Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [134]
I wasn't fine.
At the banquet table, we were seated across from the Queen and her escort. Of course—Thierry was the Dauphin. He was second in rank to her. The royal chef carved exquisitely thin slices of a roasted beef loin. More servants circulated, pouring wine, serving soup in shallow bowls, dishing out ladles full of mashed tubers and roasted grains, sauteed greens sizzling in fat. Rich sauces were poured. Queen Jehanne gestured—plates were filled.
Beside her, Raphael scowled at me.
"I'm fine," I said in reply to his unspoken reprimand. I reached for my wineglass, misjudged the distance, and knocked it over. Somewhere inside, I winced.
A red stain spread on the white linen covering the table.
"Elua!" Jehanne sounded irritated. "What ails you?"
I closed my eyes. "Nothing."
"It's not nothing." Raphael rose, his voice crisp. "Your majesty, forgive me. I shouldn't have let Moirin come here tonight. She needs bed-rest. I'll escort her home."
Thierry rose, too. "The hell you will, de Mereliot! She'll stay with me."
Back and forth, they argued. With an effort, I cracked my eyes open. All I could see was their arms, braced on the banquet table as they leaned inward and shouted at one another. And Jehanne, looking at once exquisite and annoyed.
I felt homesick.
I wished my father were here.
"I'm sorry, your majesty," I murmured.
"Indeed." Jehanne's gaze flicked from my face to the arguing men and back. Through my haze of exhaustion, I realized it wasn't me who was annoying her. Something in her expression hardened as she came to a decision. "I'm going to rescue you now. Any objections?"
I put my head in my hands. "No."
"Good." She beckoned to her Captain of the Guard and issued a few curt instructions. He bowed, turned and relayed them. One of his men departed. Two others moved to take up positions behind Raphael and Thierry, laying hands on their shoulders as Queen Jehanne stood. "Gentlemen."
She didn't raise her voice; she didn't have to. It cut through their quarrel, cool and smooth as a blade. At her guardsmen's unsubtle urging, they took their seats.
"I'm taking Moirin into my custody," she informed them.
Raphael snorted. "You can't just conscript her, Jehanne! Moirin's not even a D'Angeline citizen. You don't have sovereignty over her."
"I'm not conscripting her," she replied calmly. "I'm saving her from herself, since you, my lord, seem intent on killing her by degrees—and you, your highness, are too ineffectual to do anything about it, assuming you've even noticed."
Prince Thierry swore. I hunched my shoulders together.
Raphael half rose. "Jehanne, you don't have the right!"
Her gaze was icy. "She'll come willingly."
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. The other guests watched the drama unfolding with unprecedented delight. "I hate to be the one to destroy your fondest held beliefs, but there are people in the world who don't find you irresistible, my lady."
"Are there?" Jehanne seemed to find the notion amusing. "Luckily for her, Moirin isn't one of them." She gestured and her Captain of the Guard came around the table, bowed, and offered me his arm.
"Don't." Raphael glowered across the table at me, his eyes full of stormclouds. "Name of Elua, Moirin! What earthly reason do you have to trust her?"
I looked at Jehanne.
"I kept my word," she reminded me. "I never gave you cause for regret."
"You damned, conniving, cuckolding bitch," Thierry said in a low voice. "What did you do?"
I didn't stay to hear the answer or the firestorm of gossip and speculation it was likely to ignite. I turned my head away from Raphael's furious gaze, took the captain's arm, and let him escort me from the hall.
* * *
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
After being examined by the royal chirurgeon, I fell asleep in a luxuriously appointed suite of guest-chambers, and slept like the dead.
I awoke to sunlight and greenery.
Plants.
The bedchamber was full of plants.
For a moment, all I could do was stare, disbelieving my own eyes. There were plants I recognized from the glass pavilion— palm trees and enormous ferns.