Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [74]
She didn’t pretend not to understand. “Aleksei’s father?”
I nodded.
“Just a man.” Valentina dabbed at her eyes. “He was a young D’Angeline diplomat in Vralgrad. I was a young bride wed to an elderly groom, a match meant to bring prestige to the Rostov family.”
“This man tempted you?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “I let it happen. I wanted it to happen, wanted him. All that youth and unholy beauty. Aleksei’s father told me no lies, made me no false promises. Nonetheless, I fell in love and broke my heart against him.”
“Men can be careless,” I murmured, thinking of Raphael de Mereliot, thinking of Bao and his Tatar princess.
“Yes, they can.” We regarded each other.
“Give my brother whatever he wants,” Valentina said softly. “He is not given to making idle threats. I don’t know how much time you have.”
“Will you not help me?” I asked. “Please?”
She shook her head from side to side, slow and deliberate. “I am sure of nothing. I have made mistakes. Forgive me, Moirin. God has decreed your person a battleground. I dare not intervene.”
“My lady Valentina!” I called after her as she made for the door. She paused, raising her brows in inquiry. I smiled at her, a genuine smile. Even though she had refused me, I could not help but pity her. “Not so very old, nor so careworn that I do not see the beauty your young D’Angeline diplomat saw in you. Careless or no, he must have accounted himself a fortunate fellow.”
Tears shone in her velvet-brown eyes, and she gave a harsh laugh. “I’d rather you weren’t kind.”
I shrugged. “That is your burden to bear.”
That afternoon, the Patriarch of Riva returned to hear my continuing confession.
I dreaded it.
I didn’t want to speak of Jehanne to him. Against all odds, it had become one of the purest and best things in my life.
He would taint it, of that I was sure.
He settled into the straight-backed chair, settling his portable writing desk on his lap. His dark eyes gleamed at me, his pen hovering over the virgin pages.
“So,” he began in a conversational manner. “Tell me of the whore-queen, Jehanne de la Courcel.”
I held back only what I dared. The Patriarch did not know how early in our acquaintance Jehanne had seduced me—no one did, save the Dowayne of Cereus House. He knew what the rest of the world knew, that Jehanne had stolen me away from Raphael de Mereliot at a dinner party.
“You became her…” He glanced at his notes. “Royal companion? Tell me of this practice.”
“It was a jest of sorts at first between us,” I said candidly. “I was all wrong for it. A royal companion is meant to be someone older and wiser. Skilled in Naamah’s arts, aye, but willing to offer loyalty above all else.”
He studied me. “And you come from a long line of these… royal companions, is that not true?”
“Yes.” My palms were itching and sweating. “The tradition began with my great-great-grandmother, who served as royal companion to the Dauphine Sidonie. My father served as royal companion to the Duc de Barthelme.”
“Fascinating,” the Patriarch murmured. “Is a royal companion always of the same sex as his master or her mistress?”
“As far as I know, yes.”
He stroked his beard. “Very cunning. So Naamah’s Order seeks to corrupt and debauch the flower of D’Angeline nobility from a youthful age, enticing them into unnatural perversions.”
“No.” I rubbed my palms on my dress. “It is only because a royal companion is meant to be a friend, and it is easier to forge a friendship with someone of the same sex, especially at a young age. Men and women take different paths to adulthood.”
Pyotr Rostov scowled. “It is a pretty argument to hide an ugly, sordid truth.”
I shook my head, unwilling to relent. “My lord, I have not lied to you. Loyalty is the most important aspect—the ability to give them one person they can trust without fear, one friend who will keep all their confidences. That is the one gift