Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [159]
The bright tendrils of her gift, Naamah's gift, encompassed me, embracing and strengthening me. The blood beat harder in my veins. I sat upright in the bath, water sloshing. "Stay," I said, reaching for her. "Please, stay."
It was nice, so nice.
And best of all, Jehanne didn't leave afterward. We lay naked and entangled in bedsheets damp with bathwater and smelling of lavender and love-making. I was tired and drained, but in a good way, languid and happy, gladly undone by her immeasurable arts and charms. When I asked if I should summon a maid to help her dress, Jehanne shook her head sleepily.
"I told Daniel I meant to pass the night here if you were willing," she said in a drowsy tone. "I've missed you."
I tightened my arms around her. "That's nice to hear."
"Mmm." She planted a gentle kiss beneath my right ear. "And it cost me nothing to say it. Imagine that."
I laughed. "I missed you, too, my lady."
"So I noticed." Jehanne squirmed out of my embrace and propped herself on one arm, studying me. "This healing took quite a toll, didn't it?"
"Aye," I murmured. "It did."
She kissed my lips, soft and lingering. "I'll not speak against it, my witchling. I bade you go, and I envy you your affection for your father. He seems a kind and lovely man. So far as I know, all the world loves Brother Phanuel." Jehanne settled back to twine herself around me once more, her limbs warm and soft, her head coming to rest on my shoulder. "I'm just glad you're safely home. And I'm so very glad Raphael agreed to give his aid unstinting," she added in a low, sleep-rich voice. "It pleases me to be able to think better of him."
My heart ached.
"I'm glad, too," I whispered, wishing it were true.
The days that followed should have been pleasant ones. My father was home and healing. My strength continued to return. Spring was bursting across the land. Jehanne continued to be sweet-tempered, which put everyone around her in good spirits. I resumed my lessons with Master Lo Feng, who praised me for my sense of filial duty rather than chiding me. While his snowdrop bulbs had sunk into dormancy, there was a spark of life in them I continued to nurture.
But my oath to Raphael cast a pall over everything.
I wished, very badly, that there were someone I could speak to about it—but I couldn't. I'd sworn not to speak of it. I'd sworn by stone and sea and sky, and on my diadh-anam itself. If I broke my oath, I broke faith with the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. My diadh-anam would gutter and die inside me, my gifts would fade. And I would never know what destiny She had intended for me.
So I kept my silence.
I practiced the Five Styles of Breathing, learning to better focus my energies. As I grew more adept, Master Lo Feng gave me verses to contemplate as I breathed. I began to develop the first tenuous inklings of a grasp on the discipline he called the Way, which allowed one to live in harmony with spirit and nature. I was grateful for his wisdom and teaching, grateful for my progress. And all too aware that each day brought me closer to the day I would have to fulfill my oath to Raphael.
A part of me yearned to delay it as long as possible, but a greater part wanted it over and done with. At the end of a month's time, I reckoned I was as fit as I'd been before my father's illness. I went to Raphael's townhouse to speak with him.
This time, he received me graciously, serving me tea and pastries in the parlor. It felt passing strange to be a guest in the house where I'd lived as his consort. I wished for the thousandth time that my diadh-anam didn't flicker in his presence, that the sight of him didn't quicken my blood. Raphael dismissed his servants and closed the parlor doors.
"You look well, Moirin," he said to me. "Are you up to the task at hand?"
I took a deep breath. "Raphael… I've come to beg you to release me from my oath. Please, don't do this thing. Nothing good will come of it."
He set down his teacup. "You're frightened."
"I am," I said honestly. "Frightened for myself and