Naamah's Kiss (Moirin's Trilogy #1)

Naamah's Kiss (Moirin's Trilogy #1) Page 28

"Rather." Lianne regarded me. "Well then, I suggest you take him at his word."

"How so?"

She flashed her quick, foxy grin. "Name of Elua, girl! Don't let Raphael de Mereliot control your life. You're in Terre d'Ange. You're in the City of Elua. There are hundreds of men and women here sworn to Naamah's Service, any number of whom would be delighted to teach you the full extent of her arts—which is, after all, your rightful heritage. Go to the Night Court and arrange for an assignation and a private Showing."

I blinked. "I can do that?"

"Can and should." Lianne Tremaine rose with alacrity. "Come." She put out her hand. "Let's go right now. We'll take my carriage."

"I meant to go to the banking house today," I temporized. "To draw on my letter of credit. I've no funds of my own until I do."

"We'll stop on the way." She beckoned. "You don't have to schedule the assignation today, but we can still make the appointment. Oh, come on! This will be fun."

It struck me that it would be the first act of my own volition that I'd committed since I chased after the thief who'd stolen my purse. That was the thought that drove me to my feet. "All right," I said recklessly. "Let's do it."

"Excellent!" Lianne squeezed my hand. "Are you familiar with the Houses of the Night Court? Do you know which one you'd choose?"

"Where did the Queen serve?" I asked her.

That got me an amused sidelong glance. "Naive, but a quick study, eh? Her majesty was an adept of Cereus House, First among the Thirteen. They celebrate the ephemeral nature of beauty."

Jehanne's face and orchid blossoms mingled in my memory. "That's the one."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cereus House was lovely. The Dowayne, which was the title given to the head of each House of the Night Court, received us in an inner courtyard garden. Autumn flowers of marigold, amaryllis, and chrysanthemum bloomed in profusion, vibrant, healthy, and well tended. I breathed in the air with pleasure, tasting their tang.

"Do you like it?" The Dowayne, Neriel no Cereus, smiled at me. I gauged her to be in her late sixties, tall and slender, with hair gone pure silver. "I heard you had a fondness for the outdoors."

I was startled. "You did?"

Lianne Tremaine sipped a glass of wine. "Lesson the first, Lady Moirin. Gossip travels faster than a thunderclap in the City, and nowhere faster than to the Night Court."

"To, yes," the Dowayne agreed. "From is another matter. Shall we speak of your desires, my lady?"

I shrugged. "I wish to learn."

She studied me. "Do you think to enter Naamah's Service yourself?" She reached out and touched my arm. "Mixed though your heritage may be, I suspect her gifts are strong in you. They are in your father, you know, and I see a good deal of Phanuel in you."

"You do?" The idea pleased me. "You know him?"

"Oh, yes." The Dowayne smiled again. "Of course. His family has a long history in Naamah's Order." She paused. "But it's too soon for such questions, isn't it? Forgive me. You're not ready to decide; you've only set out on your journey. It would be the privilege of Cereus House to teach you what we may."

I smiled back at her. "I'd like that."

After some discussion, we set a date for two days hence. I signed a contract that spelled out the terms of the assignation and parted with a goodly sum of money. I left lighter of purse, but lighter-hearted. After all, I once again had a purse of my own. I was no longer dependent on Raphael de Mereliot for funds or pleasure.

"See?" In the carriage, Lianne regarded me with pleased amusement. "I told you this was a good idea."

"You did," I agreed. "Thank you."

At the townhouse, Raphael was less sanguine.

"Moirin!" he barked at me upon my return, pacing in the foyer. "Where in the seven hells were you?"

"Out," I said briefly.

"Out." He glowered at me. "I had plans for us this afternoon."

"Oh?" I inquired. "You might have bothered to inform me."

Raphael gave me a stormy look, then checked himself. "You're right," he said softly, circling my waist with his arms. "I'm sorry. I was caught up in my own affairs. There's a lad I'd like you to see with me, a young lad." He kissed my neck. "A patient of mine."

I hated the way my knees went weak. "Aye?"

