Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [151]
Jehanne shivered harder.
I didn't know if it were fear or the cold air.
The priestess gripped her shoulders. "Immerse yourself in the womb of the earth."
She hesitated, then stepped gracefully over the stone rim and sank into the warm, mineral-rich water—sank and submerged. Her pale hair floated on the surface. Milky water streamed from her as she rose. Wisps of steam rose from her skin. She looked like a young goddess newly minted at some divine forge.
"Well done," the head priestess said gently. She handed Jehanne a thick wax taper. "Now light it at the altar and make your prayer. Place the candle in Eisheth's hands."
Jehanne waded through the thigh-deep water. She bowed her head before the effigy. Her fair skin glimmered in the candle-lit cavern, the beautiful lines of her marque bisected by her wet hair.
She lit the taper. "Blessed Eisheth hear my prayer," she said in a rush, dripping wax into the effigy's cupped hands. She planted the taper firmly in the melted wax. "Open the gates of my womb."
The lit taper held and burned brightly.
Everyone sighed.
It was done.
In the weeks that followed the ceremony, Jehanne withdrew from me. She wasn't cold and distant; I received regular invitations to dinners and other functions, and she made it clear she still considered me her royal companion. But she paid no visits to my bedchamber.
I understood. Whether or not she had committed wholeheartedly to the notion of getting with child, she had committed to it, and set about doing it with considerable determination. There was precious little I could do to assist in the process, and I sensed she didn't want the sort of distraction I provided just now. So I kept myself busy. I continued my lessons with Master Lo Feng and tended to his snowdrops. I paid regular visits to the Temple of Naamah to badger Noemie for news of my father, of which there was none.
I visited other temples, hoping to get a better sense of Blessed Elua and his Companions. Some were proud and fierce, like Azza and Camael. Some were a mystery to me, like Kushiel, the administrator of atonement's cruel mercy. Grave, thoughtful Shemhazai appealed to me, and I liked best of all gentle Anael, the Good Steward, and Blessed Elua himself, whose arms were spread wide in benediction.
I accepted various invitations from Prince Thierry with gratitude, nurturing the unlikely familial bond between us.
I borrowed books from the royal library. When the marble walls of the Palace felt too oppressive, I rode Blossom on private excursions into the countryside. I didn't mind the cold air. I practiced the Five Styles of Breathing.
To their everlasting scandal and delight, I paid a visit to the good ladies Florette and Lydia. They plied me with tea and pastries, scolded me for not telling them that I was a scion of House Courcel.
"And a bear-witch in the bargain!" Lydia added in a louder tone than she intended.
I smiled into my teacup when they asked me in hushed—well, Florette's was hushed—whispers if this or that was true of Jehanne and if I ever intended to reconcile with Raphael de Mereliot.
"I've no idea," I said honestly to the latter. "He's quite angry."
"Because she crooked her finger at you and you came running." Florette shook her own finger at me. "Naughty girl!"
"That's not true!" Lydia defended me stoutly. "Our Moirin's a good girl."
I let them think what they liked since it pleased them so. Out of an obscure sense of loyalty to Raphael, I didn't wish to tell anyone that he was using me in a self-serving manner that may well have been killing me by degrees. And it only added to Jehanne's reputation to let them believe that she'd stolen me from him so easily. That, I knew she relished.
Whatever the good ladies believed, they both embraced me when I left, tears in their eyes.
Lydia patted my cheek. "Take care of yourself, child."
I did.
Still, for all its potted glory and luxuriant plant growth, my bedchamber was a lonely place