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

Naamah's Blessing (Moirin's Trilogy #3) Page 67

I would not have thought we had aught left with which to trade, but the Sapa Inca Huayna had acted with strict integrity to restore the arms and armor that Raphael had confiscated from our company. Thierry had declined to trade the swords, brigandines, and helmets, but in exchange for the bulkier pieces of plate armor, he was able to secure all he wanted.

“We’ve spoken of establishing further trade in the years to come,” Thierry told me, a faraway look in his eye. “Captain Rousse is interested in returning with an expedition of mapmakers and engineers to dredge a river passage across the isthmus. It could open up Terra Nova in a manner the Aragonians never even dreamed of.”

“You have duties at home, my lord,” I reminded him, a bit alarmed. “Terre d’Ange needs you far more than Terra Nova does.”

“I know.” Thierry sobered, his gaze returning from the distance. “Believe me, Moirin, my adventuring is done. But if I am fortunate enough to survive this and take possession of the throne, I will have the means to back such an endeavor.”

“Ambition can be a dangerous thing,” I murmured.

“Yes, I know.” He met my eyes steadily. “I watched Raphael de Mereliot descend into madness because of it. But men must have dreams, Moirin. And I watched Terre d’Ange descend into idle frivolity because my father didn’t encourage the best and brightest among us to dream boldly.” He smiled with sorrow. “He was a good man, and a fair and just ruler. But I do not wish to repeat his mistakes.”

To that, I had no reply.

“I suspect it could not be done in a single lifetime,” Septimus Rousse added. “But who better than us to attempt a beginning?” He nodded at the Sapa Inca, who was drinking freshly brewed chicha from a golden bowl. “We have a strong ally in this Quechua Emperor, and a foundation of trust on which to build. Both our nations stand to benefit.” He paused. “Denis de Toluard and I spoke often during our journey of how such a thing might be accomplished,” he added in a softer tone. “It helped pass the time and occupy our minds. I would undertake it in his memory.”

I had no reply to that, either. I lifted my own bowl of chicha. “To Denis, then, and all our fallen comrades.”

Bao’s expression was shuttered as he drank, and I knew he thought of Cusi. But when I touched his arm, he summoned a quiet smile for me. “Do you harbor any ambitions I should know about?” I asked him.

His smile widened, turning genuine. “Just the one.”

I raised my brows. “Fat babies?”

“Round as dumplings,” Bao affirmed. “Just wait.”

Balthasar Shahrizai snorted into his chicha. “Now that, I’d like to see.”

I would, too.

That night, I slept and dreamed for the first time since the night of the sacrifice. Unsurprisingly, I dreamed of walking the fields, my bare feet sinking into the loose soil, the tall stalks of maize swaying around me. In my dream, I walked alone and unattended, breathing slowly and deeply, extending my arms to brush the leaves. And in my dream, it did not surprise me when I rounded a furrow and saw my lady Jehanne awaiting me beneath the green shadows of the arching leaves, her slender figure clad incongruously in the white satin garb of her Snow Queen costume, an ermine-trimmed cloak flowing from her shoulders and brushing the earth, diamonds glittering in her fair hair.

Her head tilted a little. “Moirin.”

I smiled at her. “Aye, my lady.”

She drew nearer, the expression on her exquisite face earnest. “You know why I’ve come?”

I nodded. “To say farewell.”

“It ends here.” Jehanne’s shoulders rose and fell as she took a sharp breath. “You’ll tell my daughter I loved her?”

Again, I nodded. “Does that mean I return safely?”

She shook her head. “That, I cannot know.” Her blue-grey eyes searched mine. “I was only ever allowed to know what was needed. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Aye,” I said. “I do.”

“Aye.” Jehanne echoed the word with a smile. “Oh, Moirin!” She gestured all around her. “The world grows and changes, but a gift such as yours should not be allowed to pass from it. The world needs its ambitious dreamers, men who would shape it to their own ends. But it needs those who would keep them in check, too. The world needs its courtesans.” She touched my cheek. “And the world needs its bear-witches, my lovely savage. You won’t withdraw from it like the rest of your folk, will you?”

