Naamah's Kiss (58 page)

After those first few weeks, the situation returned to whatever normalcy it had first possessed. Jehanne came to my chambers more often. And bit by bit, she talked more candidly to me.

I learned what I had already knownthat her mother nearly died in bearing her. And I learned what I hadn't knownthat her mother had ever resented her for it.

"She never wanted children," she murmured. "She did it only to please my father."

"What of your father?" I asked. Fathers were much on my mind.

"Oh, he doted on me." Jehanne gave a wistful smile. "She resented me for that, too. But he doted on her, too. And when it came to taking sides, he always took hers, no matter how unfair it was."

"That's not in his majesty's nature," I observed. I'd seen enough of King Daniel to know he was a very fair-minded man, and a good father to Thierry. Despite his lingering resentment of Jehanne, Thierry adored his father.

"No." She frowned in thought. "It's not, is it?"

"No. And you're not your mother, Jehanne."

She shuddered. "Elua, let's hope not!" She changed the subject. "Any word of your father?"

I shook my head. "None."

Jehanne pursed her lips. "He was bound for Azzalle, wasn't he? Negotiating on behalf of the Trevalion boy and his lover?" I nodded. "It's been too long. I'll ask Daniel to send a scouting party in search of him."

I kissed her effusively. "Thank you!"

King Daniel agreed readily and a scouting party was dispatched. A month later, they returned to report that Brother Phanuel Demarre had indeed negotiated a successful truce between House Trevalion and the d'Argent family and departed months ago for the City of Elua. They'd sought to trace his path to no avail.

I was worried.

And Jehanne was pregnant.

I knew it before anyone else did. Her scent changed. Not the perfume that she wore, the delightful concoction that the head of the Perfumers' Guild had sworn to take to his grave. Her scent, the one that underlay it. The one that made it so intoxicating. The first time we were together after it happened, I buried my face in the curve of her neck and breathed in the scent of her bare skin. It was no less intoxicating, only different, like the faint strains of a new note being introduced into a musical symphony.

I lifted my head, eyes sparkling. "Jehanne"

"What?"

I took her hands. "Close your eyes."

In the twilight, I could see it. She shone so brightly there, bright and beautiful, a favorite of the gods. Naamah's kiss on her brow.

And a second spark, faint as a distant promise. Centered below her belly.

I laughed aloud and let the twilight go. "My lady, I could be wrong. I'm no physician. But I do believe you're with child."

"Truly?" Jehanne's expression was torn between dismay and delight.

I nodded. "Truly."

It took the royal chirurgeon another month to confirm it, but she did. The Queen of Terre d'Ange was with child. And quite to her own surprise, Jehanne settled on being pleased at the prospect.

In the early days of spring, once the chirurgeon deemed it safe, the announcement was made and a fete held to celebrate it. I watched Jehanne receive tribute-gifts from the peers of the realm. A brightness clung to her that one could see even in mortal daylight. For once, she was unfailingly gracious and pleasant without uttering a single barb. Even folk who thought they disliked Jehanne fell a little bit in love with her that day, and I don't think she found it one bit tiresome.

A hand descended on my shoulder as I watched her. I glanced up to see King Daniel.

"She's happy," he said softly.

"She is," I agreed. "And you?"

"Elua! Do you jest?" Daniel de la Courcel smiled, appealing lines bracketing his mouth. "I do believe Jehanne was more ready than she knew. Ready to be a mother. Ready, mayhap, to be a different sort of Queen." He glanced down at me. "You've been a good companion to her, Moirin. Thank you." "I"

That was all I got out before a commotion broke out near the entrance to the salon. There was a babble of voices and a moment of confusion, then members of the Royal Guard formed a cordon. Hurrying between them in the swirling crimson robes of Naamah's Order was a familiar figure, her face pale and stark.

Noemie d'Etoile.

My heart sank as my worst fears came home to roost.

"Moirin!" She gasped my name and caught my hands. "Your father"

I wanted to cover my ears. "Is he?"

"No." Noemie shuddered. "But he's ill, gravely ill. He's lain ill all winter." Tears shone in her warm hazel eyes. "I'm so sorry, child! I was sure it was just Phanuel's usual wandering."

My mind reeled. "How ill?"

"Very." Her hands tightened on mine. "They say you've a gift?"

The salon had gone quiet, watching and listening. On the dais, Jehanne had risen to her feet and was making her way toward us. I couldn't get my thoughts in order. "I no. Not alone."

" Hold ," King Daniel said in a deep, firm voice. "Sister, tell the tale from beginning to end."

