Naamah's Kiss (28 page)

No doubt, I looked stunning. "It's beautiful," I agreed.

"Walk across the room for me," he ordered.

The fabric swished and flowed as I walked. Even the brocade slippers fit so well I didn't mind them.

Benoit watched me with a smug look. "See how differently you carry yourself?" he observed. "There's more to clothing than mere adornment. It does more than merely change how the world perceives us. It changes how we perceive ourselves."

I glided back toward the mirror. "So I see."

He laughed. "I'm glad you approve. Now, that's meant for your debut at Court. I've a pair of dresses for ordinary daywear to fit on you."

"May I show Raphael first?" I pleaded.

Benoit shrugged. "As you wish. I suppose my lord de Mereliot should have the honor, since he's footing the cost."

Reaching for the door, I paused. Like an idiot, I'd given no thought to paying the atelier's fee. "What? No. No, I have funds of my own. I've not had a chance to draw on my letter of credit yet."

"That," he said, "is between you and his lordship. But according to him, he has commissioned this."

"Let me have a word with him." I didn't want to be any more beholden to Raphael than I was. I walked at a hurried glide down the hall and the great curving staircase, calling for him. One of the shy maidservants was polishing the banister. She'd gotten less wary of me in the past few days, but now she gave me a quick glance, then ducked her head.

"He's in the library, my lady," she murmured. "But"

"My thanks." I hurried onward. .

Outside the library, I heard voices raised in urgent whispers, only slightly less loud than the good lady Lydia when she was trying to be discreet. The door was ajar, but not closed. I could see a sliver of Raphael's profile and his folded arms. I halted and listened.

"done playing nursemaid!" another man's voice was saying. It was vaguely familiar. "Damn it, Raphael! The Circle can't function without you!"

"They could if they chose," Raphael said in a laconic tone.

"No, they sodding well can't! You're the only one with the focus. And we were close, so close! I felt it!"

The maid's footsteps pattered behind me. "My lady! I tried to tell you!"

Raphael turned his head and spotted me through the gap in the door. In two strides, he flung the door open. "Moirin?"

I sighed. "Aye."

"Name of Elua!" the other breathed. " That's our wayward half-breed?"

"It is." There was approval and a considerable amount of heat in Raphael's gaze. "Moirin, do you remember Denis de Toluard? He helped me tend to you and escort you home after you were struck in the street."

"Oh, yes." That was why his voice had sounded familiar. I'd gotten sick on him. "My thanks, my lord. And, um, I'm sorry about your breeches."

Denis de Toluard flushed. He had curly, dark brown hair and blue eyes and I would have thought him very pretty before I met Raphael. He gathered himself, executed a bow, and took my hand to kiss it. I was glad I'd listened to Benoit and used the cream. "I pray you forgive me, my lady. I was ghastly rude in your hour of need."

"Oh?" I raised my brows. "Luckily, wayward half-breeds aren't known for holding grudges."

Denis turned a deeper shade of red.

Raphael grinned. "Is this the gown for the debut? It's splendid." He touched the comb with the gilded branch. "And this is the perfect finishing touch. On anyone else, it would be too much." He turned to Denis. "Mind, you're not to breathe a word of this."

"No, no." The other shook his head. "I'll not ruin your surprise." He gave me an ardent, flustered glance. "You're looking hale as well as beautiful, my lady. Are you quite recovered? Will you be making your debut soon?"

Now him, I could have had by crooking one finger; I knew it as surely as I knew my name. Pity. "Soon, yes," I agreed. "I believe Raphael has an event in mind."

Now Denis turned pale. "You're not!"

"I am," Raphael said calmly. "What better way to celebrate his majesty's natality than to introduce him to long-lost kin?"

His companion made a strangled sound. "Jehanne is going to kill you!"

A muscle twitched in Raphael's jaw. " Jehanne," he said with icy precision, "would expect nothing less of me. Don't believe every piece of gossip you hear. You do not know her nearly as well as you think, my friend."

"Do you know," I said to no one in particular, "I would truly have been grateful for a far less complicated destiny, if that's what this is." Both men looked blankly at me. "No mind." I waved my words away. "Raphael, I wanted you to see the gown. But you're not to pay for it. I've a letter of credit."

"I know." He gave me that unexpectedly boyish grin. "I rifled through your belongings, remember?"

"Aye, but"

"Moirin, let me do this." He toyed with my gown's straps, unobtrusively stroking the skin beneath them. "It helps assuage my conscience for having caused you injury in the first place. Please?"