“No,” I said. “I have an oath to keep. Assuming we do return safely, I will divide my time between Alba and Terre d’Ange, but I will remain a part of Desirée’s life, I promise.”

“I’m glad.” Jehanne took my arm. In unspoken accord, we strolled along between the rows of tall stalks. She gave me a sparkling sidelong glance. “To think I set out to seduce you out of spite all those years ago!”

I laughed. “To think I knew, and let you.”

“Oh, please!” She squeezed my arm. “You never had a chance. Naamah’s gift runs far, far too strong in you.”

“In both of us,” I said.

“You put it to better use.” Jehanne’s lips quirked. “Though it shames me to admit it, it’s true.”

I shook my head. “You have no cause for shame.”

She walked a few paces in silence. “Would that it were true,” she said at length. “But I made choices I regret. I spent far too much time being foolish and petty, indulging my every whim and desire. I abetted Terre d’Ange’s descent into… what did Thierry call it? Idle frivolity.”

“You were young,” I murmured.

Jehanne shot me a look at once fond and wry. “I was your age now when first we met, Moirin. Look at what you’ve done.”

“Aye, and I am here because of the foolish choices I made when I was even younger,” I said mildly. “You never unleashed a fallen spirit on the world, my lady.”

She tilted her head again. “How is it you always know the right thing to say to comfort me?”

“I come from a long line of royal companions,” I said.

“True. Naamah chose wisely when she sent your father to your mother.” Jehanne paused to stroke a maize leaf. Her tone shifted as she glanced at me, the expression on her lovely face turning vulnerable. “Moirin, I’m scared.”

I halted and took her hands. “Of what?”

“Of what comes next.” Tears shone in her starry eyes. “It’s absurd, I know. For so long… has it been a long time? It’s so hard to tell here, but it feels like it. I’ve been trapped between, waiting for this moment to come, and it’s been so lonely, so very lonely. But now that it’s finally here, I’m frightened.” Freeing one hand, she wiped her eyes. “I don’t imagine I’ll be passing through the bright gate into Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond. What if I’m reborn into the world forgetting all I’ve learned? What if Daniel and Raphael are waiting for me to make the same mistakes all over again?”

“You won’t.” I pressed her hand between mine. “Jehanne, you answered your own question.”

“I did?”

“Aye,” I said. “You told Raphael we break each other’s hearts, but we mend them, too. Trust yourself.” I smiled. “You were always a great deal kinder and wiser than you pretended.”

There was sorrow in her smile. “So you always said.”

“Because it’s true.”

“My beautiful girl.” Jehanne touched my cheek again. “Once more, you find the right thing to say.”

“I quoted you,” I reminded her.

“So you did.” Leaning forward, she brushed my lips with a kiss. “You are the one love I have no cause to regret, Moirin. But for all that Naamah has blessed you, you’ll not be taking the same journey when the time comes, will you? Your final destiny lies with your bear-goddess.”

“Aye,” I said. “But I would not be so sure it is the final destiny, my lady. Master Lo Feng said that all ways lead to the Way, and he was the wisest man I’ve ever met.” I nodded at the rustling rows of maize. “Were it not for his teaching, I would not have had the strength to do this thing.” Taking a deep breath, I continued. “And I believe it is possible that there is somewhat that lies beyond even the Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond, beyond the presence of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, a vastness beyond men and gods and heavens, wherein all of us are part of a greater whole.”

“It’s a lovely notion,” Jehanne murmured. “Do you suppose it’s true?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope so.”

“I shall choose to believe it,” she said firmly. “Because it is preferable to believing in a world in which our paths never cross again, Moirin mac Fainche.” Unexpectedly, a dazzling smile lit her face. “Thank you. I had need of your gentle counsel one last time. But I think I am ready now.”

It was my turn to be dismayed. “So soon?”

