Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss

by Jacqueline Carey

  So good.

  So deep.

  “Nice,” I sighed, rocking atop him. The carriage seat squeaked.

  “This is not what I intended for our first time,” Raphael whispered against my mouth.

  “I know.” I kissed him, then smiled into his eyes. “I couldn’t wait.”

  It should have been tawdry, but it wasn’t. My mind was too filled with beauty, with sunlit marble and doves, with the unfolding wonder of discovering who I was. And, too, there was the mystery that had passed between us earlier. When my climax came, it was like slow, rolling waves. I offered up a silent prayer that it would ease the memory of those other waves, cold and killing.

  “Elua!” Raphael spent himself inside me with a shudder. He rested his brow against mine. I put one hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. “Well.” He shifted me off his lap with an effort. His tone was teasing, but his expression was relaxed and languid. “You’re a singularly determined young woman.”

  “Aye,” I agreed. “Is that wrong?”

  “Not in the least.” He smiled, and I wanted to kiss him all over again. “But I’d hope we could make a better job of it.”

  “Oh?” I raised my brows. “Then show me.”

  Raphael looked at me for a long moment without replying, his grey eyes darkening like stormclouds. It was a look that made me shiver inside. “I mean to,” he said at last in a low voice. “Later. And on my terms, witch-girl.”

  My cheeks flushed. “All right.”

  I thought he meant to take me to bed that night.

  I was wrong.

  Raphael was gone for a few hours that afternoon on an errand. He returned in the early evening and found me in the garden, trying to recall the names of unfamiliar plants.

  “Fennel,” he said in answer to my unasked question. “It’s good for purging the kidneys of toxins. Also for treating catarrh.” He touched the feathery fronds. “The blossoms are yellow and the Tiberians believed it could cure jaundice, but I’m afraid that was mere superstition.”

  “It smells nice,” I said.

  “One can eat the bulb. Speaking of which, I believe dinner is ready to be served.” He gave me his arm. “Shall we?”

  At dinner, Raphael presented me with a pair of emerald eardrops. “For tomorrow,” he said. “You shouldn’t make your first appearance at Court without a single jewel adorning you.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I said sincerely. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, truly.”

  He shrugged. “You’re going out of your way to humor me.”

  Something in his manner gave me pause. “Not so very far out of my way. And you’ve been more than generous.”

  “Try them on,” he said.

  The eardrops had delicate little screws on their backs. I screwed them in place, feeling the weight dragging at my earlobes. It was a strange feeling, but not exactly unpleasant. I gave my head an experimental shake. “Do you like them?”

  Raphael nodded. “Very nice.”

  “Very nice.” I echoed his bland compliment. “Raphael, have I offended you? Are you angry with me? Is it because of what happened…” I lowered my voice. “Is it because of what happened in the carriage?”

  “No.” He picked up his knife and fork, then set them down. Picked up his goblet and drank a deep draught of wine. A hovering servant moved to refill it. “Moirin… Denis de Toluard told me a tale he heard today. Months’ old gossip from Alba. It takes a while to filter through to us here, but what he heard made him prick up his ears. He thought I should know about it.”

  “Oh?” I felt cold.

  “It seems the only son of Lord Tiernan of the Dalriada was ensorceled by a young woman of the Maghuin Dhonn,” Raphael said in an even tone. “A very singular young woman to hear the tale. He died because of it.”

  “Oh, gods bedamned!” I shoved my chair away from the table. “The one had naught to do with the other. Cillian mac Tiernan died in a cattle-raid because he was too proud and stubborn to admit he was more scholar than warrior.”

  “So you did ensorcel him?” he pressed.

  “No!” I pushed the heels of my hands against my eyes. That lad was doomed the minute you laid eyes on him. “No.”

  “Moirin.”

  I dropped my hands. “What?”

  “I’ll not be toyed with,” Raphael said steadily. “You’re accustomed to having your way with men, that much is clear. But this is Terre d’Ange, not Alba. If you think to make me your unwitting conquest, think again.”

  I sighed. “I don’t.”

