Naamah's Curse (Moirin's Trilogy #2)

Naamah's Curse (Moirin's Trilogy #2) Page 71

I hoped he would.

I thought he might.

Flowers worked their way loose from hastily strung garlands, floating down the river. We waded dripping out of the river, shivering in the cool air, glad to be met with warm blankets and clean, dry clothing.

Priests kindled the sacred fires and sang.

Everywhere, faces glowed.

Bao wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned gratefully into his embrace once more. “The world has changed a little bit today, huh?” he murmured in my ear.

I nodded. “For the better.”

“I wonder what’s next for us,” he mused. “For there will be a next, Moirin.”

“I know.” I lifted my head to kiss him, my lips lingering on his. “But for now, can we not just be happy?”

Bao smiled at me. “For now, yes.”

EIGHTY-ONE

The months that followed were a time of near-perfect happiness. A sense of benediction hovered over the valley and the celebratory mood lingered.

It was not entirely perfect; here and there, there were folk embittered by the change, folk who refused to have any dealings with the former untouchables or threatened violence against them. The Rani levied a system of steep fines against them, putting the money gathered toward the construction of a new school, and in time even the last holdouts gave way with grudging reluctance.

But for the most part, all was well. Too many people had witnessed the miracle of marigolds bursting forth from the earth and steam rising from the surface of the Bhasa River to doubt the will of the gods.

I was happy, very happy. I had the company of my lovely Rani Amrita and her clever son, who attempted in vain to teach me to play chess. I had the pleasure of spending time with the tulku Laysa and the other women of the harem, watching them blossom in their newfound home, watching their children run and play in the garden, free forever more from the stark tyranny of Kurugiri, watching serious Ravindra abandon his dignity to laugh and play among them.

And I had Bao.

It was a good time for us, the first time since we had been together on the greatship that there was no shadow that lay between us. No dragon’s jealousy, no angry, jilted Tatar princess. No Patriarch to sully our union with his vile thoughts, no conspiracy to separate us by leagues and leagues, no hate-filled Spider Queen in her lair.

And for once, there was no destiny goading us—no princess to rescue, no assassins to thwart, no fortress to invade. Somewhere to the west, further oceans beckoned, but for now, our shared diadh-anam was content to let us rest.

We learned to be together as friends and lovers, learned to live with ordinary happiness as well as the divine spark that joined us.

“He is good with children, that one,” my lady Amrita observed, watching Bao entertain Ravindra and the others, walking upside down on his hands and challenging them to a race. “Will you start a family after you are wed?”

“Someday, yes.” I smiled wistfully. “Not for a while, I think. I fear the gods are not done with us.”

She sighed. “I wish the world were not so very large! I would so like to see your children playing in this very garden.”

I took her hand and squeezed it. “So would I. But our lives will always be the richer for having known you.”

Having lost his absurd race and been toppled ignominiously by a horde of delighted children, Bao came over to console himself with a cool drink.

“Amrita thinks you will be a good father one day,” I informed him.

Bao grinned at me. “I will be an excellent father, O queen of my heart. Our children will deserve nothing less.”

I flushed at the unexpected endearment, the first Bao had ever given me. His grin softened into a lopsided smile, and we gazed foolishly at each other, still learning this business of being in love.

Amrita shook her head at us both. “I would say your wedding day cannot come too soon,” she said fondly. “Except I know my D’Angeline dakini and my bad boy Bao have not bothered to wait for it.”

“Oh, but we are looking forward to it,” Bao assured her. “Very much so!”

“I am glad.” She arranged her fingers in a mudra and took on a serious look. “There is one great favor I would ask of you, my heroes. As much as I do not like to think of your leaving, I know you must go. Will you take Kamadeva’s diamond with you, and restore it to the temple from which it was taken? It is not far from your path, and there is no one else in the world I would rather trust to do it.”

