Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [236]
I eyed him. “You’re sure you need to go there?”
“You need to ask?” Bao gave me a wry smile. “Yes, Moirin. It is your own diadh-anam that tells me so, and I suspect if I fail to heed it, it will gutter and die all the same.” His smile faded. “I only wish I felt more surely that I am someone a foreign god would wish to claim.”
“You are!” I said.
Bao shrugged. “We will see.”
Before the date of his coronation, Prince Thierry summoned another audience to conclude the tale of our sojourn in Terra Nova. He told the tale himself, relating how Raphael’s army of ants had laid waste to the crops of the Quechua as they fled back to their native jungle, leaving an immense swath of barren land in their wake. And he told the audience how I spent every waking hour in the newly replanted fields, walking the endless rows, causing the plants to quicken and grow an entire season’s worth in a matter of weeks.
When he had finished, an attendant entered the salon carrying a specimen from the glass pavilion wherein all manner of exotic plants were grown, this one a small Aragonian orange tree in a large pot, hard little green fruits clustered on its branches.
“Cousin, I owe you an apology for failing to consult you in this matter,” Thierry said to me. “I know others have sought to exploit your gift. And I know it was given to you by your Maghuin Dhonn, and it was meant to be used freely or not at all.” He gestured at the audience. “But these good people have heard tales of magic and wonder, and I would take it as a personal favor if you would show them a simple taste of it.”
I rose. “For you, my highness, of course.”
There were murmurs in the audience, and some muttering about theatrics and parlor tricks. I did not sense any real malice in it, only a reactionary disbelief. I did not blame them. It is one thing to listen to tales of wonder from a distant land, and another to be told one is about to witness magic wrought in a familiar, urbane setting.
A blonde woman I recognized as the Marquise de Perigord raised an inquiring hand. “Is it permitted to inspect the tree, your highness? I do not mean to be contentious, but…” She gave a delicate shrug. “Lady Moirin and her husband have collaborated with Eglantine House to show us clever illusions before. One wishes to be sure.”
Thierry beckoned to her. “Of course.”
The Marquise and several other peers came forward to inspect the tree to their satisfaction, riffling through the leaves and poking their fingers into the soil to make sure nothing was hidden there, one lord even going so far as to pluck an unripe fruit and gouge it with his thumbnail, making a face as he sucked the sour juices. At last, they were forced to own that the tree was nothing more than it seemed.
I stroked its leaves. “His highness spoke an untruth unwittingly,” I announced. “It is the gift of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself that allows me to open pathways others cannot, but the path onto which this opens is a gift of my father’s bloodline.” Finding him in the audience, I met his eyes and smiled. “I have seen them in my thoughts since I was small. The gods of Terre d’Ange. Always and ever, Naamah, the bright lady. And Anael the Good Steward, the man with a seedling cupped in his palm. Desire and fruition, the things that sustain life and love.”
Summoning the twilight, I blew softly over the tree.
It grew several inches, stretching its slender trunk, extending its leaves. The bright green globes nestled in its branches swelled, their rinds turning slowly from green to vibrant orange as they ripened.
A soft sigh ran through the salon. Now they believed.
Thierry bowed to me. “Thank you, Moirin.”
The remainder of the tale was told without theatrics; the tale of our return, the losses suffered along the way. Magic and wonder gave way to politics, intrigue, and trade-rights, augmented by the presence of Eyahue and Temilotzin, representing the interests of Emperor Achcuatli.
As soon as discretion permitted, Bao and I made a polite escape, and paid another