Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [78]
"Mayhap. But it doesn't feel that way." I wiped away a stray tear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your evening."
"Oh, I'd say I made a fair job of that myself," Raphael said wryly. "Please, don't apologize. Talk is healing. It's the unexamined wound that festers."
Like yours, I almost said, remembering that he'd never discussed his parents' deaths with anyone. But I bit my tongue on the thought.
Outside the door to my guest-chamber, he gave me a tender, lingering kiss, tasting of wine and apology. When I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder, he held me. His arms felt strong and good around me.
"Moirin?" His breath stirred my hair.
"Hmm?"
"Did you happen to fend off a pair of highwaymen with a bow and arrow on your journey to the City?" he asked. I looked up in surprise. Raphael gazed down at me, his eyes glinting with amusement. "There's a tale a pair of dowagers are spreading about a young woman who shared their coach. A very singular green-eyed young woman of mixed heritage. Denis heard it in a wineshop and thought I might like to know."
"Ah." I smiled at him. "Well, I might have. Actually, I might have shot one in the leg from an, um, unseen perspective. But the good ladies didn't know that part because they had the curtains drawn."
"The good ladies?" he repeated.
"They were kind in their own way," I said. "Florette d'Aubert and Lydia Postel. After tomorrow, I ought to pay them a visit. Do you know them?"
"Most assuredly not." Raphael kissed me again, slow and deliberate. "You're really not what one would expect, are you?"
My head spun. "No?"
"No." He let me go and made a bow. "On the morrow?"
"On the morrow," I agreed.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"Stone and sea!" I breathed in the palace courtyard. "It's just a building like any other," Raphael assured me. "Only larger."
"So you say." I gazed at the storied tiers and spires, the expanse of carved marble and granite looming above us. "Only understand that this architecture is as wondrous to me as any gift I might carry in my blood."
He inclined his head. "Fairly spoken."
Guards in the blue livery of House Courcel ushered us through the massive doors. I couldn't repress a shudder upon entering the overwhelming edifice. I'd grown more accustomed to being indoors, but this was far and beyond any man-made structure I'd ever encountered. When the doors closed behind us, my breath came short.
"Are you all right?" Raphael inquired.
I nodded. "One moment." Raphael's footman Jean-Michel was a step behind us, carrying a gift intended for the King—a rare orchid in a blue and white porcelain pot. He halted with a bemused look when I turned to touch the orchid, stroking its delicate purple petals. I breathed in its faint, sweet scent and felt better. "Let's go. I'll be fine."
"If you're not, tell me." Raphael settled my hand on his arm and gave me a serious look. "A gathering of this sort has overwhelmed more experienced souls, Moirin. And remember, you're still recovering from your injuries."
"Oh, those," I said dismissively.
"Yes, those." He squeezed my fingers. "Promise?"
"Yes, my lord physician." I looked up at him under my lashes. "If I survive the evening, are you prepared to pronounce me quite recovered?"
His unreasonably gorgeous mouth quirked. "We'll see."
We proceeded down wide, gleaming marble halls. Servants and guards gave us curious looks. I could hear a whispering tide of gossip trailing in our wake. There was a queue of peers outside the doors to the great hall where the King's fete was being held. I gazed at a dozen backs clad in velvet and satin and brocade, my nerves strung taut. There was a royal herald announcing each set of guests as they were admitted. All too soon, it was our turn. Raphael presented his invitation, printed on thick, creamy paper.
"My lord de Mereliot." The herald inclined his head, then looked at me. A crease formed between his brows. "And your companion?"
"Lady Moirin mac Fainche," Raphael informed him.
The herald repeated it soundlessly,