Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [129]
He kissed me.
I kissed him back, and sniffled. “I will miss you.”
“So will I.”
FORTY-FIVE
Two days later, Aleksei and I parted forever.
It hurt.
It always hurts, leaving a loved one behind. I hadn’t meant to love Aleksei. Until the moment I knew I had lost him, I hadn’t realized I did love him.
Naamah’s curse, indeed.
Gods, he was such a gentle soul! He watched me depart amid Vachir’s company of Tatars, following a southern tributary of the Ude River. He smiled in farewell, tall and broad-shouldered, raising one hand in a salute.
Our destinies tore and parted.
“May you find yours, sweet boy,” I murmured under my breath. “May you reshape your Church in a kinder, gentler image.”
I hoped he would be safe and well. I didn’t like leaving him with the Patriarch’s threat hanging over him. Aleksei had helped me escape, and he had refused to renounce me. On the other hand, he had saved his uncle’s life, and all of Udinsk had watched him do it. And I couldn’t protect him. Even if he had been willing to come with us as far as the Tatar lands, he would have returned to Vralia afterward. It was his home.
Over his protests, I’d left him one of the saddle-horses and half the remaining coin from selling the chains, along with a few supplies. Left to his own devices, Aleksei would have preferred to accept nothing, venturing out into the world like an itinerant wandering monk. I was glad I’d been able to convince him to accept what he had. Still, he was so naïve and inexperienced. I hoped it would be enough, and that the world would treat him kindly.
I wondered if I would ever know, and knew it was possible that I wouldn’t.
But mayhap I would; mayhap one day I would hear of a half-D’Angeline priest in distant Vralia who preached a doctrine of compassion and acceptance that attempted to reconcile different faiths, who had written a tract regarding his encounter with his own unlikely heretic saint.
The thought cheered me during our journey.
And I was profoundly grateful to be travelling with the Tatars, profoundly grateful for their protection. The first leg of our journey was a tense one. Gossip had spread before us, and within days, we were passing through villages where Pyotr Rostov and the Duke’s men had sought me.
In every village and settlement, people came out to stare and point, trying to pick me out among the Tatar throng.
A few times, they threw stones—small boys too foolish to be afraid, for the most part. When it happened, Chagan and the other young men dashed after them on horseback, instilling in them the fear the boys lacked.
At night when we camped, Vachir posted guards. No one came to molest us, too wary of the Tatars’ reputation for ferocity, unwilling to provoke a conflict that might escalate. Still, I was glad when we passed the last settlement and entered the wilderness of the mountain range along the southern border.
For the first time in months, I truly felt I could breathe freely.
As the days passed, my worry over Aleksei began to fade into the background of my thoughts. He had chosen his path, and there was nothing I could do to aid him in a land where my very nature was despised. He had grown so much since first I met him, and he would continue to grow and change as he made his way alone in the world, preparing to meet whatever destiny awaited him. All I could do was pray for his safety.
My worry over Bao was another matter, growing stronger as I travelled in his direction. At least he was alive, I knew that much. Since first I’d been freed from my chains, I’d sensed no change in his diadh-anam. It continued to burn low—alarmingly low, but burning nonetheless. If he was ill or injured, his condition was a stable one.
He wasn’t moving, or at least not much. The distance that separated us was great enough that I wouldn’t be able to detect