  “Then stay out of my head.” He rose and tossed his napkin on the table. “I don’t take kindly to you rummaging through my memories and turning them to your own purposes. And I don’t take kindly to your using Naamah’s gift to sway me.”

  “That’s not fair!” I protested.

  “Isn’t it?”

  I stood and faced him. “I’m drawn to you, aye. Is it my fault if you feel the same way? And I didn’t ask to see your memories any more than I asked to be run down by your carriage, Raphael de Mereliot. You’re the one keeps prattling on about destiny. What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to feel?”

  Raphael folded his arms. “Prattling?”

  “Aye, prattling!” I was angry. “About destiny and magic and purpose, and how there are oh, so many things you don’t fear in the world, myself included! All the while plotting to use me to make your mistress the Queen jealous.” I snatched the eardrops from my ears and threw them at his feet. “Don’t you dare accuse me of using you for my own ends!”

  The eardrops clinked and rolled on the marble floor. It was the only sound in a dining hall that had gone very, very quiet. The servants stood frozen, looking like they wished they could disappear.

  Unaccountably, Raphael smiled. “What is it I find so compelling about a woman with a temper?” he asked no one in particular.

  My anger drained away, leaving me weary. “Is that what you see?” I asked him, sinking back into my chair. “My lord, may I remind you that I am young and alone and very far from home. You are the nearest thing to a friend I have in this place. If you trust me so little…” To my shame, my eyes welled with tears and my throat closed.

  “Oh, hells.” He knelt on one knee before me. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Moirin, I’m sorry. Look at me, won’t you?”

  I stole a glance at him.

  His expression was serious. “Listen. This is all very sudden and unexpected. What you claim are but small and insignificant gifts are passing strange and wondrous to me. And I’ll admit, when I heard Denis’ story today, I panicked.”

  I sniffled. “Shall I leave?”

  “No.” Raphael picked up the eardrops and pressed them into my hands. “Stay. Wear these tomorrow, and I will escort you with pride. All right?”

  I wanted to say no.

  I should have said no. I should have left; I should have left before. No matter what else he said, not once had Raphael denied using me in his quarrel with the Queen. Ignorant as I was, I had no business dabbling in Court intrigue. But his hands were warm on mine, setting those ridiculous currents of desire swirling in my blood. His grey eyes were earnest and insistent.

  And there was the bedamned pulse of the diadh-anam inside me.

  “All right,” I murmured. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good.” He flashed a relieved grin at me. “You know, if you promise a third time, it means you can never leave.”

  I wasn’t in a mood for teasing. “I’d as soon not have this conversation a third time.”

  “Of course.” Raphael sobered and took his seat. “Why did you never mention Cillian mac Tiernan to me?”

  I picked listlessly at my food. “I don’t know. Because it hurts, I suppose.”

  He rested his chin on one hand. “Did you love him?”

  “Aye.” My throat and chest tightened again. I pushed my plate away. “Not enough, but aye.” I took a deep breath, willing the tightness to ease. “Cillian was my fir
st friend and my first lover, the only one I’d known before I came to Terre d’Ange. I’d known him since I was ten years old. He brought a tribute-gift of peaches and tried to spy on my mother and me.” I smiled at the memory. “I caught him at it and we quarrelled. I had my bow with me. I shot the peaches.”

  Raphael laughed softly. “Whatever for?”

  “I don’t recall,” I admitted. “But it seemed appropriate at the time.”

  “What was he like?” he asked.

  “Oh…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was just himself. I never thought about it. Until Cillian came into my life, it was just my mother and me.” I made myself think about it. “Curious. Thoughtful, most of the time. Impatient, sometimes. He was a good teacher, though. He taught me to read. He brought me books to last through the winter. We studied D’Angeline together. It was Cillian who figured out that my father had been a Priest of Naamah…”

  Once I’d begun talking, the words poured out of me. Cillian’s jealousy, my reluctance to wed him. The unexpected horror of his death, and the awful moment when his mother blamed me for it.

