Her own pleasure was so intense that she did not care that his eyes were tightly shut. Had he truly whispered "Ibrahim" when he quivered with the force of his release? She did not care -- she was here in his bed, not the Moor. Louis-Philippe sighed, wrapped his arms around her and was asleep the very next moment.
Ysabel smiled and curled up, her back against his belly. "Louis-Philippe's child," she whispered to herself as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 17
MARÍANA took her place at the family table, keeping her eyes lowered. Henri was already seated and sat watching her again. Usually, Ysabel frowned at Maríana when Henri kept his eyes on her, so Maríana was careful to avoid his stare. Maríana had found that annoying Ysabel could be costly. Ysabel even stopped Maríana from visiting Ibrahim. Her stepmother had convinced Johanna that Ibrahim was the reason Maríana refused the suitors who still came to Reuilles-le-château. Maríana had not seen Ibrahim for the past two months.
Ysabel had also prevented Maríana from going into Reuilles-la-ville. "Too dangerous," she had said and Johanna concurred. But recently, Ysabel had paid no attention to her stepdaughter. Maríana saw her stepmother wander about the palais with a half-smile hovering at the corners of her mouth, rather than her usual pout. If Ysabel was distracted, perhaps Johanna would allow visits to Ibrahim again. Geneviéve had told Maríana that Ibrahim was unwell. He might need her. She must try to see him.
Maríana looked up and froze. Henri had moved to the seat across from her. He merely nodded to her, but the naked wanting in his face drew an answering cry from her own body. She held her hands clutched tightly in her lap. What was she to do? He was her cousin. Geneviéve was wrong about special permission from the bishop. A dispensation to wed would be nearly impossible. Johanna had looked into this. Yet Henri had remained at Reuilles-le-château, long after his mission was completed. Maríana had seen the messenger from the bishop arrive and depart with Henri's report. Antoine and Pierre were nowhere to be found. Why was Henri still here?
Now it was near sunset at the end of July, and all the vassals from the surrounding area had been invited to the château for a special feast. There were visitors from Béarn, from Navarre, from as far away as Carcasonne. Maríana saw her father descending the central staircase, his eyes bright with suppressed excitement. He took his place at the end of the table and glanced around the hall, then motioned for the musicians to sound a fanfare. The blare of the shawms brought everyone to a halt, even the servants running from table to table with large goblets of fresh, sweet mead. Maríana watched her father as he stood holding his goblet aloft. She could still feel the warmth of Henri's gaze, but Ysabel stood beside Louis-Philippe. If Maríana looked at Henri now, her stepmother would see.
"A toast!" Louis-Philippe's voice rang out across the hall. "A toast for a new member of the de Reuilles!" He turned to Ysabel, who smiled and blushed. "A child to be born next March!" He bowed to Ysabel as the company filled the hall with shouts and laughter and good wishes.
Maríana heard a stifled exclamation from across the table. Henri stared at Ysabel, his eyes hooded and brooding, his mouth a tight line. Following his stare, she saw her father beaming at Ysabel and a hollow ache started in her belly, a pain she had not felt in years. She wished that her birth had been accompanied by such fanfare and good will, but she was pleased that her father had finally seemed to find some measure of happiness. He had tried to hide his longing for Ibrahim, but Maríana knew he had suffered when Ibrahim refused to continue their alliance.
Another child. A hand on her arm pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Jeanne standing at her side, holding a scrap of vellum. "What is it?" Jeanne placed the paper in her hands, curtseyed, and fled.
Maríana opened the crumbling scrap, then slid it into her sleeve. She looked around the table. Henri was still frowning at Ysabel, Johanna was fussing with Louis-Philippe's trencher, and everyone else was digging into the food. Pushing her chair away from the table, Maríana rose and made her way to Geneviéve.
"Is this not wonderful?" Geneviéve was beaming. "A baby!"
"Aunt," Maríana said, "I must check on the rosemary wine sauce." She did not wait for Geneviéve's nod, but pushed through the crowd to the doors, then slipped out of the hall and into the bright summer evening. She nodded to the guard and skipped over the stones to the entry of the garden. No one would wonder why she was there. If anyone did ask, she could say that she needed to harvest more herbs for the feast. It was near dusk. Maríana was still the only one who would enter the garden after dark. Except for Ibrahim.
