Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [65]
I asked my father what was to become of the realm.
“Parliament will convene after the funeral to appoint a regent until the princess gains her majority,” he said soberly. “Since Duc Rogier’s done a fine job as Royal Minister, odds are they’ll select him.”
It was what I feared. “Father, they can’t!”
He stared at me. “Why ever not?”
“Because the King was going to replace him.” I told him what I knew. When I had finished, he closed his eyes for a long time. “I’m sorry!” I whispered in anguish. “I know you care for him.”
“I do,” he murmured. “But if what you’re telling me is true… it should at least be taken into account.”
“What do we do?” I asked him.
My father sighed. “You’ll have to petition to address Parliament, Moirin. And I warn you, they will not want to hear what you have to say, and you’ll earn his grace’s enmity in the bargain.” He ran a hand over his face. “Think well on it. Rogier may be more ambitious than I reckoned, but he’s a good man at heart.”
“Is his son?” I asked. “Because that’s who he’s aiming to put on the throne. That’s who he’d see betrothed to Desirée.”
He fell silent for a time. “I don’t know. Just… think on it.”
My diadh-anam flickered. “I will,” I said. “But I may not have a choice. I’m oath-bound.”
“I know.” He took my hand. “And I will stand by you, no matter what you decide.”
Three days after the King’s death, a joint funeral service for Daniel and Thierry de la Courcel was held at the great Temple of Elua. Bao and I rode in the royal carriage with Desirée, Duc Rogier, and his son.
All throughout the streets of the City, folk turned out to share their grief, weeping openly and calling out blessings on the young princess. Desirée stared straight ahead without responding, clad in a black gown that made her translucent skin look ghostly pale. A delicate crown of gold filigree sat atop her fair hair. I held her hand and whispered words of comfort to her.
Duc Rogier acknowledged the mourners with solemn nods. Young Tristan looked grave and noble, bending forward from time to time to pat Desirée’s other hand. She gazed at him with listless eyes.
I remembered how she had sparkled at the tumblers’ performance the day of the oath-swearing ceremony, how his majesty had reached out to her and helped her throw the bouquet at Antoine nó Eglantine’s feet, and I wanted to weep.
For Desirée’s sake, I didn’t.
Bao gave me a miserable glance over the top of her crowned head, understanding.
At the temple, we removed our shoes and stockings in the vestibule and proceeded into the garden sanctum. Directed by priests and priestesses, we took our place at the base of the plinth on which the effigy of Blessed Elua stood. A seemingly endless throng of mourning peers followed us, jostling for position. Exchanging complicit nods with the royal guardsmen in attendance, Bao took a protective stance beside Desirée, leaning on his bamboo staff. Somehow, they’d gotten word of his prowess.
Once the sanctum was full and the doors to the temple had been barred, the senior Priest of Elua who had presided over the oath-swearing ceremony gave the invocation. It was earnest and heartfelt, reminding the crowd of all the tragic losses House Courcel had suffered over the years, and it reduced well nigh the entire crowd to tears—including me. Although I managed to keep from sobbing aloud, this time I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
I couldn’t help it.
When he was done, Duc Rogier spoke. “They were kin,” he said simply. “And I loved them both very much. Prince Thierry for his unfailing good nature, his boundless spirit of adventure. King Daniel for his vast, gentle heart, and his gracious manner. And today I am angry at the gods for allowing their best qualities to destroy them.”
A murmur ran through the crowd.
The priest raised one hand for silence. “The gods understand.”
“I hope they do.” Duc Rogier Courcel de Barthelme turned to glance at Blessed Elua’s effigy. “While I am not a member of