Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [166]
It felt strange to sit across the table from Raphael as I had so many times in his townhouse in the City of Elua; only this time, we were enemies in a foreign land, served by Quechua maidens with downcast eyes, a seething ball of ants hanging near our table. From time to time, one would scuttle down the rope and across the table, and Raphael would dip into his basket and place a leaf before it as though rewarding a favored pet.
“Do they all obey you?” I asked him. “Or is it just the queens who take their orders from you?”
“Plotting, Moirin?” Raphael smiled sidelong at me, stroking the thorax of his latest visitor with one fingertip.
“Curious,” I said. “And I must confess, I cannot imagine how you learned to do it.”
“That is because you lack Caim’s gift, as well as a physician’s intimate knowledge of the body’s humors.” A dreamy expression crossed his face. “I spent many hours in the jungle learning to discipline mine and assert my dominance. Many, many hours.” His face clearing, he fed the ant a leaf. “Allow me to spare you the effort. All of them answer to me. You’ll get nowhere by attempting to kill my queens.”
“My thanks,” I said. “It’s generous of you to acknowledge it.”
Raphael shrugged. “I’m fond of them and I’d prefer you didn’t attempt to stomp them to death for no good cause.”
I glanced around the room. All of the maidens, including Cusi, avoided my gaze. “Why did you ask me here tonight?”
“Would you believe I’m lonely?” he asked wryly.
I considered him. “Aye, I would.”
He looked away. “What I mean to do is a glorious undertaking, Moirin. It will remake the world itself. I’d ask you to attempt to understand it.”
“Explain it to me,” I said.
Raphael shook his head. “We’ll speak more of it later. Tell me more of this curiosity of yours. I’m interested in knowing how you think to wriggle out of your oath. What else are you curious about?”
I pointed at the basket of leaves. “Those.”
“Ah.” His brows rose. “The sacred herb of emperors.” He pushed the basket across the table toward me. “Try it.”
I hesitated.
“It’s not poison, Moirin.” Raphael plucked out a few leaves, shoving them into his mouth and chewing them into a wad he tucked into his cheek. “Just try it.”
I did.
The leaves had an astringent taste and spread a tingling numbness over my lips and tongue, trickling down my throat. But as I chewed them, I began to feel more optimistic, energized, and clear-headed than I had for many days. Another time, it might have been pleasant. Under the circumstances, it was a bit unnerving. I didn’t dare allow myself to trust the sensation.
Discreetly, I tried to spit out the wad of chewed leaves; but Cusi’s small, brown hand intercepted it.
“Sulpayki,” I murmured to her, feeling terribly self-conscious. “Thank you.” She gave me the tiniest of nods.
“She pleases you?” Raphael inquired.
“For a spy, yes,” I said.
He laughed. “What else are you curious about?”
I smoothed my gown with my hands. “Where does the wool come from? I did not think there were sheep in Terra Nova.”
“What a remarkably banal question,” Raphael observed. “I must say, I’m disappointed.”
I shrugged. “You asked.”
“The Quechua in the highlands of Tawantinsuyo raise animals they shear for wool,” he said. “Even finer than sheep’s wool. What else?”
I met his eyes. “Why the Temple of the Ancestors?”
“Ah, much better! Perhaps now we shall engage in a discussion worth having.” Raphael waved one hand. “Leave us!” he ordered. “I will call for you once more when I am ready.”
The handmaids withdrew.
“The Quechua are not a wholly barbaric folk, Moirin.” Raphael leaned back in his chair, warming to his topic. “They have a very fine system of service and labor that ensures everyone contributes fairly, and a means to distribute food goods so that no one in the empire of Tawantinsuyo ever need starve. Nor are they the only folk to honor their ancestors; to be sure, many others do. But they are a simple and literal-minded people. They preserve the bodies of their royal dead and