Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [154]
Denis clasped his hand in bewilderment, raising the other to rub his nose. “What do you mean?” he asked again.
Raphael’s free hand shot up, steel flashing as he planted a dagger under Denis’ chin and shoved it home with one ruthless thrust.
I let out an involuntary cry.
“I’m so sorry,” Raphael repeated, catching Denis as he sagged and wrenching his dagger free, lowering him to the floor. “Truly.”
The black river of ants flowed forward, chitinous mandibles clicking.
Raphael de Mereliot glanced over his shoulder. “No,” he said to them. “He was my friend.”
The tide subsided.
For a long, stunned moment, no one moved; and then Bao sprang into action with a hoarse shout, his staff whipping through the air.
Before it could make contact the tide of ants surged once more, pouring over Bao, crawling up his legs with impossible speed, enveloping him like a living carpet despite his frantic efforts to brush them off, all thoughts of attack abandoned.
“I suggest you hold still,” Raphael said in a mild tone. “They’ll eat you alive if I order it, starting with your eyes.” He peered at Bao. “Master Lo Feng’s surly lad, is it? Where’s your master?”
Bao glared at him through a mask of writhing ants and gritted his teeth. “Dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Raphael’s regret sounded unnervingly genuine. “He was a wise man, and I always admired him.” He plucked Bao’s bamboo staff from his hand. “So this one serves you now?” he asked me. “Is that how it is?”
“No,” I whispered, shaking with terror. “He’s my husband. Please, Raphael, call them off him, won’t you?”
He laughed. “Your husband?”
I nodded.
“How low you’ve fallen, Moirin,” Raphael remarked. “Naïve as you always were, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. But it’s a long way from sharing the bed of Jehanne de la Courcel, Queen’s Companion.” He met my gaze, sparks flickering in his implacable storm-grey eyes. “You know I blame you for her death?”
“Aye,” I murmured. “So do I.”
Bao closed his eyes, ants crawling over his eyelids.
Balthasar Shahrizai cleared his throat. He was pale and trembling, but his voice was steady. “My lord de Mereliot?” he inquired. “Or should I address you as Lord Pachacuti? Which do you prefer?”
Raphael shrugged. “Either will suffice.” He eyed Balthasar. “I’m surprised to find you here, Shahrizai.”
“No more than I.” Swallowing with a visible effort, Balthasar glanced uneasily at the black, seething statue that was Bao. “My lord de Mereliot, if you mean to kill him, I beg you, at least do it cleanly.”
“Oh, I don’t think killing him will be necessary.” Raphael smiled at me. “I suspect he’ll be quite useful to me in keeping Moirin in line—and vice versa. But he needed to be taught a lesson. Have you learned it?” he asked Bao.
“Yes,” Bao whispered.
“Very well.” Raphael waved one hand and the black tide of ants receded. I was weak-kneed with relief as Bao’s figure reemerged unharmed, his face rigid with anger and horror.
“Elua have mercy, man!” Septimus Rousse’s voice cracked. “Why in the name of all that’s sacred are you doing this?”
“I said I was sorry about Denis,” Raphael said irritably. “Gods! I didn’t want to kill him. He was my friend! I just couldn’t take the chance. Moirin knows why. Don’t you, Moirin?”
“Caim’s gift,” I said faintly. “The language of ants.”
Raphael nodded in approval. “Exactly so. Mind you, I’m not sure if Denis could have learned to control them,” he said thoughtfully. “It is no easy thing to learn to coax one’s glands to produce the proper scents. I did, but I’m… special.”
I stared at his beautiful face, at the sparks flickering in his eyes like the tail end of a lightning strike barely glimpsed, and I remembered the spirit Focalor, the Grand Duke of the Fallen, with his incandescent eyes breathing Claire Fourcay’s life-force into me, attempting