Bao gave me an inquiring glance, and I nodded. With the diamond locked safe in a coffer, I had not been tempted by it. “Of course.” He bowed deeply to the Rani in the Ch’in manner, hand over fist. “It is the least we can do for the trouble we led to your doorstep, highness.”

She smiled at him. “On the balance, you have brought far more joy than sorrow. So I will count it as a kindness, and be grateful.”

One by one, the happy days fled.

A part of me wanted to cling to them, wanted the world to slow in its turning, to stay here in this charmed valley with people I had come to love, and be happy as long as I was allowed. A part of me welcomed it, yearning to return home, longing for just one glimpse of my mother’s face.

I wondered what she would make of Bao.

I had a feeling they would like one another, my taciturn mother and my insolent, irrepressible magpie.

In the Rani Amrita’s capable hands, the plans for our wedding proceeded apace. To be sure, it would be an untraditional affair. Family, that vast, extended web that was a cornerstone of Bhodistani society, would not come into play here. There would be no dowry, no symbolic transfer of power as I moved from my parents’ household to that of my husband.

“Still!” Amrita said in a firm voice. “It will be a very, very splendid celebration, and certain things will be observed.”

Certain things meant petitioning the elephant-headed god Ganesha to remove any obstacles to our union.

Certain things meant another ritual in which a priest smeared a dot of red turmeric powder on my brow and Bao’s.

Certain things meant that I must sit still for hours on end while a special artist applied intricate designs of henna paste to my hands, arms, and feet, rendering me beautiful after the manner of every Bhodistani bride.

It was a good thing I had learned a great deal about patience.

I didn’t mind it, though, not really. There was music and dancing, and it made me glad to hear my lady Amrita and the women of the Falconer’s harem discuss men and their foibles and giggle together, finding brightness in the shadow of sorrow and suffering, weaving the strands of loss and anguish into a fabric of togetherness.

And on the eve of our wedding, certain things meant that Bao and I must spend the night apart.

“I will miss you, Moirin,” he said to me. “Even for just one night.”

I laid one hand on his hard chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my palm. “I will miss you, too.”

Alone in the chamber we had shared, I slept…..

….. and dreamed of Jehanne again.

In my dream, I opened the door of the bedchamber she had had made for me, my enchanted bower, filled with growing plants. I found Jehanne naked in my bed, her pale blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her arms wrapped around her knees.

My heart pounded in my chest.

“Hello, my beautiful girl.” Her eyes sparkled at me. “Won’t you come and give me the kiss of greeting?”

I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Jehanne, you know I love you. Must you insist on tormenting me on the eve of my wedding?”

She looked away, then looked back at me with one of her unreadable expressions. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.” I gazed at her impossible beauty, the delicate green fern-shadows etched on her fair skin. A tickle of foreboding brushed me, as though someone had trailed a feather along my spine. “This isn’t just a dream, is it?”

“I’m not meant to be here yet,” Jehanne replied indirectly. “At least, I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell. Time moves differently on the other side, you know.”

“I know,” I murmured.

She nodded seriously. “You do know about such things, my lovely witch-girl. That’s why I’m able to reach you. Only….. if it’s not time yet, I suppose you’re right, and it’s jealousy that draws me.” She gave me a self-deprecating smile. “Are you angry?”

“No.” I frowned. “But….. what is this? Why? My lady, I don’t even know what questions to ask.”

Reaching out with one slender hand, Jehanne stroked my brow, then trailed her fingers down my cheek. “Don’t scowl, Moirin,” she said in a teasing tone. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

I pulled away from her distracting touch. “Jehanne, please! Talk to me.”

She withdrew her hand, looking so disconsolate that it was all I could do not to take her in my arms and comfort her with kisses. “I can’t move onward,” she said. “Neither forward nor backward.”

I struggled to recall what my father had told me of the D’Angeline afterlife. “You cannot pass on to the Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond?” I asked, and she nodded. “Nor can you be reborn in the mortal world?”

