Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [168]
Amrita’s gaze lingered on mine, caring and worried. “Is that wise, Moirin?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, my lady. I hope so. But so long as the gods remain silent, who can say?”
Ten days later, the gods broke their silence; or at least the mortal agents by which they made their will known surfaced. I found out why my diadh-anam had been content to allow me to linger in Bhaktipur.
The Falconer sent for me.
I would have expected high drama, a clever assassin armed to the teeth and filled with dire threats. But no, the messenger was an utterly unprepossessing fellow, not remarkable in any way in the slightest, save his utter lack of fear at being sent to deliver such a message. The assassin, I suppose, came later.
The Rani Amrita granted him an audience, sending for both her son, Ravindra, and me to attend it.
We heard him out.
“It has come to the attention of his majesty Tarik Khaga that the Rani of Bhaktipur gives shelter to a foreign dakini of surpassing beauty and power,” the fellow droned, rocking back on his heels, his gaze raking over me with unabashed appreciation. “He demands that you send her to him immediately.”
The Rani raised her brows. “Or?”
The messenger smiled, his upper lip curling to show his teeth. “I believe your highness knows the price of refusing such a request.”
I glanced at Amrita, but she silenced me with a slight shake of her head. “We will take counsel, and give you our reply within a day.” She raised her right hand, palm outward, and there was enough quiet strength and power in the gesture that the Falconer’s messenger took an involuntary step backward. I had come to learn the meaning of some of these ritual gestures, and this one symbolized her lack of fear, and her protection of me. “Go, and return tomorrow.”
The fellow pressed his palms together and bowed. “I will do so, highness.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting from me to her to Ravindra. “Do not do anything foolish, highness,” he murmured. “The boy has already lost his father.”
“Tomorrow,” the Rani repeated.
Once he had left, we met to discuss the matter. My heart was beating fast and my chest felt too tight.
Kurugiri.
It was the opportunity I had sought, and yet… I was scared. In the old tales, Phèdre nó Delaunay had entered a terrible kingdom of death and despair to rescue the missing prince, giving herself over to the kingdom’s dark ruler. Now that the moment was upon me, I wasn’t sure I had the same courage.
“Sit and breathe, Moirin,” Amrita said gently. “Calm your thoughts.” She pressed the tips of her fingers and thumbs together in a ritual gesture intended to aid in focus and concentration, and Ravindra emulated her, his young face graver than usual. “Come, let us all think.”
I took the thinking-pose, too, and forced myself to cycle through the Five Styles of Breathing.
It helped settle my nerves, but it brought no insights. “I have to go with him, my lady,” I said. “I cannot let Tarik Khaga send his falcons after you. I will go with him, find the path to Kurugiri, find Bao. It must be what the gods intend.”
“Is that what your bear-goddess says to you?” Amrita inquired.
Frowning, I consulted my diadh-anam. It was flickering with eagerness, like coals blown into fresh flame, but it was not flaring with certainty. “I’m not sure.”
“Then there must be another way,” she said calmly. “And I would very much like to find it.”
Ravindra, who was now idly pushing pieces around the chessboard, was silent.
A thought came to me, so simple and logical that I didn’t know why it hadn’t come to me right away. “No matter what we say, the messenger has to bring our reply back to Kurugiri, does he not? I could call the twilight and follow him.”
“They know about your magic, Moirin,” Ravindra said without looking up from the chessboard. “He knew you are a dakini. It is likely that your Bao has told them