Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [166]
“Only to us, young one.” Amrita touched my arm again, stroking it gently. “The gods take a longer view, one that spans many lifetimes. The wheel of rebirth turns, and we carry our kharma with us, life after life. None of us can escape it. And who are you to argue against accepting your kharma?” She gave me a sweet, rueful smile. “It seems to me that your gods have set you a very difficult fate, and you have accepted it, no matter how unfair it is to you.”
“Aye, but…”
Her dark eyes were inquiring. “Yes?”
I touched my chest. “We are different, we of the Maghuin Dhonn. She Herself, She gave us a spark to follow. A thing to guide us. Even so, we make mistakes.” I shook my head, frustrated. “In Vralia, I saw. Sometimes men with a hunger for power try to shape the gods to fit their ideas. Priests, even. Maybe it happens here, too.”
Amrita was quiet for a long while, the palanquin jogging beneath us. “That is a grave thought, Moirin,” she said eventually.
“Aye,” I agreed. “It is.”
She met my gaze, fearless and steady. “I will think on it.”
FIFTY-NINE
Offerings.
So many offered, so many made! I did my best to obey my lady Amrita’s advice and keep my heart open, waiting for the guidance of the gods—hers or mine.
Other than the constant shadow of foreboding, it was a pleasant time. I liked visiting the temples. Although the issue of the untouchables continued to trouble me, I liked Bhaktipur and its folk.
I continued to be a little bit in love with Amrita; and I grew passing fond of her son, Ravindra, too. He was such a somber, polite young lad, more like a miniature adult than a child. At times it made me smile, but he had the keen wits to match his demeanor, and when he spoke, I took care to listen. It was understood that when Ravindra turned sixteen, his mother would relinquish the throne that had been his father’s to him, and the boy took his impending duty seriously, immersing himself in his studies.
It was the custom of mother and son to converse over a game of chess after the evening meal, and it pleased them to have me join them.
It pleased me, too. The Bhodistani chess set they used was a gorgeous thing, with ornate pieces carved of ivory. I especially liked the knights, which were elephants with ruby eyes and tiny riders.
I liked to watch Amrita and Ravindra concentrate, heads bent over the black-and-white marble board. Betimes it made me think of old tales, of how Prince Imriel had disguised himself with magic and wooed his Princess Sidonie with games of chess when she was under Carthage’s spell and did not know herself. It was a tale with a glad ending, which made me hopeful.
Betimes it made me think of my lady Jehanne, which was poignant and bittersweet. If she had lived, she would have been Amrita’s age by now, I thought. It grieved me to think that Jehanne’s daughter would grow up without ever knowing her enchanting, vexing mother.
“Why such a sad look tonight, Moirin?” Amrita inquired the first time it happened, noticing my melancholy. They had finished their game, Ravindra had departed for bed, and we were enjoying cups of tea spiced with cardamom and sweetened with honey. “Are you worried that the gods have not spoken to you yet?”
“No.” I shook my head. So long as my diadh-anam remained quiet and Bao’s was unchanged, I was not worried—or at least no more than I had been. “Thinking of the past, only.” I had not told her the whole of my history. “In Terre d’Ange, I served as Queen Jehanne’s companion. When I left, she was with child.”
“Ah, very good!” she exclaimed.
I smiled with sorrow. “Yes and no, my lady. I learned in Vralia that my lady Jehanne died in childbirth. Watching you and Ravindra…” I shrugged. “It makes me sad. Glad for you, but sad for Jehanne and her daughter, who will never know her mother.”
“Oh!” Compassion flooded her features. “I am sorry, very sorry.” Sipping her tea, Amrita studied me. “I think you loved her very much, this queen,” she said gently. “I know something of D’Angelines and their customs, and your face is much the same as