Naamah's Blessing (14 page)

I toyed with the signet ring my mother had given me, the ring bearing the twin crests of the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym and the swan of House Courcel. The ring marked me as a descendant of Alais the Wise, permitting me to draw on the trust my ancestress had created generations ago for her errant offspring who had fled civilization to live in the wilderness among the Maghuin Dhonn. “I had hoped it might be done sooner.”

“I can imagine.” Caroline nó Bryony gave me a look at once shrewd and sympathetic. “Moirin, if you were the only descendant, I would gladly advance you funds against the trust. But there are others. I dare not, without knowing for sure none of the others have made claims. And that I cannot determine until spring when the Straits are calm enough to pass.”

“It’s not likely.”

“No.” She sighed. “It’s highly
unlikely
. But there are rules governing such matters, and Bryony Associates are strict about such matters.”

“I understand,” I said.

Caroline wrote out a letter of introduction in her graceful hand. “Present this at the Sauvillon Inn if you wish. I promise, it’s a very elegant establishment.”

“I’m sure it is.” I didn’t doubt it; but I also didn’t doubt that taking lodgings at an inn, no matter how fine, failed to create an air of permanence that would reassure wary D’Angelines. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Rising to bid me farewell, she gave me a rueful smile. “I wish I could do more. You’re a long way from the half-wild young Maghuin Dhonn savage who appeared in my quarters all those years ago, ill at ease indoors, planning to live on
taisgaidh
land in the City of Elua.”

Hearing a word of my mother-tongue spoken made me catch my breath and brought unexpected tears to my eyes.

“Or mayhap not so far after all?” Caroline asked gently, touching my cheek.

“No.” I laid my hand over hers, smiling through my tears. “In some ways, aye. Not in others.”

“I’m glad.” She gave me a warm embrace. “I quite liked that half-wild young savage.”

Although the encounter brought me no closer to resolving the issue of lodging, it heartened me to remember that there were D’Angelines who had lived in Alba and knew its folk, D’Angelines for whom the term Maghuin Dhonn did not automatically evoke shades of oath-breaking, babe-slaughtering bear-witches.

I also paid a visit to Atelier Favrielle to request an appointment with the famed couturier Benoit Vallon, who had accepted a commission to design a wardrobe for me when I had first come to the City.

There, I was dismissed summarily by the attendant on duty, who was mortified to learn that I did not possess a calling card.

“Good day, my lady,” he said in a voice dripping with contempt, ushering me out the door. “If you must return, I pray you do so when you are prepared to observe the proper social protocol.”

When I complained about the incident to Bao, he merely laughed.

“That is the exact kind of insufferable fellow that made me dislike D’Angelines the first time,” he said cheerfully. “Luckily, I have found some I like better this time. Look, Moirin.” He showed me a calling card that had arrived for us at the temple, engraved with an insignia of three ornate, interlocking keys. “This is from that nice fellow who was so helpful, isn’t it? I was able to make out the name myself,” he added with pride.

I glanced at it. “Balthasar Shahrizai?”

Bao nodded. “There’s a note written on the back. I haven’t quite made out that part yet.”

“He’s inviting us to dine at a supper-club with a few friends two nights from now,” I said.

“That should be pleasant.” Bao caught my expression and sobered.
“Moirin, I know we’ve a great deal to do. Don’t worry. We’ve been through far worse. All this is just… politics.” He lowered his voice. “Have you spoken to your father yet about the Royal Minister?”

I shook my head. “No. What if I’m wrong, Bao? I don’t want to drive a wedge between them.”

“Yes, better your father should serve as a bridge, maybe,” he said philosophically. “Today’s news was bad.”

“What news?”

“You hadn’t heard?” Bao winced. “I heard it at Eglantine House. They say gossip flows swiftly to the Night Court.”

“What?”
I demanded.

“The Lady of Marsilikos has made a formal complaint protesting your appointment as Desirée’s oath-sworn protector.” He met my gaze. “I’m sorry, I thought you would have heard.”