“It is long past time.” Jehanne wound her soft, slender arms around my neck, gazing intently into my eyes. The intoxicating scent of her perfume mingled with the odor of fresh-turned soil and the green scent of thriving plants. “Be well,” she whispered against my lips. “Be happy. I wish you every joy, Moirin. Do not forget to tell Desirée that I loved her. Do not forget to tell your own plump babes and your reformed ruffian of a husband. He loves you very, very much, and that will see you through every darkness.”

My eyes stung. “Jehanne—”

“Naamah’s blessing on you, my beautiful girl.” She kissed me, her lips soft and tender, lingering; and I felt Naamah’s blessing break over us like a wave, like a warm, golden embrace, an enduring affirmation of the power of love and desire.

I wrapped my arms around Jehanne, holding her close.

For a moment, my lady Jehanne was there, warm and living and present in my arms. And then there was only empty sunlight sparkling in my embrace, the stalks of maize waving their blameless tassels.

I awoke with a start.

On the pallet beside me, Bao roused sleepily to prop himself on one elbow, reading my expression. “You dreamed of the White Queen?”

I nodded. “She is gone now.”

“I’m sorry.” His sympathy was sincere. “It must be hard to lose her twice.”

“It was.” I found myself smiling through tears. “But it was time. As it is ours, too. Time to go home.”

SEVENTY-FIVE

There was one last matter to be dealt with ere we could depart the empire of Tawantinsuyo. Because he had worn the crown of the Sapa Inca, no matter how briefly, the Quechua had preserved Raphael de Mereliot’s body.

“Whatever else is true, he commanded great magic,” the Sapa Inca Huayna said soberly. “There can be no place for him among our ancestors, but we did not wish to offend whatever gods he served. Do you wish to return him to your own temple?”

“We are not lugging that maniac’s carcass across the entire continent of Terra Nova,” Balthasar muttered.

Prince Thierry silenced him with a scowl, then turned to me. “Moirin, you understand these matters better than most. What are your thoughts?”

I gazed at Raphael’s face. Even beneath the cerements, one could see that he had been a beautiful man. I thought of the fallen spirit Focalor forcing his essence into him, and of the spark of lightning that had lingered in Raphael’s eyes, haunting my thoughts for so many years. What if a spark lingered even now? Having seen the dead rise and walk, I did not wish to take any chances.

“I would build a funeral pyre,” I said slowly. “Let the fire cleanse him and release any trace of the spirit that remains. Let his ashes be scattered to fertilize the fields.”

“It seems a fitting end,” the Sapa Inca Huayna said in quiet approval.

So it was done.

The Quechua built a pine-wood pyre in the temple square. There, Raphael de Mereliot’s body was cremated, his cloth-wrapped limbs twisting and blackening in flames that burned so hot they were nearly invisible in the sunlight. Now and again, a burst of sparks rose into the sky.

I thought of Focalor and wondered.

Despite everything, I did not believe the fallen spirit was evil. It was a force of destruction that had been constrained for long centuries if the legends were true, and unleashed on the world, it would have wreaked havoc. So had the ants Raphael commanded done; and yet, within their rightful habitat, they had a role to play. Mayhap the fallen spirits had a role to play, too.

If the spirit Marbas had not given me the gift of finding hidden things, my Ch’in princess would have drowned in the reflecting lake atop White Jade Mountain, the dragon would have ceased to be, and the weapons of the Divine Thunder would have been loosed on the world, altering it forever.

Mayhap even my youthful folly had a purpose. The gods use their chosen hard, but reveal little to them.

When the pyre had burned down to a few restless embers, the Quechua gathered the ashes in earthenware bowls, transporting them to the fields where they were distributed with care, churned into the soil to nourish it.

I gazed at the waving rows of maize, praying silently that Raphael’s bitter, tormented heart would find healing.

And then there was nothing left to do but say our farewells. Our supplies were gathered, our caravan in readiness. The long journey awaited us.

It was time.

“Good-bye, my sister,” I whispered in Machasu’s ear as I hugged her. “Thank you for your strength and courage, and thank you for sharing your food with me when I needed it most.”