Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [61]
“He’s patient with her,” he said. “Too patient, at least for a boy his age. The poetess is right. It’s unnatural.”
“And Desirée?”
“She adores him,” Bao confirmed. “But, Moirin… what do you suppose he’s like when he’s not with her?”
I was intrigued. “I could find out, couldn’t I?”
Bao grinned. “None better!”
Summoning the twilight, I wrapped myself in its cloak and spent a day stalking Tristan Courcel de Barthelme through the halls of the Palace.
It wasn’t easy.
’Twas a tricky business at best to exist between the mortal realm and the spirit realm, rendered trickier by having to navigate the crowded Palace. But I managed, following pretty golden-haired Tristan and dodging peers, guards, and servants in the hallways as he departed the nursery and caught up with friends, twin sons of the Comte de Rochambeau, whose household was alleged to have taken the last available suite in the Palace.
For the most part, I found that young Tristan was a perfectly normal adolescent boy. He was far less polite with friends his age, given to bragging about unlikely exploits, but that was normal.
By the time he abandoned his friends to return to his father’s quarters in the Palace, I was in two minds as to whether or not to follow him. It was more risky to be trapped in a private space than roaming a public one, and I’d not learned anything useful of the lad thus far. On the other hand, if the Duc was in residence, mayhap they would speak openly of their intentions.
Deciding that the latter possibility was worth the risk, I slipped into their quarters behind Tristan.
Unfortunately, the only other person there was an attractive little maidservant in the process of dusting. She startled at the sight of the lad. “Oh! Forgive me, my lord! I’ll be on my way.”
“No, no, don’t go.” Tristan caught her wrist. “Sylvie, isn’t it?”
“Aye, my lord.” She tugged in vain. “I should be going.”
His voice took on a wheedling tone. “Just one kiss.”
Reluctantly, the maid gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Tristan took the opportunity to put his arms around her and pull her close, nuzzling her neck. She struggled. “Please, my lord!”
“What’s the matter?” He tightened his grip on her. I daresay I could have broken it easily enough, but she was a slight wisp of a thing. “Don’t you like me, sweet Sylvie? You said I was a lovely boy.”
There were tears in her eyes, glimmering in the twilight. “So you are, but I’m newly wed and faithful to my husband.”
“I know.” Tristan traced the curve of her shoulder. “Which is why you’ll not speak of this, will you?”
She shook her head. “Don’t, my lord! It’s heresy.”
“Not if you’re willing.” He tried to kiss her lips, grabbing her chin when she sought to evade him. “Come, come, sweet Sylvie! It’s just a kiss.” The wheedling tone in his voice gave way to a threatening one. “Don’t you know I could have you dismissed from your post? Now give me a proper kiss.”
I’d heard enough—and I had an idea.
Grabbing a handful of his thick, golden hair, I gave it a firm yank, then took him by the scruff of his neck and shook him. Tristan’s entire body went rigid. I didn’t know firsthand what it felt like when I touched someone in the twilight, but Bao said it was like being touched by a ghost.
To be sure, the lad found it profoundly unnerving.
Lowering my voice, I willed him, and him alone, to hear me. “Tristan de Barthelme, make no mistake! The path you tread is one of heresy,” I intoned in his ear. “Let the girl go, and trouble her no more.”
He released her as quickly as though her touch scalded him, backing away so fast I had to spin out of his way and nearly lost my grip on the twilight. “I’m sorry!” he said to her, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Just… go!”
The maid fled without hesitation, still clutching her feather duster. I had to hurry to slip out