Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [77]
I looked away, willing him to believe it.
“Yes.” He nodded to himself in satisfaction. “I think it is so, child. You tried and failed. Is it not so?”
“Must you humiliate me as well?” I muttered.
“It is for the good of your soul,” he said sternly. “You must confess it.”
It seemed I could lie to the Patriarch after all—so long as it was a lie he already wished to believe.
I let my shoulders slump. “Yes, my lord,” I lied in a defeated whisper. “In the small hours of the night, when she was lonely and frightened, I sought to entice the Emperor’s daughter. I failed.”
“Good, very good.” His pen skated over the page. “The Ch’in are a heathen folk, but they have a great respect for custom and propriety,” he said in an absent tone. “Take heed from the lesson of the Emperor’s daughter, Moirin. The temptations of the flesh can be resisted. All it takes is discipline.”
I bowed my head. “Yes, my lord.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
W hen Aleksei came to read to me the following morning, he was moving stiffly, as though he were in pain.
I eyed him. “Are you hurt?”
Predictably, he flushed. “No… no!” He shrank away from me as I ignored his protestations, stooping beside the stiff-backed chair and unlacing the ties of his linen shirt, peeling back the lapels. “Moirin, please don’t.”
“Let me see.”
“No!”
I did, though. I caught a glimpse of the garment he wore beneath the outer layer of his clothing, a crude goat’s-hair vest.
My nostrils flared. “Stone and sea!” I gagged. “Aleksei, this thing is crawling with lice. How is that not unclean?”
“It helps me ignore the distraction of temptation.” He pulled away from me, lacing his shirt. “Even the lowest of the low is part of God’s creation, and may serve his purpose. Do you not see the beauty in it?”
“No.” Yesterday’s anger lingered in me. I paced my cell, taking precise, mincing steps. “No, Aleksei. I do not. I am sick unto death of hearing about your God and his everlasting fascination with things he has decided are abominations. Apparently, that includes everything in my life I have ever done that brought me joy.”
“False joy,” he whispered.
I rounded on him. “How in the name of all the gods would you know? Filled with abject terror as you are?”
He shuddered away from me.
That, and the sight of that crude, stinking vest seething with lice, broke something inside me.
I sank to my heels, covering my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I forced myself to breathe slowly, fighting a losing battle with tears.
Aleksei hovered anxiously in front of me, undone by my tears. “Don’t cry! Moirin, please.” Greatly daring, he knelt and held out his hands. “Come, pray with me. It will help, I promise.”
His glorious blue eyes were filled with genuine pity and compassion. Unlike his uncle, I’d never seen anything less in him. I took one of his hands in mine, rubbing at my tears with the other.
His breathing quickened, and his long fingers stirred in mine. I stroked them gently. “Sweet boy, do you know what I see when I look at you?” I whispered. He shook his head, tawny locks shining in the sunlight that slanted through my narrow window. “I see a bird raised in captivity, taught that his wings were a curse and flight a sin. A beautiful bird taught from birth to love his cage and fear the open sky.”
Aleksei’s lips parted. “You must not say such things!”
“It’s true.” I lifted my free hand, chains dangling. “Your uncle has clipped my wings. But he will not be content until he has broken every bone in them.”
“It’s not true!” He wrenched himself away from me, fumbling back toward the chair for his book. “I will read to you. Only… be still, and listen. I keep telling you, you must open your heart and listen, Moirin!”
“I have listened,” I said wearily. “And yes, there are moments of glory and wonder in your tales. Yes, your Yeshua sounds like a decent fellow for a god, filled with love and kindness toward mankind.