Naamah's Blessing (71 page)

Bao’s expression darkened. “At least you command a worthy price.”

“I said no.”

He stared at me, blinking.

Temilotzin chuckled. “Do not be concerned,” he said in a helpful manner. “The Emperor does but toy with you. He has already made his choice, and he wishes to trade with your nation. Eyahue and I have agreed to sail with you if you will have us. We would learn more of this world across the sea.”

It was my turn to blink. “You do? You are?”

The Jaguar Knight shrugged. “The old
pochteca
can’t stand being idle, and his family is angry at him for his nephew’s death, even though the idiot deserved it. As for me…” His voice trailed off. “You’re not listening, are you?”

“Stupid girl,” Bao breathed, crossing the courtyard in a few swift strides. His hands rose to cup my face, and he kissed me hard. “You knew the Emperor had already chosen. You were just trying to torment me, weren’t you?”

“A little,” I admitted. “I made you a promise, Bao. You might have trusted me to keep it.”

He gave me a wry look. “When it comes to matters of fidelity, history is not on your side, Moirin.”

I returned his kiss. “Nor yours, my magpie.
I
did not wed the Great Khan’s daughter, or bed the Spider Queen Jagrati.”

Bao’s hands slid to my waist. “Jagrati does not count,” he whispered against my lips. “I thought you were dead, not cavorting in the wilderness with some strapping milk-sop of a Vralian lad. And you would have done whatever Jagrati asked of you, were it not for the Rani Amrita.” He kissed me again. “Which is another story, isn’t it?”

I pressed a finger against his lips. “And you know why. I will not have you speak a word against our lady Amrita.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Shall we speak of your dreams instead? Dreams held on the very eve of our wedding?”

“No.” I twined my arms around his neck and kissed him. “If you don’t mind, I’d sooner we don’t speak at all.”

Bao smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“You are a
very
strange people,” Temilotzin commented, slinging his club over one shoulder. “Truly.”

SEVENTY-EIGHT

T
wo days later, we departed the city of Tenochtitlan escorted by a mounted company of Aragonians and trailed by a long line of Nahuatl porters carrying laden baskets.

Diego Ortiz y Ramos was none too happy about the turn of developments, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Emperor Achcuatli had made it clear we were in his favor, and the new allegiances he had formed within the Nahuatl Empire were strong enough that the Aragonians no longer dreamed of outright conquest, but worried about maintaining such favor as they had acquired.

Once more, we passed beneath the shadow of the White Mountain of Iztactepetl, eyeing its plume of smoke warily; but once more, the volcano remained quiet. I prayed it would do so for a good hundred years, and that the Nahuatl might have no cause to placate their gods with blood sacrifice.

The Maghuin Dhonn are not a folk who relish change, but it comes nonetheless; and that is not always a bad thing. Emperor Achcuatli spoke the truth. The world changes, and we change with it.

Without change, there can be no growth; and without growth, we stagnate and die.

The Aragonian port city of Orgullo del Sol had become larger and more refined in our absence, but after the splendors of the great cities of Terra Nova, it still looked crude and rough-hewn to my eyes. Septimus Rousse had had the presence of mind to suggest sending a
few members of our company ahead to alert the crew that they might make ready to sail, but by their reactions, I daresay they hadn’t let themselves believe until they saw us.

Alaric Dumont, the first mate, wept openly as he embraced his captain in the city square.

“Sorry, sir,” he muttered, dashing his forearm over his eyes. “I fear we’d been running short of hope for far too long.” Turning to Thierry, he proffered a deep bow. “Your highness, I cannot tell you how much it gladdens my heart to see you alive and well. And I speak for all of us when I say it would be my very greatest honor to escort you home and see the rightful heir to Terre d’Ange restored to the throne.”

Prince Thierry smiled quietly, laying a hand on the fellow’s shoulder. “And I do believe I speak for all of us when I say I would like nothing better.”

Someone raised a cheer, and it was taken up by scores of voices, ragged and heartfelt. Men pressed close to clasp Thierry’s hand or clap his back. He accepted their acknowledgments with dignity.

Thierry de la Courcel had also grown and changed.

Amidst the joyous cacophony, there were a few discordant notes. There was Porfirio Reyes, the mayor of Orgullo del Sol, presiding unhappily over our reception in the port.

“So you succeeded after all, Lady Moirin,” he murmured to me after the initial exchange of greetings. “Your missing Dauphin’s unfortunate tale has a glad ending. I confess, I did not believe it possible.”

“I know,” I said. “You made it quite clear, my lord mayor.”

Porfirio Reyes gave me a shrewd glance beneath his drooping eyelids. “Yes, and I was wrong. But as I recall, you also made it clear that it was not your intention to upset the balance of power in Terra Nova. And yet it has happened.”

I spread my hands. “The world changes, and we must change with it. You were also wrong in saying I would find little to love in the Nahuatl. There is more to them than stone hearts and stone faces.”

His voice hardened. “I have not found it to be so.”

“I have,” I said. “Mayhap you are not trying hard enough.”

To that, the mayor of Orgullo del Sol had no answer.

There was also the matter of Alain Guillard and his fellow mutineers, who had rebelled and abandoned our company after the battle with the Cloud People.

