Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [128]
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CHAPTER FORTY
My father stayed in the City for a whole month. It was the nicest time I'd had since I came there. The scholarly members of the Circle had retreated into their arcane research. In the absence of activity, the rumors faded as the gossipmongers of Terre d'Ange moved on to the next topic.
My strength returned, drip by drip.
To be sure, there were setbacks. Raphael concentrated on his work as a physician. A few times, he asked my aid, but only in times of dire need. That, I couldn't begrudge. Together, we saved the life of a woman in childbirth—the young Marquise d'Ilon. She'd begun bleeding heavily during labor.
We staunched the bloodflow, Raphael and I.
There were times when I thought I did love him, and that was one of them. When he placed the squalling babe in the grateful young mother's arms and grinned at me through his exhaustion, hair plastered to his brow. He'd attended her while she labored for hours before he sent for me, knowing the toll it would take to aid him.
There were times when I didn't.
There was Jehanne—always Jehanne. The three of us existed in an uneasy truce. The City thrived on discussing it. But it seemed for the moment that she tolerated me and was issuing no ultimatums.
There was Thierry.
He was stubborn and persistent, wooing me with a mix of patience and humor. And he was good company. During those times that Raphael was either attending the Queen or occupied with his duties, I accepted Thierry's invitation to escort me to various functions.
I attended the theater for the first time with him.
I heard my first harpsichord concert.
These were wondrous and magical things to me, and Thierry reveled in sharing them with me. I liked that about him.
I just didn't love him.
But for the most part, I kept up my lessons with Master Lo Feng and I spent as much time as I could with my father.
He liked to walk the City and I liked to walk it with him. I loved seeing that mantle of grace that spread in his wake. He went to the richest and the poorest quarters. It made no difference to him. From time to time, bold strangers, men and women alike, would approach him, fingering the folds of his robes.
"Will you invoke Naamah's blessing for me, Brother?" they would ask.
When he was with me, he always shook his head. "Today, I can give you only my own good wishes."
"What's the difference?" I asked him the first time it happened.
My father smiled at me sidelong.
I understood. "Oh."
I thought a lot about that—the act of love as a benediction, a physical manifestation of divine grace.
It was a lovely notion.
It was a very D'Angeline notion.
And it was something I yearned for. I understood it in the marrow of my bones. It was the source of the infinite brilliance behind the bright lady's smile. And there was passion and compassion and glory and wonder in it. And there was nothing in it that brought sorrow to the magnificent gaze of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself.
One day, I thought, I would know it.
I learned the last of the Five Styles of Breathing—the Breath of Wind's Sigh. For this, Master Lo Feng held the lesson in a bell tower at the Academy. Its arched windows were open to the winter winds. Bao spread our mats on the narrow walkway. A great bronze bell hovered above our heads, the pull-rope dangling into the tower's void.
Gusts flickered through the open tower. It was cold, and I breathed the Breath of Embers Glowing until I was warm enough to concentrate.
"Feel the wind." Master Lo Feng inhaled deeply through his nose. "Draw it into you. Up and up and up." He tapped the space between his eyes. "Here."
I breathed.
Up and up and up.
I felt very sharp and keen, my thoughts focused.
"Let it go."
I let it go.
Another tap. "Take it back."
I took it back.
Like everything Master Lo Feng had taught me, it was the same and different all at once. I breathed in and out. The wintry wind played over my skin, tugged at the folds of my cloak. The space behind my eyes expanded and contracted. I felt weightless and airy, as though I could leap from the tower,