Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3)

Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3) Page 52

She gave me a bobbing salute. “Later I come, yes?”

“Yes, fine. Are you well?” I asked. “Sick?”

“No, no.” Cusi shook her head. “Later!” With that, she took off at a run across the terraced field, clutching her skirts and raising them above her ankles. My attendant ants roiled briefly in confusion before rejoining the stream of field sentries.

Balthasar gave a humorless chuckle. “Scared of ghosts, do you reckon?”

“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “My lady Jehanne came to me in a dream last night. If I understood her aright, gaining the trust of the Quechua women is somehow the key to thwarting Raphael.”

“You’re good at that,” Bao commented.

“Aye.” I gazed after the receding figure. “But she’s not opened to me, and I’ve only been making a muddle of things.” I sighed. “My oath… Bao, I fear I’m forsworn no matter what I do.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

My lips had gone dry again, and I licked them in vain. “Raphael… he’s conceived this notion of returning to Terre d’Ange and wedding Desirée himself. A younger version of Jehanne he can mold to his liking.”

Thierry swore violently.

“I’m sorry, your highness!” My eyes burned. “I’d no idea he’d imagine such a thing! And I’m Desirée’s oath-sworn protector. If I fail to aid Raphael, I break my oath to him. If I do aid him, I break my oath to her.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t change anything, not really. When the moment comes, I have to break my oath to Raphael, I know I do. And once it’s done, my magic will die with my diadh-anam. That door will be closed forever. And… and Bao…” I wiped my eyes. “Ah, gods! You died a hero. I hope the Maiden of Gentle Aspect will still be waiting for you in the afterlife to spare you judgment of the Yama Kings.”

Bao grabbed my shoulders and gave me a little shake. “Moirin, it would solve nothing. Your prince would still be trapped with the Mad Ant-Lord of Tawantinsuyo, and Desirée would still be betrothed to that loathsome little wretch. Calm down. Be patient. There has to be another way.”

It did calm me. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Listen to the White Queen,” he said. “Raphael’s still mortal, isn’t he?” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s as simple as convincing one of the women to poison his dinner or stab him in his sleep, huh?”

“I have to say, I like the way your mind works,” Balthasar said to Bao.

I took a deep breath. “I would that it were that simple. I’d call the twilight and kill him myself if it were. But Raphael’s made it clear that if any harm befalls him, we’ll all be put to death.” My voice hardened. “Still, you’re right. There must be a way. The gods would not have sent us here if there were not. Whatever it is, I will find it.”

Bao grinned, his dark eyes gleaming. “Good girl.”

Accompanied by my escort of ants, I made the long trek around the mountain and over the terraces.

I felt guilty at having given in to fear and weakness. The miserable failure of my attempt to appeal to Raphael’s better nature, which had had the exact opposite effect I’d hoped, had shaken me more than I reckoned, making me unsure of myself. But the memory of Bao’s fierce grin bolstered me. If my stubborn peasant-boy was nowhere ready to surrender, neither was I.

In the palace, I found my quarters empty. The ants swarmed up the sisal rope, forming their writhing ball.

“It’s not your fault,” I said to them. “You didn’t choose this either, did you? I do not blame you.”

The outermost layer clicked their mandibles at me. With reluctance, I touched their thoughts.

They were hungry.

Cusi was supposed to attend to their needs, but she was nowhere in sight. I ventured into the courtyard garden, the ants swarming back down the rope to follow me. One by one, I gathered all the fruits from the tree I’d quickened, splitting them open and laying them on the ground.

The grateful ants poured over them, devouring the sweet pink pulp from the inside out. I spotted their queen among them, several times larger than her subjects.

It occurred to me that if I could touch their thoughts, mayhap I could influence them, too. I could do it with larger, more sentient animals. For the better part of an hour, I tried to no avail. Their hive mind was too alien, responding only to their own language of scent. I wondered how Raphael had learned to manipulate his own.

