Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [180]
I shook my head at her, wrapping my arms around my knees. “No.”
The following day, we returned to Bhaktipur. There was no tossing of flowers, no calling out of blessings. Folk in the street were silent and downcast, whispering to one another, whispering of death and cunning, skilled assassins on the way. I felt the skin between my shoulder blades grow tight and itching.
In the palace, Ravindra wept with relief to find his mother alive and well, and wept with remorse that his plan had failed us.
“Do not blame yourself, young chess-master.” His mother hugged him tight. “It was a very good plan. We shall just have to continue sleeping in the hidden room for a time, you and I.”
Ravindra gazed at me, eyes damp between tear-spiked lashes. “I am sorry about your Bao, Moirin.”
My diadh-anam gave a painful flare, setting off another wave of desire, making me shudder to the bone. “So am I, young highness.”
After we had bathed and eaten, and Ravindra had been sent away to sleep in the hidden room, Amrita insisted on sending for her physician to attend to me in my quarters, despite my protests that it would do no good. He felt at my brow and took my pulse, examined my tongue, and prescribed a diet of cooling foods.
“Yoghurt, cucumber, and mint,” the physician said, papering over uncertainty with a decisive tone. “Yes, this will help!”
Out of courtesy, I waited until he was gone to laugh in despair. “Yoghurt?”
“Oh, Moirin!” Amrita put her arms around me, worried and concerned. “Only try it, will you not?”
I buried my face in the crook of her neck. She smelled good, like flowers and spices—not as intoxicating as my lady Jehanne, but close. I kissed her throat, opened my mouth and tasted her warm skin with my tongue.
And I hadn’t the faintest idea I was doing it until I felt her stiffen in shock.
“I’m sorry!” I jerked away from her, hiding my face in my hands. “Amrita, I told you not to touch me!”
“I’m not sure I minded, actually.” There was a surprisingly pragmatic note in her musical voice. “It felt rather nice. After all, the role of the sainted widow can be a lonely one.” Her hands tugged at mine, lowering them. Reluctantly, I lifted my head and met her dark, lustrous gaze. A little silence came between us. “Would it help?” she asked me.
Like a shower of golden sparks, her words and their meaning fell drifting through my awareness.
“Yes,” I said simply.
“Well, then.” Amrita smiled at me. “You will have to show me what to do, Moirin, for I confess, I have no idea.”
“Gladly,” I whispered, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her. I felt her lips soften and part beneath mine.
The bright lady smiled, setting loose a flurry of doves.
“Oh!” Amrita sounded surprised. “Well, that is different.”
I sat back on my heels. “Does it displease you?”
“No.” She smiled at me beneath her lashes. “Not at all, actually. Show me more, Moirin.”
I did.
Gold; she was like gold, something pure and shining in the midst of this mess. And like an alchemist’s magic, her kindness transmuted the base metal of the desire that racked me into something golden and pure. I undressed her reverently until she was clad in nothing but bangles and tinkling anklets, kissing every inch of amber skin I uncovered, until she shivered and wrapped her arms around me, murmuring my name. I knew it was compassion, and not desire, that lay behind her offer, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t please her—and that alone would have been enough for me. But it was in Amrita’s nature to be generous, and she did her best to return the gift of pleasure that I showered on her.
Bit by bit, the terrible, searing need drained away from me. Afterward, I couldn’t find enough words to thank her.
“I am not sure it is necessary, dear one.” She laughed her chiming laugh. “You have considerable skill in your art.”
I smiled. “I take considerable pleasure in it.”
Amrita stretched languorously. “That cursed Jagrati was right about one thing. It was certainly interesting. You are a veritable