I couldn't think straight when he touched me. "Oh, fine. Since that's the case, I'm glad you like it."

He kissed me. "Very much. Are you keeping Messire Vallon waiting? I wouldn't advise it."

"All right." I pulled away from him with an effort. "I'll leave you to your mysterious plotting, then, shall I?"

Denis choked.

Raphael merely looked amused. "My dear, if you don't want me to think you sly and uncanny, you've really got to stop eavesdropping." He made a shooing gesture. "Now go! If you earn the enmity of Atelier Favrielle, you'll live to regret it."

I went.

Benoit Vallon was packing his things and looking almighty disgruntled when I returned. It took a good deal of profuse apologizing on my part before he relented and began to unpack them.

"You're young and foreign," he said grudgingly, beginning to help me out of the wonderful bronze gown. "It's his lordship ought to know better."

"He's engaged in mysterious plotting," I informed him.

"Oh?" Benoit's hands went still on the clasp of my collar. "He's a name for meddling in matters he oughtn't," he muttered. "And I don't mean just their majesties' private affairs."

"Magic?" I asked innocently.

He peered into my face. "What would you know of it?" he asked, then thought better of it. "Come to think on it, I'd rather not know." His hands moved briskly, peeling away the gorgeous fabric. "The reputation of your people precedes you."

"Oh?" I stepped out of the gown. "Truth be told, we're quite a peaceable folk."

Benoit folded the gown and snorted.

"'Tis true," I protested. "In the annals of history there is no record of the Maghuin Dhonn going to war, no matter how many times Alba has been invaded. Other follies were committed, yes. Believe me, we are painfully aware of them to this day. But I would ask you not to judge my people based on the actions of one or two of our ancestors."

"You may have a point." He folded away the bronze gown and extended one of fine-spun russet wool worked with intricate trim. "Try this. It's suitable for day wear or even travel, and is based on a very old design created by the atelier's founder, Favrielle no Eglantine herself."

It flowed gracefully.

"And this." A deep green satin with a heart-shaped neckline. Benoit knelt and tacked a few loose, temporary stitches to improve the fit.

In the mirror, I tilted my head this way and that. "If you're so wary of the Maghuin Dhonn, why did you accept this commission?"

He winced. "Must you keep saying that name aloud?"

"It's not bad luck!" I said in exasperation. "That's just a silly superstition put about a thousand years ago when Cinhil Ru claimed the Maghuin Dhonn had slain their own diadh-anam . It was never true. They know better in Alba these days, even if we are not well loved. They've known better since Alais de la Courcel restored the truce between our folk. Even Caroline no Bryony wasn't afraid to say it, and she's the one commended me to you."

"All right, child!" Benoit raised his hands. "I didn't intend to give offense. And I accepted the commission because the couturieres of Atelier Favrielle relish a challenge more than we fear ought else."

"Even bear-witches?" I asked.

His mouth twisted. "So it seems. Truth be told, you're not a particularly fearful specimen, young and naive as you are."

I thought about Cillian's death. "Not so naive, I fear."

Benoit Vallon studied my face. "Not in the ways of life, mayhap, but the D'Angeline Court is another matter. Have you given thought to my advice?"

"I have," I admitted.

He eased the green dress from my shoulders. "But you mean to stay."

"Yes."

"Elua have mercy." Benoit put the dress away. "Are all of the Mag" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "Are all of your people this stubborn?"

I laughed. "You ought to meet my mother."

He shook his head. "I'll be back in a day's time for the final fitting. You can't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't," I promised.

By the eve of my debut, the bronze gown was finished and I had two perfectly suitable dresses for daywear, three pairs of shoes, and a variety of undergarments. My calluses had been softened and smoothed, my nails neatly trimmed and buffed to a shine. The ragged ends of my hair had been trimmed and Benoit had taught me three different ways to style it. There was still some tenderness around my ribs, but the lump at the back of my skull was gone altogether and I hadn't felt sick or disoriented for days.

"I mean to go to the Temple of Naamah today," I informed Raphael at the breakfast table.

He hesitated. "Wouldn't you rather wait until after your debut?"

"No." I slathered a piece of bread with peach preserves. " You would rather I wait until after my debut. Mayhap you have lost sight of the fact that I did not come to Terre d'Ange so that you might surprise and dazzle the Court with your exotic protegee. I came to find my father. And wherever he may be, I'd sooner he learned of my existence before the entire City does."

Raphael smiled. "Protegee, is it?"

I shrugged. "Is that not the right word?"

"No, I reckon it's as good as any. Your vocabulary is surprisingly good, and your accent is improving daily."