Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [87]
“Stone and sea!” I gasped, feeling the waves of climax burst within me, my inner walls squeezing his hard shaft.
Bao groaned, sinking hilt-deep inside me, a hot rush of seed spurting.
Afterward, we lay entwined together for a time, heading drowsily toward sleep. I rested my head on Bao’s chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat while he toyed lazily with my hair.
“Moirin, when this is over, do you suppose we might start a family?” he asked. “Assuming we live through it, of course.”
“You and your fat babies,” I said sleepily.
“It’s not a jest.”
With an effort, I lifted my head. “I know.”
“Well?” There was a rare vulnerability in his dark eyes. “I know that I am only a Ch’in peasant-boy, and I have done things in my life I’m not proud of. Do you think I would not make a suitable father?”
“Bao!” I sat upright, shocked. “No!”
“It’s just—”
Whatever he meant to say, I silenced it with a kiss. “Having watched you with Desirée, and Ravindra before her, I think you will make a most excellent father.” I gave the gold hoops in his ears a meaningful tug. “No matter what you’ve done. I’ve done foolish things, too. But you are my husband, and I love you, and if we live through this, yes, I will gladly light a candle to Eisheth and bear your fat babies.” With one finger, I poked at his hard, flat abdomen. “Although I am still not convinced of their relative plumpness.”
Bao’s face relaxed into a smile. “You’ll see. Round as dumplings.”
With a sigh, I settled back against him. “Let us pray we have the chance.”
He kissed my temple. “I do.”
THIRTY-TWO
At dawn on the morrow, we set sail for Terra Nova on the ship Naamah’s Dove.
There was no ceremony, no great fanfare, all of that having taken place at the previous night’s dinner, only a handful of folk saying one last farewell to loved ones. My father came to the wharf to see us off, looking out of place in his elegant priest’s crimson robes, his oak-brown hair loose and shining on his shoulders.
“You have the letter for my mother?” I asked him.
He nodded. “I do. And I will deliver it in person, I promise.”
For the first time, I saw that there were fine lines on his face, fanning from the corners of his green, green eyes.
It made my heart ache.
“Thank you,” I whispered, embracing him. “Thank you for all the kindness you have given me.”
My father held me. “How could I not?”
Aboard the ship, a sharp whistle sounded. Septimus Rousse leaned over the railing. “Lady Moirin!” he called in a good-natured tone. “Come aboard, won’t you? We’re losing daylight.”
Reluctantly, I released my father.
He turned to Bao. “Keep her safe?”
Bao clasped one hand over his fist, bowing in the Ch’in manner. “It is my life’s mission, Brother Phanuel.”
And then there was nothing left to say, nothing left to do but board the ship. Another ship, another journey. We cast off from the wharf and began to make our way down the broad surface of the Aviline River. I stood in the stern and watched as the figure of my father dwindled to a crimson speck, and then vanished altogether as the white walls of the City of Elua fell away behind us.
“So we’re off on another adventure,” Bao said softly.
“Yes, and I expect it’s going to be every bit as dreadful as I feared,” Balthasar Shahrizai announced, joining us with Denis de Toluard in tow. “Have you seen the size of the cabins?” He shuddered. “Ghastly.”
“At least you have a cabin, my lord!” one of the sailors called cheerfully to him. “If you want to see truly cramped quarters, come sling a hammock in the main berth!”
Balthasar gave the fellow a jaundiced look. “I think not.”
Bao laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”
He shuddered again. “Elua have mercy, I hope not! Months on end of living cheek by jowl with a motley group of increasingly malodorous, malnourished adventurers… no, no thank you.”
“Are you going to carry on like this for the entire trip?” Denis de Toluard asked with asperity.
“I might,” Balthasar admitted.
The other rolled his eyes. “You didn’t have to come, you know. It would have