Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [129]
It was a good month.
It came to an end when another set of troubled lovers came to the temple to ask for aid—a pair of young Azzallese noblemen who had sworn an eternal lovers' oath in defiance of both their families. In turn, their families had disinherited them.
"I don't care about wealth or estates," the older of the two said fiercely, his hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. He had coal-black hair and an imperious manner. "But I'm a scion of House Trevalion. I want my name back."
"Armande…" the other said soothingly. "Be nice. He's trying to help."
My father spoke to them at length in private and agreed to speak to the families.
I wished he weren't leaving again so soon. "Do you have to go? A little humility might do that prickly fellow good."
He laughed. "Azza's line doesn't humble easily. And yes, I have to go. It's in keeping with my vows and the tradition of this temple."
"Why don't their families want them together?" I asked. "Is it a matter of status?"
"No, but it's a matter of inheritance," he said. "Their families expect them to carry on their bloodlines one day. The oath they've sworn binds them to each other alone until death parts them." He smiled at me. "Young men can be extreme in their passions. Nine times out of ten, it mellows with age. They change their minds when they begin thinking about heirs of their own."
"But not always," I said.
"No," my father agreed. "And if they don't, it means Elua's hand truly joined them. Either way, I'm sure I can convince the families to relent for now."
"I'm sure you can."
He cocked his head at me. "Would you like to come with me?"
My heart leapt—and my diadh-anam flickered, dimming. "I can't," I said sadly. "I don't think I'm meant to."
My father shook his head. "You and your destiny."
"It's very inconvenient," I said.
He kissed my forehead. "I'll be back before the Longest Night. Do you think you might manage to stay out of trouble until then?"
"I'll try," I promised.
Things changed once my father was gone. Exactly why, I couldn't have said; it wasn't as though he did anything specific to ease life's travails. But his presence was a balm in my life, oil spread over troubled waters. Once he was gone, the stormclouds gathered and the waters roiled.
First, I quarrelled with Thierry.
It was entirely by accident that I overheard him in the Hall of Games, bantering with Marc de Thibideau—whose broken leg was quite well healed—and Balthasar Shahrizai over a dice table. For once, I wasn't eavesdropping. We'd made an appointment. I'd just misgauged the time and arrived early.
"—passel of little witchling babes," Balthasar was saying in a teasing tone. "Do you suppose she'd want to swaddle them in bearskins?"
"Name of Elua, man!" Thierry laughed. They all laughed. "Have you lost your mind? Don't be absurd. I'd never wed Moirin."
I froze.
Marc de Thibideau saw me first. A flush of hot blood stained his fair cheeks. He'd begged me not to leave him a cripple, and I hadn't. Balthasar Shahrizai raised his brows and fell silent.
Thierry turned and stammered my name.
"You know," I said to him, "it's not as though I had the slightest interest in wedding you. And yet to find you speaking so dismissively of the notion among your companions hurts nonetheless. I thought we were better friends."
I walked out.
He let me go.
And then there was the Circle of Shalomon.
Denis de Toluard called for a meeting at his country estate. Insofar as such events had gone, this one at least began pleasantly. We had a lengthy and extensive meal with course after course, and a different wine served with each one. Member after member offered toasts to knowledge and their pursuit. Afterward, there was pungent cheese and perry brandy.
"Moirin." Denis leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Raphael said you promised to hear us out. Will you?"
I glanced at Raphael. "I also said you would be wasting your breath. But I will keep my promise and listen."
Denis nodded at Claire Fourcay. "Go ahead."
Her eyes shone. "Orien and I have dug deep into the archives,