, the administrator of atonement's cruel mercy. Grave, thoughtful Shemhazai appealed to me, and I liked best of all gentle Anael, the Good Steward, and Blessed Elua himself, whose arms were spread wide in benediction.

I accepted various invitations from Prince Thierry with gratitude, nurturing the unlikely familial bond between us.

I borrowed books from the royal library. When the marble walls of the Palace felt too oppressive, I rode Blossom on private excursions into the countryside. I didn't mind the cold air. I practiced the Five Styles of Breathing.

To their everlasting scandal and delight, I paid a visit to the good ladies Florette and Lydia. They plied me with tea and pastries, scolded me for not telling them that I was a scion of House Courcel.

"And a bear-witch in the bargain!" Lydia added in a louder tone than she intended.

I smiled into my teacup when they asked me in hushedwell, Florette's was hushedwhispers if this or that was true of Jehanne and if I ever intended to reconcile with Raphael de Mereliot.

"I've no idea," I said honestly to the latter. "He's quite angry."

"Because she crooked her finger at you and you came running." Florette shook her own finger at me. "Naughty girl!"

"That's not true!" Lydia defended me stoutly. "Our Moirin's a good girl."

I let them think what they liked since it pleased them so. Out of an obscure sense of loyalty to Raphael, I didn't wish to tell anyone that he was using me in a self-serving manner that may well have been killing me by degrees. And it only added to Jehanne's reputation to let them believe that she'd stolen me from him so easily. That, I knew she relished.

Whatever the good ladies believed, they both embraced me when I left, tears in their eyes.

Lydia patted my cheek. "Take care of yourself, child."

I did.

Still, for all its potted glory and luxuriant plant growth, my bedchamber was a lonely place during those weeks. And I was forced to admit that there were certain disadvantages to having pledged my loyalty to Jehanne.

When I returned from an excursion to find two of her guards posted outside my quarters, I was very, very glad.

"Her majesty ?" I inquired.

One of the guards winked at me. The other inclined his head. "Her majesty awaits you."

I entered my quarters.

Jehanne, unclothed, reclined in my bed. "I'm perishing weary of wondering if this time, the act of love has got me with child," she said without preamble. "So not a word on the topic, all right?"

I smiled. "As my lady wishes."

It was a blessed release after weeks of celibacy, a state to which I was unaccustomed and unsuited. Jehanne more than repaid the debt of pleasure left standing between us since the Longest Night. Afterward, I lay in a happy daze, trying to guess what topic of discussion might please her.

As it happened, Jehanne had ideas of her own.
"Tell me,
were you close to your mother?"

I nodded. "Very."

"What's it like?" she asked. "What's she like?"

I frowned, thinking. Trying to describe my mother to Jehanne de la Courcel felt like trying to explain the earth to the moon. They were so very far apart. "My mother is my mother. For a long time, she was all I knew. I was ten years old before I understood that we were separate and unalike."

"What else?" Jehanne asked.

"She's very stubborn," I said. "She can be infernally close-mouthed. She likes solitude and wild places." Like you.

"Oh" I ran my hand over the graceful curve of her hip. "I'm not so very good with solitude anymore."

Jehanne smiled. "You missed me?"

"I missed you," I admitted.

"Good." She kissed me. "Tell me more."

I thought about it. "There is a ritual all the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn undergo at adulthood," I said slowly. I'd never spoken about it to Jehanne. "To determine whether or not She accepts us as Her own. Not all are chosen. And I was fearful that She would not claim me, because I was half-D'Angeline." Jehanne listened, her blue-grey eyes grave. "Before I passed through the stone doorway, my mother embraced me," I said. "She told me that whatever happened, I was her daughter and the joy of her life, now and always. She made me promise never to forget it." I shrugged. "That's my mother."

She was silent a moment. "That's lovely."

"I take it it wasn't the same for you," I said softly.

"No." Jehanne shook her head. "Not at all." I waited for her to say more, but she didn't. All she had ever said was that her parents had both been adepts of Cereus House. I knew from Court gossip that her parents were alive and well, that the King had bestowed an estate and minor titles on them as a wedding gift, and that Jehanne had essentially banned them from the Court. "I take it you passed the rite successfully?" she asked at length. "The Maghuin Dhonn accepted you?"

"Aye." I smiled. "That She did."

"Aye, aye, aye." Jehanne tickled my cheek with a lock of my hair, her mood shifting. "Moirin, do you really worship a bear ?"

"Yes and no." I had to think about this, too. "We don't worship in the way D'Angelines do. But we're Hers ." I touched my chest. "The spark of Her spirit lives inside us."

She scowled. "I don't want to hear about your cursed diadh-anam."

"You asked," I said mildly. "I answered with the only truth I know."

"Oh, fine." Jehanne coiled herself around me and fixed me with an intense gaze. "But for now, you're mine, too, Moirin mac Fainche. And I don't think I'm done with you today. Any objections?"

I laughed and kissed her. "None at all."