“Your highness.” The Azzallese lordling addressed Thierry in clipped tones, his proud face hot with shame. His co-conspirators wore hang-dog looks. “I freely confess myself guilty of desertion and welcome whatever punishment you see fit to administer.” The other two nodded in abashed agreement.

Thierry studied them a moment. “I do not by any means condone your disloyalty,” he said presently. “But as this was a voluntary expedition, I do not think you can be considered formally guilty of desertion. I believe Lady Moirin charged you with escorting two men too grievously injured to continue to safety here, did she not?”

“She did,” Alain Guillard said stiffly.

“Did you succeed?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will consider your service fulfilled.” Thierry paused. “As far as punishment goes, I suspect that the knowledge you will have to live with an act of cowardice and disloyalty on your consciences will suffice.”

Alain Guillard’s face reddened further, but he made no protest, nor did either of his comrades.

And lastly there was the matter of Edouard Durel, the sailor who had attempted to steal Captain Rousse’s logbook and sabotage our voyage.

Thierry had heard the tale, of course. We’d had long months to share the details of our journeys with one another. He ordered the fellow brought to him. There in the square of Orgullo del Sol, Edouard Durel dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m so sorry, your highness,” he said in a broken whisper. “I was so sure you were dead, and this venture nothing but a vengeful woman’s folly. I’d have never done it otherwise, I swear.”

Prince Thierry drummed his fingers on his sword-belt. “Under
ordinary circumstances, what would his punishment be, my lord captain?” he asked Septimus Rousse.

“Death,” the latter said promptly. “The
Naamah’s Dove
was sailing under a royal charter. It would be considered an act of treason, one that could well have resulted in the loss of the ship and all hands aboard. And at sea, the captain’s word is law.”

“And yet you chose to spare him.”

Septimus Rousse nudged the fellow with the toe of one boot. “He’s the only one who can testify that Claudine de Barthelme and her despicable sprat of a lad put him up to this. Under those circumstances, I didn’t think you’d want him dead, your highness.”

“No.” Thierry bent his gaze toward Edouard Durel. “You
are
willing to testify, I trust?”

Durel nodded, still weeping.

“I promised him aboard the ship that his wife and daughter will be cared for no matter what his sentence afterward,” Balthasar murmured discreetly. “I believe I mentioned it to you, my lord?”

“You did, and I am in accord.” Thierry de la Courcel glanced around at our assembled company. “I do not blame any man here for harboring fears and doubts. We set forth on a journey of outlandish risk. If I had the choice to make over…” His voice trailed off briefly. “Let me say that I would never have caused my father such anguish. And you, my rescuers!” His voice grew stronger. “I would never have said my life was worth the cost of so many lost in the effort to save it. And yet, here on the far side of the world, we have witnessed wonders. Great and terrible wonders, beyond comprehending.”

I found myself nodding in agreement.

Thierry cleared his throat. “Since Captain Rousse has held his hand, it falls to the court of law to pass judgment on this man. For now, I would see the slate wiped clean ere we set sail. Let there be no further recriminations. What is done, is done. We are all victims of our own ambitions, our own follies, our own weaknesses. Let us set them aside, and venture forth joined in one single goal. Let us return to Terre d’Ange and reclaim her throne!”

More cheers arose, and this time, there was a sound of unison in them. Thierry stooped, taking Edouard Durel’s chin in his hand.

“Are you prepared to help convey me home, sailor?” he asked.

Still on his knees, the fellow lifted his damp gaze, his eyes shining with tears and gratitude. “Aye, your highness!”

“Good.” Thierry let him go. “Let’s be about it, then.”

SEVENTY-NINE

T
he same day, the
Naamah’s Dove
set sail.

Her hold was laden with trade goods: nuts and kernels and seedlings from Tawantinsuyo and the Nahuatl Empire alike. Samples of
maize
and a dozen different varieties of potatoes.
Tomati
plants reckoned in error to be deadly, hot peppers that seared the tongue. Sack upon sack of
chocolatl
beans, and the fragrant seed-pods called
tlilxochitl
, or “black flower.” A few lengths of
vicuña
wool, fine-spun, light and airy.

Feathers; glimmering feathers, wrought into capes and tapestries.

Gold.

It was true, Terra Nova was rich in gold. Our ship did not quite wallow beneath its weight, but we carried a great deal of it, samples of Nahuatl workmanship along with raw, unprocessed ore.

I stood in the stern of the ship with Bao and Eyahue and Temilotzin, watching the shores of Terra Nova fall away behind us and the vast sea open up to swallow us, rendering us infinitesimal.

“It’s big,” Temilotzin said in a subdued voice. “Very, very big.”

“No bigger than your courage,” I assured him. “Do not fear, Captain Rousse will see us to safety.”

Temilotzin glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “I hope you are right, lady.”

I did, too.

Days, weeks, months… it is hard to measure the passage of time on
a journey. What matters is the distance between the starting point and the destination. League by league, wave by wave, we whittled it down, while Captain Rousse studied the skies and took complicated measurements with his instruments, marking our progress on his charts.

I wondered how it was that the folk of Terra Nova, who were cunning engineers, had never ventured out to sea. Of a surety, they were comfortable on lakes and rivers. Mayhap it was because the vastness was so very daunting that unlike our explorers, they had no cause to suspect there was aught on the far side of the enormous oceans. And I wondered, too, how much that would change in ages to come.

I hoped that we might learn from one another, sharing the best our disparate cultures had to offer.