“I have to wait,” she agreed.

“Oh, my lady!” I swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears. “Why such a cruel fate?”

Her fair shoulders rose in a graceful shrug. “I don’t understand it all. I only know that your business with Raphael de Mereliot is not finished. The time is coming when you will have to reckon with him, and you will need my help before the end.”

A shiver ran over my skin. “Do you know how or why?”

Jehanne shook her head. “Only that it is coming. Don’t cry for me, Moirin,” she added, reaching out to wipe a tear from my cheek; and this time I didn’t pull back from her. “Leaving was the hardest part.”

“Dying?” I asked softly.

She shook her head again. “Death is not so fearful as I thought it would be. But leaving….. leaving Daniel, leaving my infant daughter. Leaving a world with one such as you in it.” She smiled at me. “Will you tell my Desirée about me when you meet her? Everyone in the Court except her father will only tell her of the scandals and gossip I caused. You….. you can tell her that her mother did a very good thing once when she rescued a beautiful young woman from her own folly.”

I couldn’t help my tears. “Jehanne, of course I will! You needn’t ask; I would have done it anyway. I will tell her that you loved her very much, that you would have been a wonderful mother, and grown into a wise and gracious queen.”

“Like your precious Rani?” Jehanne asked crossly in a mercurial mood shift that was so familiar it made me laugh through my tears.

“You are jealous!” I said to her.

She smiled again, taking my hand. “Yes. And a bit cheated that I didn’t have the time to grow into this wise and gracious queen you dreamed I would become.” Watching me beneath her lashes, she traced the intricate patterns of henna on my hand and forearm with the tip of one finger, a touch that was at once impossibly delicate and maddeningly arousing, making my skin prickle.

I took a deep breath. “Jehanne…..”

Her blue-grey eyes opened wide and ingenuous. “You promised you would not say no to me. And I do not know when I will be able to reach you again, Moirin.”

“Aye, and I’m getting married tomorrow!” I protested.

“Tomorrow is tomorrow.” She stroked my skin with that exquisite touch. “And I am here. You used to say that to me, remember? I am here. It always comforted me. Will you not stay?”

I hesitated.

Jehanne’s voice broke slightly, breaking my heart. “Please? It’s so very lonely where I am.”

And because I could no more resist her than the ocean’s tides could resist the pull of the moon, I gave in to her as I had done a thousand times before; and even though it was a dream, it felt so very real, my lady Jehanne warm and alive in my arms, naked and silken, the intoxicating scent of her skin making me dizzy with longing, Jehanne winding her arms around my neck, kissing me with consummate skill and desperate ardor, whispering my name like a prayer.

I stayed; and this time the dream did not cast me out. In my dream, I fell asleep holding her.

I awoke to morning light and an empty bed, the linens rumpled.

Jehanne’s scent lingered in the room.

I sighed and arose, my heart at once heavy with guilt and light with gladness, my body languid with the aftermath of pleasure.

The Rani Amrita and her attendants bustled into the chamber, laying out the bridal finery I was to wear—the crimson sari embroidered and trimmed with gold, the elaborate jewelry.

“So!” my lady Amrita said brightly to me. “The day is here at last. Are you ready to wed your bad boy, my dear one?”

With guilt, regret, and a surety of purpose, I put my dream of Jehanne aside. It was real and not-real at the same time. It was a promise of things to come; but they were things that had not happened yet.

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

EIGHTY-TWO

It was a glorious day.

The Rani’s attendants helped me bathe and prepare, rubbing fragrant oils into my skin, brushing my hair until it gleamed, painting my eyelids with kohl. They helped me don the gorgeous crimson and gold sari, pinning the folds in place. Amrita insisted on adorning me with jewelry herself, sliding gold bangles onto my wrists, fastening tinkling anklets in place, pinning a gold filigree headpiece to my hair.

When she had finished, she clapped her hands together in delight. “You are the perfect bride, Moirin!”