Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [116]
"It is his weapon," Lo Feng said calmly. "In Ch'in, peasants are not allowed to carry blades. Bao is very skilled with a staff."
"Is he your bodyguard?"
"Among other things." He smiled at Bao, who actually smiled back at him. "He assists me with preparing medicines and tonics. He serves as my eyes and ears and my strong right arm. He is quick to learn foreign tongues. Bao is my magpie."
I wondered if Master Lo Feng would ever speak of me with the same warm affection. "I'm sorry I failed you yesterday. I would have sent word if I'd known."
"Mmm." He gave me a contemplative look. "What was this difficult matter you undertook for Raphael de Mereliot? Another healing endeavor?"
"Ah…" I'd promised not to speak of it. "In a sense."
Lo Feng thrust his fan into the sleeve of his robe and steepled his fingers. "Raphael has great promise and great skill. I have enjoyed teaching him. But he is young and ambitious. Ambition untempered by caution is like a river in flood. It leaps from its natural channels to forge the shortest course, and it sweeps away all in its path. Do not get swept away, Moirin."
I kissed his cheek impulsively. "I won't. Thank you."
His eyes crinkled. "In our culture, it is inappropriate to demonstrate affection in public thusly. But you are welcome."
The next few days passed without incident. I continued my lessons with Master Lo Feng. I began reading the Trois Milles Joies, the book Queen Jehanne had sent to me, and discovered that she had not, in fact, been teasing in anything she had taught me and that Naamah's arts were even more extensive than I'd reckoned. On an evening when Raphael was closeted with the Queen, I accepted an invitation from Prince Thierry to attend the Hall of Games, where he and a handful of young peers took great pleasure in teaching me the rudiments of piquet and jeu de table. I enjoyed myself and wished once more that my destiny, whatever it was, were less complicated—because every time I thought about the forthcoming attempt at summoning Valac, dread crept over me. It wasn't the spirit himself I feared so much as it was the way the process drained me.
Still, I did it.
On the appointed evening, we returned to the de Toluard estate, where I was greeted with a mixture of gratitude, appreciation, and resentment. Claire Fourcay and Orien de Legasse seemed particularly put out.
"They're jealous," Lianne Tremaine informed me.
"Why?" I asked. "This business isn't exactly pleasant for me."
"They've worked harder than anyone else to master the language and the rituals," she said in a pragmatic tone. "It galls them to have to depend on a young, untutored, half-breed bear-witch from the back of nowhere."
Balric Maitland laughed deep in his chest. "Especially a beautiful one."
"But not you?" I asked them.
The silversmith shook his head. "I'm a craftsman," he said simply. "I don't reckon you're after my trade."
"Nor mine," Lianne said.
"I'm not after anyone's trade!" I said in frustration. "I'm not after anything."
Lianne smiled her foxy smile. "You're after Raphael de Mereliot."
I gazed across the parlor at him. He was speaking solicitously to Claire Fourcay, soothing her ruffled feelings. Lamplight gleamed on his tawny hair. As though sensing my gaze, he glanced at me and gave me a fleeting wink. As always, my diadh-anam quickened. "I suppose."
Denis de Toluard circulated, pouring cordial. "Drink, friends! The hour is nigh. To knowledge!"
"To knowledge!" we all echoed.
Everything was the same. The sense of man-made stone closing around me. The robes, the hyssop-scented water, the medallions. The only difference was that this time the linguists had writing tablets and chalk with them. We entered the chamber and took our places. Raphael took my hand in his, entwining our fingers. His lips brushed my temple in a kiss. I wished it didn't feel so comforting.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
I nodded.
This time I didn't wait for his guidance. I knew what to expect. I saw the light-streaming doorway in my mind's eye as soon as Claire Fourcay finished