  “That’s why they put it about that you’d ensorceled him?” Raphael asked in a gentle voice.

  I nodded. “His sister Aislinn said it was only grief talking. But it was true in a way. I was selfish. I knew I’d never be the proper wife he wanted me to be, his and his alone. If I’d let him go sooner—”

  “It wouldn’t have changed a blessed thing,” he finished for me.

  “Mayhap. But it doesn’t feel that way.” I wiped away a stray tear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”

  “Oh, I’d say I made a fair job of that myself,” Raphael said wryly. “Please, don’t apologize. Talk is healing. It’s the unexamined wound that festers.”

  Like yours, I almost said, remembering that he’d never discussed his parents’ deaths with anyone. But I bit my tongue on the thought.

  Outside the door to my guest-chamber, he gave me a tender, lingering kiss, tasting of wine and apology. When I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder, he held me. His arms felt strong and good around me.

  “Moirin?” His breath stirred my hair.

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you happen to fend off a pair of highwaymen with a bow and arrow on your journey to the City?” he asked. I looked up in surprise. Raphael gazed down at me, his eyes glinting with amusement. “There’s a tale a pair of dowagers are spreading about a young woman who shared their coach. A very singular green-eyed young woman of mixed heritage. Denis heard it in a wineshop and thought I might like to know.”

  “Ah.” I smiled at him. “Well, I might have. Actually, I might have shot one in the leg from an, um, unseen perspective. But the good ladies didn’t know that part because they had the curtains drawn.”

  “The good ladies?” he repeated.

  “They were kind in their own way,” I said. “Florette d’Aubert and Lydia Postel. After tomorrow, I ought to pay them a visit. Do you know them?”

  “Most assuredly not.” Raphael kissed me again, slow and deliberate. “You’re really not what one would expect, are you?”

  My head spun. “No?”

  “No.” He let me go and made a bow. “On the morrow?”

  “On the morrow,” I agreed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Stone and sea!” I breathed in the palace courtyard.

  “It’s just a building like any other,” Raphael assured me. “Only larger.”

  “So you say.” I gazed at the storied tiers and spires, the expanse of carved marble and granite looming above us. “Only understand that this architecture is as wondrous to me as any gift I might carry in my blood.”

  He inclined his head. “Fairly spoken.”

  Guards in the blue livery of House Courcel ushered us through the massive doors. I couldn’t repress a shudder upon entering the overwhelming edifice. I’d grown more accustomed to being indoors, but this was far and beyond any man-made structure I’d ever encountered. When the doors closed behind us, my breath came short.

  “Are you all right?” Raphael inquired.

  I nodded. “One moment.” Raphael’s footman Jean-Michel was a step behind us, carrying a gift intended for the King—a rare orchid in a blue and white porcelain pot. He halted with a bemused look when I turned to touch the orchid, stroking its delicate purple petals. I breathed in its faint, sweet scent and felt better. “Let’s go. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you’re not, tell me.” Raphael settled my hand on his arm and gave me a serious look. “A gathering of this sort has overwhelmed more experienced souls, Moirin. And remember, you’re still recovering from your injuries.”

  “Oh, those,” I said dismissively.

  “Yes, those.” He squeezed my fingers. “Promise?”

  “Yes, my lord physician.” I looked up at him under my lashes. “If I survive the evening, are you prepared to pronounce me quite recovered?”

  His unreasonably gorgeous mouth quirked. “We’ll see.”

  We proceeded down wide, gleaming marble halls. Servants and guards gave us curious looks. I could hear a whispering tide of gossip trailing in our wake. There was a queue of peers outside the doors to the great hall where the King’s fête was being held. I gazed at a dozen backs clad in velvet and satin and brocade, my nerves strung taut. There was a royal herald announcing each set of guests as they were admitted. All too soon, it was our turn. Raphael presented his invitation, printed on thick, creamy paper.

  “My lord de Mereliot.” The herald inclined his head, then looked at me. A crease formed between his brows. “And your companion?”

  “Lady Moirin mac Fainche,” Raphael informed him.

