Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [9]
I dropped back to the hearth and sat cross-legged in my travel-worn blankets, cupping my chin in both hands. "What was he like?"
"Your father?" She poked at the fire, stirring the embers. A flurry of sparks arose, chasing the feeding bats. "Passing fair to look at. They're a lovely folk, you know."
I felt insulted. "And we're not?"
Her brow furrowed."'Tis… different. There's a keenness to it, a symmetry. Like a well-tempered blade." She smiled wryly. "They certainly think well enough of themselves for it."
"Did my father?"
"No," she said slowly. "He was different. Lovely, aye, but he didn't strike me as one to use it as a weapon." She gave me a quick glance, and for the first time, I saw shyness in her. "Offer it as a gift, more like. Beauty and desire."
"Milky-white skin and green, green eyes," I said. Aye.
"What else?" I asked when she said nothing further.
My mother sighed. "What would you have me say, lass? We barely spoke. On the surface he was calm, but desire moved in him like a current, deep and strong. When I looked into his eyes, I felt it." She touched one hand to her chest. "And inside me, the voice of the diadh-anam said, Yes."
"Do D'Angelines have a diadh-anam?"
"No." She shook her head. "I know only a bit. They believe they are descended from their own gods. One was born of earth. The others…" She stirred the fire again and watched the sparks rise. "The others came from beyond the stars. One of them called him to me."
"Is it true?"
She shrugged. "Mayhap."
I thought about the bright lady. My memory had faded, but I remembered beauty as keen and deadly as a blade. It drew me and frightened me to think on it now, knowing what I knew. But the man with the seedling had been gentler and different. "Mother? In the morning, there's somewhat I wish to show you."
"All right, my heart."
In the morning, we went to the meadow to gather pennyroyal. It had passed its prime, but it would suffice to dispel the lingering odor of bat droppings once we'd driven them out. My mother cast curious glances in my direction, but asked no questions. In the meadow, I found a plant that would suit my purpose, a dandelion only just beginning to go to seed.
"This," I said. "Watch."
"'Tis an old plant, the greens will be bitter…" My mother's voice trailed off as I knelt and cupped my hands around it.
I breathed in sunlight and warmth.
Blew it out.
It was hard—harder than before. And I understood without words that it had been easier before because I'd attempted it at Midsummer, and it had been a smaller thing I'd attempted with the buttercup. The effort made me dizzy. But I held to the sense of rich, fertile brightness and kept blowing steadily until I saw black spots before my eyes. The dandelion blossomed into a sphere of gossamer seeds.
"Stone and sea," my mother whispered.
I took a few deep, gasping breaths. "Whose magic? Ours or theirs?"
"Yours," she said firmly.
"But why? What's it for?"
She crouched beside me and blew softly on the dandelion ball. An ordinary breath. The fairy seeds blew away, drifting into the warm air. She watched them go. "Must it be for anything?"
"It seems it ought."
She shrugged. "Then no doubt it will be revealed in time."
My mother could be somewhat infuriating. "I saw a vision," I said. "In Clunderry, outside the fields. A man all ringed around in brightness with a seed sprouting from the palm of his hand."
"Oh?"
Very infuriating. "Mother!"
"Peace, Moirin." She laid her hand atop my head. "Mayhap you glimpsed some fertility god worshipped by the Cullach Gorrym. Mayhap it was a sending of one of the gods of Terre d'Ange whose blood runs in your veins. I do not know. It awakened you to certain gifts, which is to the good. But you recall that the purpose of our journey was to be reminded that gifts must be used wisely?"
"Aye," I murmured.
She rose and helped me to my feet. I stood, swaying. "Was this a wise use of power? Exhausting yourself to accomplish what would have occurred naturally in two days' time?"
"I wanted to show you," I said stubbornly.
"And