When Maríana was sure she was the only person in the garden, she paced the pathways again, this time stopping at the farthest end of each of the four directions and sending images into the air -- images that would cloak where she had passed. Ibrahim had been very clear in his message that she should not be followed. She made her way to the back of the garden and dipped under the rose wall that guarded the secret gate. The metal groaned when she pushed the lever that opened it, but she did not pause. She left the château walls and climbed up to the palace.
IBRAHIM SAT on a pillow in the middle of a circle of candles, with stones: lapis, sandstone, garnet, and gold, all guarding the four directions. He was pale and there were lines around his mouth that had not been there before. Moving closer to him, Maríana felt his forehead. It was clammy. She reached for the pulse in his neck. He stopped her, taking her hands.
"There is nothing you can do that I have not already done," he said. "Do not worry, it will pass." She stubbornly remained where she was until he ordered her to sit. Then she placed a pillow directly in front of him within the circle and sat facing him.
"Did anyone follow you?" he asked, gazing at her, his eyes smudged with fatigue.
"No. I made sure. I covered my path and scattered the images to the four directions as you have taught me. Anyone who even tried to follow me would go in circles until he found himself where he had started."
He nodded. "I have called you up here, even though it is dangerous, even though there are guests at the château, because I need to complete your training."
"But my training was complete two years ago," she said. "One year was what my father gave us for our work."
"Yes that is true, but we have continued just the same. Our meetings in the garden were all part of this training." His cheek dimpled in a smile when she made a wordless protest. "Yes, I know Johanna forbade you to see me." His eyes darkened. "And I know who was behind her decision." He reached out and rubbed the middle of her palms. "But it is better that we have not met these past months. With Bauçais at the château... well, we must be careful."
"Why so much fear of my cousin Henri?" she asked. "Surely, as family he can be trusted." But he had sought to find Antoine. She still did not know why.
Ibrahim regarded her a moment, his eyes opaque. Then he said, "Bauçais is just the first wave of the outside world that will come to the château. You might say that he is no more or less dangerous than anyone else coming here now, in these times." He shifted his position on the pillow. "A change is coming and I believe he is its messenger. Since we will not be able to meet anymore to discuss the healing herbs or plants, how to call someone to you, the motion of the stars, or any of the other things I would like to teach you, I must complete a link with you to pass on to you all that I know... and all that your mother knew."
She leaned forward, taking his hands. "How can this be done?"
"The process will be simple for you. We have already laid the foundations with the disciplines I imposed. But be warned, the linking is not without risk, to you or to me. There will be no secrets between us. Everything that I am or was, everything that you are, will be laid bare. Once we have started, there can be no going back."
"You must know I will not be frightened away by that. What have I to hide from you?" A shiver went through her as she remembered healing Henri.
He sat back, his hands still holding hers, and looked at her. "It is
what you will learn from me that concerns me. But it must be done."
Ibrahim rose and walked over to the altar, bringing back a small bowl filled with frankincense and cedar from the east, pine and mugwort from the north. Placing the bowl between them, he drew his staff and closed the circle, as she had seen him do many times, saluting the guardians, creating the space between the worlds. As always, when the circle was closed, Maríana felt the humming in the air and in the earth. She looked at the boundary Ibrahim had drawn and felt the presence of the Door, the translucent membrane separating them from the world outside. When she looked back at Ibrahim, he was igniting the fragrant woods, sending smoke billowing around them. After sprinkling frankincense and mugwort on the glowing embers, he placed the bowl between them and told her to breathe.
She watched his face. He was still, but the pulse in his throat was visible. When had age etched its signs upon his brow? She remembered their first meeting, the kohl outlining his eyes, those absurd bracelets. But now he was raising his hands, palms facing forward, reaching toward her. Her hands sought his, almost against her will. Their palms touched.
They remained touching, breathing the sharp and woodsy smoke from the smoldering bowl. Maríana felt herself tumbling. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the room from spinning. When her dizziness cleared, she blinked her eyes open and looked over at Ibrahim.