I wondered, too, what would happen if I killed the queen of this colony—if it would render them rudderless, or if Raphael somehow functioned as the queen of queens in the ant world.

Although I was tempted to try the experiment, in the end, I stayed my hand; partly from the knowledge that there must be hundreds of colonies functioning under Raphael’s command with queens to spare, and partly out of fear that this one might turn on me if I did. The thought of being swarmed by thousands of bereaved drones made my skin crawl.

At least I felt as though my wits were working once more, which made the situation seem a little less hopeless.

To wash away the illusory sensation of ants crawling over me, not to mention the day’s sweat, I bathed in the artificial waterfall. After scrubbing myself thoroughly with a soapy root, I closed my eyes and let the water pour over me, willing it to further clear my thoughts.

When I opened my eyes, through the streams of water cascading over me, I saw two figures standing in the courtyard.

Stifling my surprise, I stepped naked from the waterfall. One of the figures was Cusi, biting her lower lip and eyeing me uncertainly. The other was an older woman with iron-grey streaking her black hair. She had intelligent, watchful eyes and a bearing that indicated she was someone of status.

Ignoring my nakedness, I shifted my hands into a mudra of respect and inclined my dripping head to her. “Rimaykullaykil, my lady.”

The old woman pursed her mouth and looked me up and down, her face impassive. Murmuring apologies in two tongues, Cusi darted forward with a clean garment of fine-combed wool dyed a bright saffron hue, helping me to don it.

“This is Ocllo,” she said to me, indicating the other woman. “She is old and wise. Not like me.”

I smiled at Ocllo. “Well met, my lady.”

She folded her arms over her chest, glowering, and declined to return my smile. “Cusi say you make the guayabo tree’s fruit to ripen.” She pointed at the tree with its branches barren of aught but dark green leaves. “But I do not see it.”

I pointed to the stream of ants circling the courtyard. “I fed it to them.”

Ocllo’s nostrils flared. “True?”

“True,” I said.

“Do it again,” Ocllo demanded. “Do it for me!”

I shook my head. “That tree is tired. I forced it past its season. It is too soon. Choose another.”

Stalking the courtyard, the old woman examined various trees and shrubs, settling on a tough, woody vine that stretched between two trees, narrow leaves and tight-knit buds dotting its length. “This one.”

I summoned the twilight.

I touched the vine and breathed on it.

One by one, the furled buds opened and blossomed, pink and crimson petals spreading to greet the sunlight.

“Well!” Ocllo studied the vine, poking and prodding, nodding to herself. “Well, well, well! It seems Cusi speaks true.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Why are you here, my lady? Have you questions for me? I promise, I will answer them honestly.”

Ocllo fixed me with a gimlet gaze. “What do you know of the Temple of the Ancestors?”

It was not a question I had expected, and I blinked at it. “I know it is where Lord Pachacuti intends to be coronated.”

“Nothing more?” she pressed me.

“Do you ask about the spirit he intends to summon there?” I glanced at Cusi. “I know you were listening; there’s no point in pretending otherwise.”

“I will ask about the spirit later,” Ocllo said impatiently. “Now I ask about the Temple of the Ancestors. What do you know of it?”

I spread my hands. “I know it is located in the city of Qusqu, nothing more.”

The old woman leaned forward, her face inches from mine as she searched my gaze. “Who betrayed the secret of the ancestors to you? Is it the old Nahuatl trader? I know that one from years before. Always trying to seduce the Maidens of the Sun. If anyone finds it, it is him, even though it is forbidden.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about!” I said in frustration. “I’m sorry, my lady! I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

The women withdrew a few paces and conferred in rapid Quechua in low voices. After a moment, they returned.

“There is one among your men who is not like the others.” Ocllo pulled at the corners of her eyes, then mimed Bao’s gold hoop earrings and the zig-zag tattoos on his forearms. “The one you say to Lord Pachacuti is your husband.”

