Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [107]
Nearby, the cart-horse whickered as though in agreement.
“Truly?”
I kissed his brow. “Truly. Now, please, can we gather ourselves and take to the road?”
After Aleksei went to scout to see that the road was clear, I cut the cart-horse’s hobbles and we set out north on foot. The horse followed us for a while, peering after us through his forelock with great, liquid-dark eyes. I had to shoo him away, reminding him that his stable-mate would be missing him.
“He likes you,” Aleksei commented.
“Animals usually do,” I said. “Though I suspect it had as much to do with the bits of bread you fed him.”
“Can you really talk to them?” he asked.
“After a fashion,” I said. “Not with words, not really. But I can touch their thoughts and feelings.”
“Like you read mine,” he murmured.
I shook my head. “That’s never happened before. Only with memories. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I don’t always know what form the Maghuin Dhonn’s gifts will take. It seems to change and grow as I get older.”
He processed that in silence. The sun sank low in the west, gilding the surface of the lake and sending our shadows stretching sideways. I didn’t relish the prospect of a long night’s walk, but at least it was peaceful here, and I felt a great deal better after some food and a few hours of sleep.
I was young, and gods willing, the various aches and pains my ordeal had inflicted on me would vanish in time. The bruises would fade, the welts would heal, the stiffness would pass. In time, I hoped, the memory of the Patriarch’s creamy smile as he heard my confession would fade, too, and the treasured memories he had violated would regain their luster.
I toyed with the jade bangle on my wrist as we walked, thinking about Aleksei’s plight, thinking about invoking Naamah’s blessing on Snow Tiger’s behalf. It was a piece of irony that my effort to protect that memory had nearly gotten me killed. If I hadn’t sworn the sacred oath in the Patriarch’s presence, he might never have known what form it took. No one had ever recorded the exact wording, not even Rebbe Avraham. I could simply have lied in the temple and sworn a false oath.
And what if I had?
Mayhap Pyotr Rostov would have kept his word and freed me. And the moment I fled, I would have been in exactly the danger Aleksei had described—alone, utterly dependent on my magic, conspicuous and vulnerable when my strength failed, sure to be pursued.
Instead, I had my awkward, fledgling hero to guide me, and the rudiments of a plan. Mayhap matters had fallen out for the best after all.
“What is that?” Aleksei broke the silence, nodding at the bangle. “Some sort of charm?”
“What is your obsession with charms?” I smiled to take the sting out of my words. “No, Aleksei. It’s a bracelet. It was a gift from the Emperor of Ch’in’s daughter.” I held out my wrist. “Do you see the color? It is the exact hue of a pool beneath the peak of White Jade Mountain, where the dragon gazes at his reflection. We jumped into that pool together from a very great height, the princess and I, and it was there that the dragon’s immortal spirit was freed.”
He eyed me. “Are you teasing me again?”
“Not in the least. You could ask your uncle if he were here; he’s got it all written down. Only he made me say the dragon was a fallen spirit.”
“Was it?”
“No,” I said. “He was a dragon.” It felt good to say it aloud, as though I were reclaiming the first of many truths the Patriarch had stolen.
The sun dipped beneath low mountains on the far side of the lake, and dusk, true dusk, settled over the empty road. Aleksei and I walked side by side, the only sound our steady footfalls and the faint jangling of the chains he carried in our bundle. I listened to the pine-trees murmur in the growing darkness.
“Moirin, why not?” Aleksei asked in a low voice. “Why are you so sure you couldn’t love me? Is it that you’re still mourning the young man you told me about?”
“No,