She found herself looking into her own face, her wide, dark green eyes, her mouth parted in surprise. A trembling started deep within her and spread to her limbs. But it was Ibrahim's hands that shook. Maríana clamped her will over her fear and moved Ibrahim's arms. She could feel his illness, a spreading blackness deep within his gut, but she also felt his strength as she flexed his strong muscles. His heart beat steadily. Then she allowed herself to look at her own body again. She saw Ibrahim looking at her through her own eyes, startled and pale, and she felt another stab of fear. But he said he had already done this, he knew what to expect! What was wrong?
WITH THAT thought, she abruptly found herself somewhere else, still inside Ibrahim's body, crawling through a close tunnel. Now she could not stop his body from what it was doing. She could only observe what was happening, peering out from his eyes. A faint light glimmered at the end of the cramped tunnel. Ibrahim's hands pushed through a barrier of mud and stone. She felt his body squeeze through the narrow opening.
Darkness, intense and enveloping. And a sour reek. Ibrahim's feet slipped on excrement carpeting a frozen stone floor. Slimy mold painted the walls -- the faint shimmer of ooze dripped from the wall beside him. The chamber Ibrahim had entered was large. His footsteps echoed. A small glow shone in the distance. Maríana watched from behind Ibrahim's eyes as he crept toward the light, breathing shallowly, his heart speeding and slowing.
A woman huddled on filthy straw beside a squat candle. "Thérèse," Ibrahim whispered. The woman lifted her face. He choked. "Thérèse!"
Maríana looked out of Ibrahim's eyes into her mother's ravaged face. "Ah, God!" Maríana tried to speak, but Ibrahim's mouth would not move with her thoughts. The eyeless water creature from the pond so long ago -- was that truly her mother trying to come back to find her? And Maríana had denied it, sent it away.
Thérèse's lids sagged over empty sockets. Several recent burns made shiny tracks across her face and neck, but she was calm, saying, "Hush, my love. They will hear you." Then, while Ibrahim gulped and trembled, she said, "It is too late, my Ibrahim. You cannot help me now, you will only make things worse for you and Louis-Philippe." Her lips twisted. "It is ironic, no? They took my eyes, but they gave me a candle." She moved her elbow close to the tiny flame. "I can feel the warmth from it."
Ibrahim moved closer. "I cannot give you your eyes back but I can save your life." He reached out. Thérèse stopped him with the palms of her hands. He wavered, then stifled a sob.
Someone had wrenched all of Thérèse's fingernails from her. Ibrahim looked at fingers that were swollen to twice the normal size. "I cannot go anywhere," Thérèse said, her voice halting. "You see, the first day they broke both of my legs." Ibrahim gently held his hands over Thérèse's legs, not quite touching them, and Maríana felt him force his eyes to look down. Her mother's limbs were purple and swollen, not only broken, but shattered.
"You need not worry," Thérèse was saying. "I have told them nothing." Ibrahim was crying openly now, his grief and rage battling with the need for silence. "Don't cry, my love." Thérèse's voice broke. "I have been able to stand the pain, but I really could not bear it if you cry."
Ibrahim held his breath; his whole body shook, yet his thoughts were cold. Maríana could feel him assessing his options, examining and discarding several routes of escape, finally settling on a course that set his gut trembling.
"You must not hate Louis-Philippe," Thérèse continued. "I brought this upon myself. I did not listen to him or to Johanna. They are suffering, too." Thérèse reached out to find and finally touch Ibrahim's face with her hand. "So please, do not blame them."
Ibrahim dug into the leather pouch on his belt and pulled out a packet. "I brought a packet in case..." His voice failed him.
Thérèse became very still, then shuddered. "What is in it?" she finally asked.
Ibrahim sprinkled a powder and what looked like shredded leaves into the palm of his hand. Maríana could feel the fine grains of some ground herb and the weight of a crumbled plant upon his skin. "I have balm and a plant from the land of al-Din Sinan -- the assassins. The balm will make you sleepy and the plant of the assassins..."
