Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [232]
A faint sigh escaped me.
Bao touched my arm. “Moirin?”
“Aye,” I said to him. “All’s well. I’m bone-tired, that’s all. It’s been a long, long journey.”
His mouth quirked. “You have a considerable gift for understatement, my wife. But I think we can rest now. At least until tomorrow,” he added.
Bao was right.
Bathed and fed and pampered by the discreet household staff, both of us fell into the great bed with its crisp, clean linens scented with lavender-water and slept like the dead for long hours.
We awoke restored and refreshed to the dawn of a new era in Terre d’Ange. There were dozens of calling cards for us, as well as a summons from Prince Thierry to an audience in the Salon of Eisheth’s Harp, and a message from my father that he would meet us there.
We went early to the Palace that we might pay a visit to Desirée, whom we found in high spirits.
“My brother Thierry came to visit me before I went to sleep last night!” she announced, her eyes wide with wonder and disbelief. “He sang me a song he said his own mother used to sing to him at night.” A furtive shadow crossed her face. “You don’t think that’s too babyish, do you?”
I hugged her. “No, dear heart. Not at all.”
“Song and music are sacred to Eisheth, young highness.” Sister Gemma, restored to her position, offered the comment in a tranquil, reassuring tone, folding her hands in the sleeves of her flowing sea-blue robes. “There is never, ever any shame in taking comfort in them. To accept the gifts of the gods is to honor them.”
Desirée cast a grateful look at her. “That’s what I thought. His mother died, too, you know.”
“I know,” I murmured.
“But now you and your brother have found each other at last,” Bao added. “And you are a family once more.”
She cocked her silver-gilt head at him. “When will you start a family, Bao? You and Moirin? I would so like to have little baby cousins with funny eyes like yours.”
Bao raised his brows at me.
“Soon,” I said.
Sister Gemma cleared her throat. “In fact, I took the liberty of bringing a gift for you, Lady Moirin.” Reaching into the folds of her sleeve, she withdrew a slender wax taper. “If you would care to make the invocation at the Temple of Eisheth here in the city, or to visit the Sanctuary of the Womb, of course, we would be delighted.” Her gaze was soft and gentle. “But it matters only that you invoke Eisheth with a willing heart, wherever you may be, and light a candle to her. This one was wrought of wax gathered from our own beehives, and it carries our blessings.”
I took it from her. The beeswax taper held the warmth of her body, and it smelled sweet and good, holding all the promises of hearth and home.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Eisheth’s priestess inclined her head, her blue eyes glimmering. “When the time is right, you will know.”
A short while later, we took our leave to answer Thierry’s summons. There were a good many people crowded into the Salon of Eisheth’s Harp, peers and comrades and loved ones alike, all anxious to hear the tale told, even those who had lived through it. And we learned that Sister Gemma was not the only member of the royal household to be restored to her position.
“My Lady Moirin, Messire Bao.” Balthasar Shahrizai slung his arms around us both with casual affection. “Pray tell, have you met the new King’s Poet, formerly the old King’s Poet? Of course, Thierry’s not been coronated yet, but that’s only a formality.”
“Moirin.” Lianne Tremaine’s voice was unsteady. Tears shone in her amber eyes. “It seems there’s an epic tale to be told here. I should have found the courage to go with you after all, shouldn’t I?”
I shook my head. “No, my lady poetess. ’Tis better, far better that you did not. He would have killed you, too.”
Her gaze sharpened. “He?”
“Raphael,” I said simply.
“Raphael de Mereliot?” She blinked. “Do you jest?”
“No,” I said. “Not at all, I fear.” Before I could begin to explain, the royal steward called the audience to order, and an attendant came to escort us to be seated in a semicircle of ornate padded