It braced her. Noemie d'Etoile caught her breath and told her tale. When the snows had melted, another wandering priest of the order had visited a remote hamlet in Namarre, a village so small it hadn't a name, pursuing the rumor of a woodcutter's daughter, a young woman of extraordinary beauty and a possible recruit to Naamah's Service.

He had found her.

She was tending to my father. In the depths of winter, not long before the Longest Night, my father had wandered into the village, fevered and delirious. The woodcutter's family had taken him in. They had hoped he would rally come spring, but instead his condition had worsened.

Now

"Brother Ramiel recognized him," Noemie whispered. "He dispatched the nearest reputable physician, then came straightaway to the temple. Moirin it's an affliction of the lungs. He's having difficulty breathing. Brother Ramiel was not hopeful."

My father, my lovely, gentle father who trailed grace in his wake.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Raphael.

I needed Raphael.

I said the words aloud. "I need Raphael de Mereliot."

And then Jehanne was there, her hands gripping my upper arms with that unexpected strength. "Go to him," she said, soft and urgent. "Beg if you need to. Raphael owes you. Remind him. Tell him I'll beg, too." Her gaze was steady. "Do whatever is needful."

I went, stumbling, accompanied by an escort of guards dispatched by the King.

At Raphael's townhouse, the maid Daphne answered my knock. She regarded me with open hostility. "What do you want?"

I stood shivering on the doorstep. "I need to speak to Raphael, Daphne. Is he here?" She didn't answer. "Please? It's very urgent. Will you at least tell him I'm here?"

"Wait here." She closed the door in my face.

I waited.

For long moments, I thought he meant to turn me away. I wrapped my cloak tight around me, trying to quell my shivering. I couldn't concentrate well enough to breathe properly. I wouldn't leave, though. If Raphael refused to see me, I'd damn well lay on his doorstep until he relented.

But at length Raphael came to the door, his eyes bloodshot, the smell of alcohol on him. He regarded me and my guards with profound distaste. "To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the royal bedwarmer?"

"May I speak to you?" I asked humbly. "It's about my father. He's very ill."

His jaw tightened. With a curt nod, he beckoned me inside. "You and you alone. The guards stay outside."

In the marble foyer, I poured out my tale. Raphael listened with folded arms. I finished by pleading for his aid.

"You humiliated me, Moirin," he said when I was done, slow and deliberate. "You made me the laughingstock of the City. And now you beg me to ride posthaste all the way to Namarre to assist you?"

"I do." I dropped to my knees. "Raphael, please! I did a great many services for you, too. I helped you save the life of someone dear to you. Can you not find it in your heart to do the same for me?"

"In exchange for what?" His tone was neutral.

I swallowed. "What do you wish?"

A cruel edge crept into his voice. "Would you forsake Jehanne?"

I thought of her steady gaze. Do whatever is needful , she had said. I bowed my head, my heart aching at the thought of betraying her. "Is that your price?"

"No." Raphael grabbed my chin and forced it upward. "You were always more use to me out of bed than in it, Moirin. My price is this: When we are finished in Namarre, you will assist the Circle with one last summoning. You will swear to do this and to speak to no one of our bargain. Do you agree?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "I agree."

He let go my chin. "Swear it. Swear it by the oath of your people, the oath the magician Berlik swore."

I took a deep breath. "I swear by stone and sea and sky, and all that they encompass, that I will assist the Circle with one last summoning and speak to no one of our bargain. I swear it by the sacred troth that binds me to my diadh-anam !"

"Good." Raphael shouted for his footman Jean-Michel, who came at a run. "Pack a pair of saddlebags and see that my medical kit's in order," he said brusquely. "I'm riding to Namarre."

With Brother Ramiel for a guide and an escort of four royal guardsmen and a footman, Raphael de Mereliot and I rode to Namarre.

It was a horribly uncomfortable journey.

For the first few days, Raphael didn't deign to speak to me. Brother Ramiel made some effort to soothe the troubled waters between us, but he didn't have my father's gift and Raphael's determined silence soon quelled him. I'd come to be friendly with a number of the Queen's guards, but these were the King's men and strangers to me.

We pushed the horses as hard as we dared, and I was grateful for the times when a swift pace made conversation impossible. When we slowed to a walk, the silence was deafening.

All around us, the world was awakening from winter's sleep, the last snows melting, trees beginning to bud. Any other time, I would have taken joy in it. Now all that burgeoning life seemed a cruel reminder that I didn't know if we'd find my father alive or dead.

On the fourth day, Raphael's shell of silence cracked.