Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [224]
“I remember.”
It had been on the Longest Night when Thierry had served as my escort, clad in the attire of a Cassiline Brother.
My lady Jehanne had worn the costume of the Snow Queen. I remembered the taste of joie lingering on her lips, her blue-grey eyes sparkling at me with delight. It was the same costume she had worn when she said farewell to me in my final dream, the satin edge of her ermine-trimmed cape brushing the freshly turned soil between the tall rows of maize swaying overhead, waving their tassels.
My eyes stung.
Staring at the surging waves once more, Thierry did not notice. “I’m glad,” he said. “I’m glad I named you so.”
Blinking away tears, I turned my hand beneath his on the railing, giving it an answering squeeze. “Do you forget, my lord?” I asked him lightly. “I am a descendant of House Courcel by way of Alais the Wise. You showed me her likeness in the Hall of Portraits when first we met. We were always kin, you and I.”
“Forgive me, Moirin. I did forget.” Thierry gave me a self-deprecating smile, and there was a hint of his old easygoing charm in it. “But kin is not the same as family.” Raising my hand to his lips, he kissed it. “Rogier Courcel, Duc de Barthelme, is kin to me. You are family.”
The ship bobbed beneath us, riding the waves. Up a crest, down a trough. Every inch carried us closer to home.
“And you,” I whispered to Thierry. “And you. And the gods willing we make safe harbor, Desirée, too.”
EIGHTY
After months at sea, we gained the harbor of Pellasus and began making our way up the Aviline River.
It felt strange knowing we were retracing the voyage poor, doomed Denis de Toluard had taken, practicing his deceit in reverse. He had withheld the knowledge of Thierry de la Courcel’s death from Terre d’Ange.
We withheld the knowledge of his survival.
The crew of the Naamah’s Dove and the men of our company obeyed unquestioning, united in common accord. No one gossiped, no one dropped so much as a hint of a rumor.
Of course, their very silence engendered rumors, and a bow-wave of gossip raced ahead of us.
Eyahue and Temilotzin strolled the decks clad in Nahuatl finery, fanning the flames of rumor. I thought they both rather relished the task, especially our reprehensible old pochteca. Someone had told them tales of the Night Court that had Eyahue cackling in anticipatory glee, and the Jaguar Knight slapping his thighs and laughing uproariously at the exploits the former had planned.
I didn’t begrudge them, and I hoped they would find a warm welcome among the Thirteen Houses.
Whenever we approached a river port city, Bao and Thierry and I remained belowdeck, hidden from sight. I had argued against including Bao in the deception. Knowing Desirée’s fondness for him, I feared it would pain her twice over to believe that both Bao and I had perished in a futile effort to rescue her brother. But Bao had refused.
“I cannot look that child in the eye and lie to her, letting her believe you are gone, Moirin,” he said. “Do not ask it of me. I have done one hard thing too many on this journey.”
And so I did not press him.
As the leader of the expedition that had set out to find Prince Thierry, Balthasar Shahrizai was to be in charge of the delegation that would meet with the Regent, and I had every confidence in his ability to handle the situation. It was odd to think how I had once rather disliked him, reckoning him nothing more than an idle courtier with a sharp tongue and an even sharper-edged gift. Now I knew that there was a steely core of courage and loyalty beneath his facile surface, and his barbed wit concealed clear-sighted judgment and a generous and compassionate heart. I would gladly trust him with my life.
It was a warm spring day with a light drizzle falling when we at last reached the City of Elua and docked at the quay. Summoning the twilight, I ventured abovedeck and saw that a considerable crowd awaited us, keeping a respectful distance from the official reception party, which consisted of Duc Rogier de Barthelme,