"Aye." His lips curved as though the word were a private jest between us—and mayhap it was. Then he pulled back, his look serious. "It's young Marc de Thibideau. The Comte's youngest and a companion of Prince Thierry. He broke his leg in a hunting accident some weeks ago. His femur. That's the thigh bone. It's set properly, but it's not healing well. I suspect the new bone matter isn't growing as fast as it ought. I thought…." He freed one hand and raked it through his tawny locks, disheveling them. "I thought we might try, you and I."

"To coax it?" I asked.

He nodded. "Will you?"

I sighed. "And how is her majesty?"

Raphael touched my cheek. "I've made you no false promises, Moirin. Will you come with me tomorrow morning to see the lad?"

"Of course," I murmured.

"Good." He kissed me, then released me. "I'll send word to the Academy. Master Lo Feng has a concoction he says will help, and I'm eager for him to meet you." He paused. "Out is a passing vague term. Where did you go? Daphne said you left with the King's Poet."

"To the banking house." I jingled the purse at my waist. "And then to Cereus House. I have an appointment there the day after tomorrow."

It was worth every penny I'd spent to see the look of pure astonishment on Raphael de Mereliot's face. "You do?"

"Oh, yes." I reveled in his disbelief. "The Dowayne was very kind. She's arranging a private Showing with two of their finest adepts that I might witness the full range of Naamah's arts, and then I may take my leisure with either or both as I choose." I raised my brows. "You did say I had a lot to learn."

"Blessed Elua bugger me," he muttered. "So I did."

"The Dowayne asked if I thought I might enter Naamah's Service," I added with a certain malice. "She thought I might have the gift for it."

"Moirin." Raphael caught my hands. "Don't rush into anything. Elua knows, I'm the last man to disparage Naamah's Service, but it's not an uncommon calling. What you can do….." His thumbs rubbed my inner wrists. "It's unique and unprecedented, and we've just begun to explore it. Promise me that you'll give it a chance?"

Now I felt petty. "I will. It's just—"

"I took you for granted." He raised my hands, planting a kiss in each palm. "I shouldn't have done that and I'm sorry for it. Do you accept my apology?"

"I do."

His eyes gleamed. "Do you still mean to keep that appointment?"

I. lifted my chin. "Aye, I do."

He laughed. "So be it! The gods also know I've a penchant for stubborn women."

"Oh?" I asked. "Is Jehanne stubborn?"

"Yes." Raphael let go of my hands and regarded me. "I'll make you a bargain. Don't ask me to speak of her, and I'll not speak of you to her. Jealousy doesn't become you, Moirin."

In my heart, I thought it was unfair. After all, he was the one to make oblique reference to her and I was more curious than jealous at this point—but there was a warning edge in his voice. I remembered how Cillian's jealousy had pushed me away from him, a memory forever tainted with guilt. I didn't want to cause Raphael to push me away. "All right," I agreed.

He bent down to kiss me. "Good girl."

I hoped Raphael would take me to bed again that night. I thought it would be better between us if I weren't drained and exhausted. But he merely escorted me to the guest-chamber and gave me a chaste kiss good night. Whatever he'd been up to with the Queen, I supposed it had left him somewhat drained.

In the morning, we paid a visit on the de Thibideau household.

The Comte de Thibideau greeted us at the door himself, ushering us into the foyer. He was a burly blond man I vaguely recalled seeing at the King's fete.

"Come in, come in!" he said, pumping Raphael's arm. "Ah good, you've got the witch-girl with you. Remarkable thing, that. But if she can help poor Marc, I'll take back everything I've ever said about her folk." He lowered his voice. "That Ch'in fellow's here waiting with his surly lad and some noxious brew. You sure he's all right?"

"Very sure." Raphael extricated himself from the Comte's grip and stepped past him to greet his mentor, clasping his hands together and bowing. "Master Lo Feng, well met."

"Lord Raphael." The Ch'in physician clasped his hands together and inclined his head in greeting. His lilting accent was like nothing I'd ever heard. "It is ever a pleasure."

