Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [185]
My lady Amrita was right. I did not disagree with what Jagrati had said. The stench of ordure could be washed away. It was foul deeds that made a person unclean.
Amrita visited several times a day, bringing Ravindra with her that he might witness Bao’s suffering and appreciate it as a cautionary tale, lest opium tempt him one day. I was not entirely sure it worked, for despite Bao’s obvious misery, Ravindra was more interested in and awed by his feat of swinging from the branch of a sprawling banyan tree in the garden to gain my balcony.
“That was a very long leap, Bao-ji,” he said with respect.
“Heh.” Bao flashed a grin at him, the first one I’d seen from him since he arrived. “I know, highness.”
“Were you afraid of falling?” Ravindra inquired.
Bao scoffed. “I never fall.”
Amrita shook her head in mild despair. “I fear he is not such a very good influence, your bad boy.”
“No.” I ruffled Bao’s damp hair. “But he seldom boasts in vain.”
Despite her gentle teasing, it was clear that Amrita too was kindly disposed toward Bao, solicitous of his suffering, and grateful for the warning and incredibly valuable information he brought.
Bao liked her, too. “Better be careful, Moirin,” he murmured after their first visit. “Your White Queen, she will be jealous of that one.”
I winced in unexpected pain.
“What?” He searched my face. “I’m sorry, was that cruel to say?”
“No.” I dipped a clean cloth in a basin of cool water, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “No, you couldn’t have known.” The words brought a lump to my throat, but I forced them out anyway. “I learned in Vralia that Jehanne died giving birth to a daughter.”
He caught his breath in a sharp hiss. “Oh, Moirin! I am sorry.”
I nodded my thanks. “You always liked her, too, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” Bao smiled a little. “She did whatever pleased her, and never apologized for it.”
“Like Jagrati?” I asked carefully.
His face clouded. “I do not want to talk about her yet. After all, you haven’t told me half of what happened to you in Vralia.”
“Nor will I, until you’re recovered.” I wrung out the cloth. “Fair enough.”
“No, not like her,” Bao said after a time. “Your Jehanne, she was not angry at the world. There was no hatred in her, only much passion. Also, she saved you from that conceited Lord Lion Mane,” he added. “And she gave much honor to Master Lo. So yes, I liked her, and I am very sorry she is gone.”
I wanted to ask him more about Jagrati, but it would wait until he was ready. And I had not told him the whole truth about Vralia yet, because I was afraid it would send him into a fury that would delay his recovery. My stubborn peasant-boy and I had a great deal to talk about.
For now I was just glad to have him back.
On the fourth day after Bao’s arrival, two things happened—both of them good, for once. The first was that the worst of the opium-sickness seemed to have passed, leaving Bao weary and drawn, but no longer racked with pains or afflicted by sweating, nausea, and worse.
I was grateful.
The second thing was that Hasan Dar’s disguised guards had caught the poisoner Divyesh Patel.
Thanks to Bao’s advice, they had been on the lookout for any strangers selling edible goods in the markets of Bhaktipur—and that was exactly what they found. One slight, nondescript, unprepossessing fellow who approached the Rani’s kitchen staff with an enticing offer of fresh-caught river fish, plump and gleaming.
The Rani’s staff dickered.
The slight fellow smiled when they came to accord, handing over his fish.
I daresay it took him by surprise when Hasan Dar’s guards seized him, discreetly pushing up his sleeves to look for the tell-tale markings of tattoos on his forearms. By all accounts, Divyesh