Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [176]
I dreamed of bones, ancient bones, beginning to stir.
And I awoke to sunlight, and emptiness.
Cusi was gone.
SIXTY-TWO
Does your cruelty know no bounds, my lord?” I shouted at Raphael. “Gods bedamned, Raphael! You knew! You sent poor Cusi to attend me, knowing you meant to sacrifice her all along!”
Lounging on his throne, Raphael de Mereliot shrugged and stuffed a few leaves into his mouth. “Forgive me, Moirin. It amused me.”
I clenched my wounded hand into a fist, the pain anchoring me. “I do not forgive you.”
“You don’t have a great deal of choice, do you?” Raphael’s gaze hardened. “Anyway, I do but honor the lass by bestowing the gift of sacrifice upon her. She volunteered for it.” He gestured carelessly around the throne room at his handmaidens. “They all volunteered, Moirin. Each and every last one of them.”
I glowered at him, not needing to feign bitterness.
He laughed. “Such a look!” Swinging himself upright, Raphael rose and paced across the floor, accompanied by a skittering stream of ants. “Ah, Moirin.” His fingers trailed across my cheek, down my throat. Once upon a time, I would have ached to have him touch me thusly. Now it made my stomach roil. “My hot-tempered little bear-witch, my useful tool. Tell me, who would you choose to take Cusi’s place?”
“No one,” I murmured.
“Oh, but you must if you wish to spare the lass.” He pointed at a pretty Quechua maid, and then another. The young women blanched, trembling, and trying not to show it. After last night’s revelation in the temple, none of them were so eager to sacrifice themselves for Lord Pachacuti’s sake. “Her? Or mayhap her?”
I shook my head. “I will not play this game with you, Raphael.”
His fingers tightened like pincers on my throat, digging in hard enough to bruise. “Then do not complain to me, Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn!” With an abrupt gesture, he thrust me away. “I find it tiresome.”
I staggered and caught myself, massaging my bruised throat. “No more than I, I assure you.”
Returning to his throne, Raphael waved one languid hand. “Go, then.”
I turned to obey.
“Wait.”
I halted.
“Why did you wed him?” There was a genuine note of curiosity in Raphael’s voice. “Master Lo’s surly lad?”
“Why do you care?” I turned back, unnerved by his mercurial mood shift.
He shrugged. “I’m curious. Indulge me, won’t you? Otherwise, I might have to, oh, forbid you to see him. I haven’t done that yet, have I? All in all, I think I’ve been quite generous with you.”
“All right.” I took a deep breath. “First of all, he’s a man, not a lad. And he’s not surly. If he seemed so in Terre d’Ange, it was only because D’Angelines had given him little cause to love them.” I gave him a tight smile. “You, in particular.”
“I never said a word to the lad!” Raphael retorted in an offended tone.
I raised my brows. “Aye, and I suspect that may have had somewhat to do with it, my lord. Bao is stubborn and proud. You treated him as less than a man. You’re doing it still. Do you blame him for resenting it?”
Raphael blinked. “I treated him as I would treat any servant.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I lived in your household, Raphael. You treated your servants with a courtesy you never afforded Bao, with a courtesy you do not afford your Quechua handmaids.”
He lowered his voice. “They are a simple folk, Moirin! They worship their rulers. If I treated them otherwise, they would not respect me.”
“Mayhap,” I said. “Or mayhap it is that like many D’Angelines, you think so very highly of yourself, you have a hard time reckoning others your equals.”
Raphael scowled at me. “Mayhap it is your own bitterness that speaks!”
“Mayhap it is,” I admitted. “How many times did you see fit to remind me that I was naïve and unsophisticated? I grant you, it was true, but it did not make me less than you. Different, but not less. You never saw me as aught but a useful tool for your hands to wield, the very thing you called me today.”
“And so you are.” Leaning his head against the back of his throne, Raphael closed his eyes. “One that grows