Raphael bowed again, then turned to indicate me. "Permit me to introduce Lady Moirin mac Fainche to you."

I got a good look at Master Lo Feng and fell in love at first sight. In his own way, he was as elegant as the Dowayne of Cereus House. He wore a robe of black silk worked with a gorgeous square of colorful embroidery in the center. His hair was snow-white and fine as silk, drawn back in a braid and topped with a black hat with a jeweled spire. A narrow, two-pointed beard graced his chin, as fine and silken and white as his hair.

But it was his face that struck me most of all.

Lo Feng had the most serene, gentle, wise face I'd ever seen on another human being. It was written in every wrinkle, in every crease around his dark, tilted eyes. My diadh-anam flared within me.

"You're a priest," I said without thinking.

"Some say so." He didn't smile, but the creases around his eyes deepened. "I say I am a humble scholar."

The young man behind him made a faint sound.

"Bao," Lo Feng said in gentle reprove.

The surly lad. I glanced at him. Unlike his master, he wore a plain cotton shirt, baggy breeches, and straw sandals. He carried a staff carelessly over one shoulder, a covered iron pot with a handle dangling from it. He met my eyes with fearless disdain, and I felt a mild shock, reminded of home. Not wholly—and yet. There was something about the planes of his cheeks and the feral glint of his eyes beneath an unkempt shock of black hair that put me in mind of the Maghuin Dhonn.

He looked away.

"Forgive me." I collected myself and bowed as Raphael had done. "Well met, Master Lo Feng."

The self-proclaimed humble scholar returned my bow. "It is an auspicious day, Lady Moirin mac Fainche."

The Comte de Thibideau cleared his throat. "If you gentlefolk are done exchanging pleasantries, I've a young son in a good deal of discomfort."

"Of course," Raphael said smoothly, putting one hand between my shoulders. "Pray, lead the way, your lordship."

Marc de Thibideau was ensconced in a cloistered study on the ground floor, reclining on a couch with his injured, splinted leg propped at an angle. He glanced up sharply as we entered, then eyed me and gave a long, low whistle. "So you're Thierry's witch-girl!"

"Oh, am I?" I asked mildly.

"He'd like to think so." He grinned and struggled to raise himself on his elbows, wincing at the effort. Sweat broke out on his brow, plastering his fair hair. "Sorry. Damned leg."

"Lie still, Marc." Raphael laid a hand on his forehead. "Master Lo Feng? Will you confirm my diagnosis?"

The Ch'in physician nodded, rubbing his hands together. He placed them a few inches above the young lord's thigh. I could sense the energy rippling around him. He moved his hands, letting them hover over Marc de Thibideau in a few places. The pit of his groin, his heart, the space between his eyes. He touched the lad only once, stripping off the thick woolen sock he wore on the foot of his injured leg, manipulating his bare sole with a gentle touch.

"Ow!" The young lord tensed, then relaxed. "Ah."

"Hey, now!" his father cried.

Master Lo Feng ignored him. "You are correct," he said to Raphael. "The break has caused a breach in the flow of his chi. As a result, the bone is reluctant to heal." He beckoned. "Bao!"

The surly lad stepped forward, whipping the staff from his shoulder with a flourish. The hanging iron pot rattled down its length and settled onto the floor with unexpected precision. The young man stepped backward, leaning on his staff.

"Bone soup." Master Lo Feng plucked up the pot. "It will help restore the balance of his energies."

"What's in it?" the Comte de Thibideau asked suspiciously, lifting the lid and sniffing at the contents.

"Marrow bones." It was hard to tell, but I thought there was a glimmer of amusement in Lo Feng's eyes. "Seaweed. Deer's antler. Things you do not have a name for. Dang gui and shan yao root. Simmered a long time for goodness."

The Comte sniffed again. "Smells foul."

Master Lo Feng looked serene. "It is healthful."

"De Mereliot?" The Comte cast his dubious gaze on Raphael. "What about the witch-girl? I thought that's what we were about."

"Are you willing to try?" Raphael asked me.

"Say yes." Marc de Thibideau groped for my hand. "Please. I don't want to be a cripple."