Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [66]
“As will I!” Tristan called in a ringing voice. “I promise, Desirée!”
It was well received—and it made me angry.
The worst part of it was that I didn’t doubt the Duc’s grief was sincere. But it was still a piece of theater. He was willing to use his grief and the plight of a royal orphan to further his own ends.
At least it dried my tears.
“Moirin, don’t glower,” Bao murmured to me. “You can’t afford to lose sympathy.”
I gritted my teeth. “I am trying!”
Desirée tugged at my hand. “What’s wrong, Moirin? Are you angry at the gods, too?”
It was the first spark of life I’d seen from her since her father’s death. I knelt and hugged her. She felt oh, so very fragile in my arms. “Today, yes, dear heart. Today I am hurt and angry. But it’s all right. It’s all right to feel such things. Everyone does. You heard the priest, didn’t you? The gods understand sorrow—and anger, too.”
She put her arms around my neck, nestling her face against my throat. “Why do they send so much of it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Bao crouched beside us. “It is their way of teaching us to be strong,” he said to her. “It is a hard way, but it is the only way. And you are strong, aren’t you?”
The young princess gave him a faint smile. “Strong like a dragon?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
After the funeral service was concluded, there was another procession through the streets of the City of Elua, ending in a reception at the Palace. Sister Gemma reclaimed Desirée and restored her to the nursery. I watched the politicking that took place, feeling uneasy at it.
Life ended, but politics continued.
When the delegation from House Shahrizai approached us, I felt chagrin added to my grief. They, too, would suffer from the way the politics of this tragedy played out. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” I said to Celestine Shahrizai. My voice sounded hollow. “I fear your generosity toward us proved a bad investment.”
The matriarch of the House gave my elbow a hard squeeze—hard enough to hurt, yet strangely bracing for it. “Do not blame yourself for the vagaries of fate, young one, nor fear our generosity will be withdrawn. We knew the risk we took.”
“It’s not your fault,” Balthasar added. With his blue-black hair and ivory skin, he looked well in mourning garb, but his eyes were rimmed with red and there were dark shadows beneath them. His mouth twisted bitterly. “I should have been there. I should have gone with Thierry.”
“There’s nothing you could have done,” his cousin Josephine murmured.
Balthasar turned his grief-haunted gaze on her. “We’ll never know, will we?” His gaze shifted onto Rogier Courcel, deep in conference with the Comte de Thibideau, with a handful of other peers respectfully waiting their turn to speak with him. “And gods damn Daniel de la Courcel for putting us in this situation!”
The other Shahrizai hushed him hastily. I glanced around, but it didn’t seem anyone had noticed.
“I’m going to go get drunk,” Balthasar announced. “Who’s with me?”
Bao and I declined. I had to address the Parliament tomorrow, my petition to do so having been reluctantly granted, and I would need my wits about me. As the reception thinned, we took our leave, returning home through the somber, silent streets of the City of Elua. Our house steward, Guillaume Norbert, greeted us with weary gravity and asked if there was aught that we required.
All I wanted was to sleep, and wake to find this was all a terrible dream. I thanked him for his kindness and retired to the bedchamber. I undressed and crawled into bed. Bao moved around the chamber quietly, snuffing the lamps.
“It will get better, Moirin,” he murmured, joining me in our bed. “Day by day, bit by bit. It will get easier to