  The herald repeated it soundlessly, then cleared his throat and announced us.

  Heads turned.

  We had a clear path to the dais where the King and Queen were seated and exchanging pleasantries with the elderly couple who had preceded us. My nails dug into Raphael’s arm as we approached. I could hear the whispers.

  “That’s the one!”

  “… found her in the street…”

  “… half-Cruithne, by the look of her.”

  I wished the elderly couple ahead of us would never leave. I had begun to think this was a very bad idea and wanted very much to be elsewhere. But, of course, they finished their business with their majesties and moved aside, and I was brought face-to-face with King Daniel and Queen Jehanne.

  He was a tall, well-built man of middle years with dark hair, blue eyes, and a bemused smile on his face.

  She was exquisite.

  It was the sort of beauty my mother had described long ago—a fearful symmetry, keen as a blade. And yet it was delicate and ephemeral, too—as delicate as the petals of an orchid. Her hair was pale gold, so pale it was almost silvery. It was piled atop her head in an intricate coronet, a lone lock left loose to curl along the graceful column of her white throat. Her skin was so fair, it was nearly translucent.

  Her eyes…

  Jehanne de la Courcel’s eyes were a light hue of blue-grey, like periwinkle blossoms. They sparkled unexpectedly as her gaze swept up to meet mine, her chin rising as she took stock of me.

  “Oh, my.” Her voice was sweet and light and teasing. “Are you a rival or a present?”

  I flushed.

  “Your majesties.” Raphael bowed. “Congratulations to his majesty on the occasion of his natality.” He beckoned to Jean-Michel, who came forward to present the potted orchid with a bow. “A small token from a rare strain Master Lo Feng and I have been cultivating.”

  “Yes, my thanks, very nice, I’m sure.” King Daniel waved for a servant to take it away. His bemused gaze rested on me. “And you are… ? Forgive me, I didn’t recognize the name. Mac Fainche? That’s Eiran nomenclature, but I fear I don’t follow.”

  “Raphael is having a jest,” the Queen said lightly. “Haven’t you heard? His carriage struck down some poor lass in the street a week ago and he’s taken her into his
household to make amends.” She snapped open a fan and fluttered it. “Isn’t that so?”

  “It is,” Raphael agreed in a smug tone, deliberately drawing out the moment of revelation. I had a strong urge to kick him in the shins.

  “As always, your solicitude is to be commended.” Jehanne’s fan fluttered. “But it’s quite unfair of you to misrepresent the child—and quite inappropriate at a royal fête.” She laughed. “Lady Moirin? You do the poor girl an unkindness. Not everyone recognizes your sense of humor, my lord.”

  “Nor when it is absent.” Raphael bowed again. “This is no jest. Surely, your majesties would wish me to extend every kindness to a descendant of House Courcel itself.”

  A gasp ran through the room.

  The King glanced at me in inquiry.

  “Daughter of Fainche, daughter of Eithne, daughter of Brianna, daughter of Alais,” I said to him, executing a passable curtsy. “Of the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn. Well met, your majesty.”

  He stared.

  No one spoke.

  It was Jehanne who broke the silence with laughter. It was a bright, infectious sound. “Tell me it’s true!” she said to Raphael. Something unspoken passed between them. She shook her head, diamond eardrops scattering myriad points of light. “A bear-witch? Only you would dare!”

  “Oh, it’s true.” Raphael rocked back on his heels a little, clearly enjoying himself. “Moirin has a signet ring passed down for generations, and a letter of introduction from Bryony Associates authenticating it.”

  “Moirin can speak for herself,” I said with irritation.

  “She’s here searching for her father,” he continued. “It seems he was a Priest of Naamah.”

  Queen Jehanne arched one perfect brow. “Oh, my.”

  The news went around the great hall in a whispering susurrus. I felt hot and conspicuous. For a mercy, the King raised one hand, and silence followed.

  “Well met, Lady Moirin,” he said firmly. “For generations, the existence of descendants of House Courcel among your people has been but a distant rumor. We are pleased and honored by your presence in our Court today.”