“It seems you’re keeping company in more well-informed circles than I these days,” I said wryly. “On what grounds?”

Bao took a deep breath. “On the grounds that it’s a grave offense against House Mereliot.”

“Because I ruined Raphael’s reputation?”

“That, and because Raphael de Mereliot was Jehanne’s other true, great love,” he said. “Not you. And that if anyone deserved the role, it should have been him. That the appointment should have been given him at Desirée’s birth.”

I was silent.

“Moirin?”

“Jehanne
did
love him,” I said slowly. “Very much. Mayhap as much as the King—likely more than me. But that is not what she chose. She chose the future she wanted for herself and her child—to be a good queen, to be a good mother. I was there when she confessed her fears and wept. I was there when she honored her promise to King Daniel and lit a candle to Eisheth, beseeching her to open the gates of her womb. I was the first to see the spark of the child’s life within her.”

“I know.” Bao took my hands in his. “And you are here, now, for her.”

“But that’s not why we came,” I whispered.

He took one hand away, laid it on my chest. My
diadh-anam
pulsed beneath it, flickering in time with his. “Are you sure?”

“Not entirely.”

“You are here doing what you have always done, Moirin.” Bao’s tone was firm. “Obeying the call of destiny, no matter how vague. If you are here, it is because you are meant to be here.”

I exhaled in frustration. “Gods! I want to believe it. But we cannot even find a suitable nursemaid.”

“We will.” Leaning forward, Bao kissed me. “And a suitable place to live, and a suitable couturier—or at least a suitable printer, so that we might have suitable calling cards made. And if
that
fails, I am quite certain that the couturieres of Eglantine House would be more than happy to design suitable attire for us. Until then…” He plucked at the hem of my sari. “I am quite content to continue bidding farewell to these garments, over and over.”

I wound my arms around his neck. “Are
you
sure?”

His eyes gleamed. “I have been to hell and back with you, Moirin. I am very, very sure.”

Come morning, the entire City was abuzz with the news of the Lady of Marsilikos’ complaint.

It seemed there were a handful of other signatories, mostly minor Eisandine lords, but a few members of the Great Houses as well, including the Duc de Somerville, who wielded considerable clout in L’Agnace province.

A young, upstart poet based in Night’s Doorstep and sponsored by persons unknown had written a satire mocking my relationship with Jehanne, calling it a liaison of convenience fabricated for the sole purpose of provoking Raphael de Mereliot. The tide of public opinion was turning against me.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care, because Bao and I found our nursemaid.

It surprised me to find an applicant who was no servant of a royal house, but instead a Priestess of Eisheth, goddess of healing, clad in the flowing sea-blue robes of her order.

“Lady Moirin.” She greeted me with a shy smile. “It’s been a long time. I daresay you don’t remember me.”

I blinked, trying to recall. “I
almost
remember.”

Her chin lifted. “Gemma, my lady. Gemma Tristault. I was an acolyte of Eisheth’s Order at the time. I came to you and Lord Raphael on behalf of our Head Priestess, Sister Marianne Prichard.”

“Oh, aye!” I said. “She was bitten by a rat, and the wound had poisoned her blood.”

Gemma nodded. “It festered, and she hid it too long, trying to tend it herself.” She smiled affectionately. “Stubborn old woman. We would have lost her if not for you and Lord Raphael.”

“Is she well?” I asked.

“She is,” the priestess said. “She sends her regards, as well as this letter of commendation.” She extended a neatly rolled scroll.

I unrolled it and skimmed the contents, Bao peering over my shoulder and sounding out the letters to himself. “Forgive me, Sister Gemma,” I said. “But… I confess myself perplexed. Why is a Priestess of Eisheth applying for the post of royal nursemaid?”