"Will kill me," Thérèse finished for him and shuddered again. Then she drew a deep, ragged breath. "Thank you, my love. I have been able to bear what they have done to me, but the flames, the flames!" Her head dropped. "Especially when I cannot see them, cannot escape into my mind before they envelop me."
Ibrahim sat staring at the powder and plant matter in his hand, then squeezed his hand shut. "I cannot give it to you, for then I would be killing you, and I have taken the oath never to kill."
Thérèse felt for him and grasped his hands. "Is it in this hand?"
"No." He opened his palm again. "This one." He held his hand still and Thérèse touched it.
"Then I will take it from you of my own free will," Thérèse said. "So you are released from your vow."
Thérèse opened her mouth and Maríana felt her tongue lick all the powder and leaves off Ibrahim's hand. Ibrahim was shaking, but he did not stop her mother.
"You must wash it off soon," Thérèse said, her voice beginning to slur already. "I do not know this plant you have used, but it may be taken in through the skin."
Ibrahim unhooked a water skin he carried in a sling around his neck. "Don't worry about me. Here, have some water, it will make the poison move faster." He poured a stream into her mouth.
Thérèse gulped and choked, the water ran over her cracked and bleeding lips. Then she sagged against the wall. "The plant I took from you. Will it make me ill?"
Ibrahim moved behind Thérèse and put his arms around her shoulders. "No. You will feel nothing."
"I cannot feel my legs even now," Thérèse said, her voice dipping.
"I will stay with you."
"No!" Thérèse rallied, lifting her arms. "It will all be for nothing if you are found here."
"I cannot leave you."
"But you must," Thérèse said, touching his face. "I am counting on you to watch over Maríana."
"She has Louis-Philippe," he said, gently caressing her cheek.
"Does she?" Her voice was heavy. "Louis-Philippe never understood anything. If there is any danger, you must take Maríana to the mountain, to my father." Thérèse yawned, her jaw stretching. "Promise. Promise."
Tears coursed down Ibrahim's face. "I promise," he finally said. But Thérèse sagged in his arms. "Allah be with you," he whispered.
MARÍANA'S vision blurred with Ibrahim's tears, and she sobbed uncontrollably. "Mama!" was what she cried. "Mama!"
Then she fe
ll through a vast distance. There was a rhythmic pounding everywhere. Stone giants were striking mountains with enormous, ancient trees. But the world steadied and she looked out of her own eyes again. She curled her body into a ball, her face wet with tears. Ibrahim's arms wound around her, his hands stroked her hair. He murmured silly things, children's songs, and words that had no meaning to her. Yet his voice touched a place deep within her heart. The knot of anguish in her throat loosened. She straightened her limbs and raised her eyes to his face. "Thérèse," she said.
"I know," Ibrahim said. "I know."
"Why?" Maríana stood and paced. "What use is it -- all that we know, all that we can do, all of our powers?" Her voice cracked. "What use is it, if she could not even use this knowledge, this power, to save herself? Why couldn't she open the Door? Why couldn't she make a mist to confound them?"
Ibrahim just sighed. "I am sorry," he started to say, but Maríana moved toward him, put her fingers over his lips.
"Not a word," she said. "Not one word." She kissed his cheek. His face was damp, too. "Thank you," she said simply. "Thank you for what you did for my mother." Ibrahim drew her into his arms. Maríana sat held against his chest, listened to his heartbeat, slow and steady. Then he released her. Standing, he doused the candles and brought the still-smoking embers of the aromatic wood ashes outside to wash off into the fountain.
When he returned, she asked him, "How?"
"People came to her to be healed," he said. "She healed them."
"That is why you would not let me..."
"Yes." He touched her face. "Do you love him, then? This Bauçais?"
"I don't know, Ibrahim. I think so."
"When you healed him, you forged a bond, you know."
"I am sorry, Ibrahim. He needed to be healed, so I healed him." She looked down at her hands.
"Be careful," he said, holding her eyes with his. "Be very careful. With this linking you will be much more powerful than either myself or your mother. This ritual allowed me to transmit the knowledge to you without your awareness. It is a part of you, now." He paused, glancing down at his feet, then continued, "What we have done, the essence I have passed on to you, has been passed on to all the chosen of your mother's line for hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years."
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