“Aye, his name is Bao,” I said. “He is from Ch’in, from a country far away, farther than Terre d’Ange.”

Her dark eyes were intent. “Cusi says that one says he have died before.”

I was silent a moment, remembering the Patriarch of Riva. He’d reckoned the claim a sin, and forced me to recant it. I knew very little of Quechua faith and I feared to give offense. But I had promised to speak the truth; and anyway, Cusi had already heard the claim. “Yes,” I said at length. “It’s true.”

“He went to the land of death?” Ocllo asked. “All the way? And came back?” She pointed at the flowering vine. “You brought him back like so?”

“Not alone,” I said. “There was another man, a man who loved Bao like a son. He gave his life for him.”

Ocllo inhaled sharply. “I see.”

“May I ask what all this is about, my lady?” I inquired politely. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand at all.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It is too soon. Later, maybe. I do not know.” She made a magnanimous gesture. “You may ask something else.”

I thought. “Does Lord Pachacuti know the secret of the ancestors?”

The old woman’s shrewd eyes glinted. “If he is a god, yes.”

I held her gaze. “And if he is not?”

“Then we will see.” Ocllo glanced at the sun. “Now I must go and you to make ready. Lord Pachacuti wishes to dine with you.”

More confused than ever, I watched her go.

FIFTY-EIGHT

One thing was certain, Lord Pachacuti lived very well in Vilcabamba. The wealth of the Quechua had not been exaggerated. The meal was a veritable feast, all of it served on plates of solid gold.

It felt strange to sit across the table from Raphael as I had so many times in his townhouse in the City of Elua; only this time, we were enemies in a foreign land, served by Quechua maidens with downcast eyes, a seething ball of ants hanging near our table. From time to time, one would scuttle down the rope and across the table, and Raphael would dip into his basket and place a leaf before it as though rewarding a favored pet.

“Do they all obey you?” I asked him. “Or is it just the queens who take their orders from you?”

“Plotting, Moirin?” Raphael smiled sidelong at me, stroking the thorax of his latest visitor with one fingertip.

“Curious,” I said. “And I must confess, I cannot imagine how you learned to do it.”

“That is because you lack Caim’s gift, as well as a physician’s intimate knowledge of the body’s humors.” A dreamy expression crossed his face. “I spent many hours in the jungle learning to discipline mine and assert my dominance. Many, many hours.” His face clearing, he fed the ant a leaf. “Allow me to spare you the effort. All of them answer to me. You’ll get nowhere by attempting to kill my queens.”

“My thanks,” I said. “It’s generous of you to acknowledge it.”

Raphael shrugged. “I’m fond of them and I’d prefer you didn’t attempt to stomp them to death for no good cause.”

I glanced around the room. All of the maidens, including Cusi, avoided my gaze. “Why did you ask me here tonight?”

“Would you believe I’m lonely?” he asked wryly.

I considered him. “Aye, I would.”

He looked away. “What I mean to do is a glorious undertaking, Moirin. It will remake the world itself. I’d ask you to attempt to understand it.”

“Explain it to me,” I said.

Raphael shook his head. “We’ll speak more of it later. Tell me more of this curiosity of yours. I’m interested in knowing how you think to wriggle out of your oath. What else are you curious about?”

I pointed at the basket of leaves. “Those.”

“Ah.” His brows rose. “The sacred herb of emperors.” He pushed the basket across the table toward me. “Try it.”

I hesitated.

“It’s not poison, Moirin.” Raphael plucked out a few leaves, shoving them into his mouth and chewing them into a wad he tucked into his cheek. “Just try it.”

I did.

The leaves had an astringent taste and spread a tingling numbness over my lips and tongue, trickling down my throat. But as I chewed them, I began to feel more optimistic, energized, and clear-headed than I had for many days. Another time, it might have been pleasant. Under the circumstances, it was a bit unnerving. I didn’t dare allow myself to trust the sensation.