“Why not?” she asked in a reasonable tone. “A hundred and some years ago, the head of Naamah’s Order had the notion of assigning young acolytes to serve as royal companions. Who better than one of Eisheth’s servants to nurture royal peers in their youth?” She gestured at the scroll. “As Sister Marianne indicated, since I took my vows, it’s been my task to care for children brought to the sanctuary to seek healing.”

I was intrigued. “The young princess needs a nursemaid, not a physician.”

“Although it would not be a bad thing to have a nursemaid with a physician’s skills,” Bao noted.

The priestess folded her hands in the arms of her robes. “Many of the children brought to us, especially the very young ones, are frightened
and confused. Part of my duty is to soothe and comfort them.” She hesitated. “I do not wish to sound presumptuous, my lady. But since resigning her post, Nathalie Simon has been spreading tales about her young highness, claiming that she is an unmanageable child growing worse under your influence.”

“Ah… that would be me,” Bao admitted. “But I have learned better than to overexcite her.”

Gemma smiled at him. “Be that as it may, Messire Bao, I do not believe there is such a thing as an unmanageable child. Only frightened or angry children, and caretakers who lack the patience to manage them.”

I steepled my fingers in a contemplative
mudra
. “I trust you and Sister Marianne are aware that there is a political aspect to this appointment?”

Her blue eyes were grave. “Very much so, Lady Moirin. Sister Marianne was most distressed to hear of the Lady of Marsilikos’ complaint. House Mereliot is one of Eisheth’s most ancient and venerated lines; and Eisheth’s business is healing, not causing strife.”

“Would your appointment further this strife?” I inquired.

She inclined her head. “It is a valid question, and one I cannot answer with certainty. The High Priestess does not believe so. She believes it would deliver a necessary reminder to Eisandine peers.”

“How so?” Bao asked.

Again, Gemma hesitated. “I do not wish to be presumptuous—”

“Presume,” I said.

“It is no secret that his majesty avoids the child,” she said softly. “That it pains him to see Queen Jehanne in her. Even young children sense such things. Surely, it has hurt the princess in turn. So if I
may
presume, I would say that his majesty’s decision to assign you a significant role in the princess’ life represents his best effort at mending the damage. You can see the mother reflected in the child, and love her for it as his majesty is unable to do. There are wounds of the spirit as grave as wounds of the flesh, and they, too, need healing. This is the reminder that Eisheth’s Order would offer the peers of the realm.”

Bao turned to me. “Hire her.”

I ignored him for the moment. “How can you be sure?” I asked the priestess. “I might be seeking the role for political purposes.”

“You, Lady Moirin?” Gemma laughed, but nicely. “No, I do not think so. Nor do I think you would be going to such trouble on her highness’ behalf if you did not care for her.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Would you like to meet her?”

“It would be my honor.”

We found Desirée fitful and restless, having refused her afternoon nap; and the nursemaid Paulette near tears.

Within a quarter of an hour, the young princess was half-asleep in the priestess’ lap, her head nodding while Gemma sang low, rhythmic songs to her in a remarkably soothing voice.

“Elua have mercy!” Paulette breathed. “ ’Tis a miracle.”

“No miracle.” The priestess smiled. “Music is Eisheth’s other gift to mankind, and there’s healing in it, too.”

“Do you truly desire the post, my lady priestess?” I asked her.

Gemma stroked Desirée’s flaxen hair, trailed one fingertip over the curve of the child’s fair cheek, touched the perfect bow of her pink, parted lips. As her gaze lifted to meet mine, I fought a surge of irrational jealousy. “I do, my lady Moirin.”

I bowed to her. “It is yours.”

SIXTEEN

A
lmost immediately, Desirée flourished under Sister Gemma’s care. She became calmer, happier, eager to please for the sake of the pleasure that came of behaving kindly toward others.

I was glad.

And a little bit jealous, still.

“It’s for the best,” Bao consoled me, his arms wrapped around me. “You do know that, don’t you, Moirin?”

“Of course I do.”

His arms tightened. “We’ll have babes of our own one day,” he predicted. “Remember? I told you so a long time ago.”