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

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Is the Queen of Terre d’Ange allowed to do such things?” I asked.

  Jehanne smiled wickedly. “I am. You didn’t let me finish. With your consent, I’d like to be alone with you first.”

  “I’d forgotten all about the Showing,” I admitted.

  She laughed. “Oh, good.”

  It was altogether different, and altogether lovely. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a brief image of my mother looking mildly aghast, but I banished it. This was a different pool of desire, but it was the same element and I moved in it gladly. And I daresay one of the only sights in the world more exquisite than Jehanne clothed was Jehanne naked. Her skin glowed like marble, her silver-gilt hair spilling in unbound coils.

  “Raphael’s witch.” She took my hand and guided it between her thighs so I could feel her, slick and wet with desire. “Do you still think I mean to make mock of you?”

  “I want to taste you,” I whispered.

  Jehanne kissed me, deep and languorous. “Do.”

  I did.

  I did things to her that until now had only been done to me. Her breasts were silken and luscious, tipped with pink nipples. I lost myself in suckling on them, feeling her hands twine in my hair and her breathing quicken. I slid lower, settling between her thighs. She tasted of salt and sweet musk.

  “There!” she gasped, reaching down to spread her folds and show me. “Naamah’s Pearl!”

  I licked and sucked avidly at the swollen pink bud, sliding two fingers deep inside her. Stone and sea, it felt good! In and out, the slow wave of pleasure rising and bursting in hard spasms. I kept going until they stopped, and a little longer.

  “Oh, my.” Jehanne unknotted her fists from my hair. “Are you sure you haven’t done that before?”

  “Very sure,” I said breathlessly.

  “Well.” She twisted agilely and regarded me, then cupped my face and kissed me hard and deep. “Let’s see what I have to teach you, shall we?”

  As it transpired, quite a bit.

  She demonstrated kisses and caresses, naming each one. Sweet and fluttering—biting and sucking. Gentle as the touch of a butterfly’s wing—hard and forceful. It was a veritable banquet of pleasure.

  “Enough teaching!” I pleaded at last. “Please!”

  “You’re sure?” she teased.

  “Stone and sea, yes!”

  Jehanne pushed her fingers into me, curling them and pressing against my inner walls in a way that made me writhe in ecstasy. “I want to watch your face.” Her gaze never left mine. It heightened my arousal in a way I couldn’t explain. I saw my pleasure reflected in her eyes as I climaxed over and over beneath her impossibly skilled touch. When it was over, she smiled and kissed me. “Thank you. That will be my favorite memory, I think.”

  “Mine, too.”

  She laughed and sat up, reaching for an elegant glass pitcher on the bedside table. “Wine? Love-making makes me thirsty.”

  “Aye, please.” Behind the shining, pale fall of her hair, I could see the full scope of her marque for the first time. A vast unfamiliar flower, ivory tinted with the faintest blush of pink, climbed from the base of her spine to blossom across her lovely shoulders. I pushed her hair aside to see where the tip of the uppermost petal touched the nape of her neck. “It’s beautiful. How long did it take?”

  “Almost two years.” Jehanne turned and handed me a wineglass. “I was just shy of my eighteenth year when it was finished.”

  The wine was delicious and refreshing. “How old are you now?”

  Her eyes flickered. “That’s a rude question to ask.”

  “It is?” I lowered my glass. “Why?”

  “Cereus House may celebrate beauty’s fleeting nature, but that doesn’t mean her adepts care for reminders of the fact that their own will wither and fade,” she said coolly. “Particularly from the lips of one scarce out of girlhood.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” I touched her hand. “Don’t be angry. I was only curious.”

  Jehanne pursed her lips. “Twenty-three.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that you’re a very, very long way from withering and fading, your majesty,” I offered.

  It mollified her. “Then satisfy my curiosity, Moirin. Why are you here? In Terre d’Ange, I mean.”

  For some reason, I told her the truth. “I’m supposed to have a destiny. I’m trying to find it.”

  She smiled a little. “A grave prophecy uttered at birth? Were you born beneath a shooting star?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Nothing like that. I saw a vision. Not like in the old stories,” I added hastily. “The Maghuin Dhonn haven’t sought to scry the future since long before I was born. All I know is that I was meant to cross an ocean. Finding my father was the only thing I could think to do. But now…” I fell silent.

  Jehanne finished the thought I left unspoken, her tone neutral. “Now you think you’ve found your destiny in Raphael de Mereliot?”

  “I don’t know,” I murmured. “Only that he’s bound up in it.”

  She sipped her wine, considering her reply. “Please don’t think I’m being cruel or vain or seeking to manipulate you when I say this, but so long as I live, Raphael will never give his heart to you.”

  “Do you love him?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Her mouth quirked. “Unfortunately.”

  “And the King?”

  “Him, too,” Jehanne agreed. She put down her wine and reached out to run a few strands of my hair through her fingers. “Does it seem strange to you? I suppose it must. With Raphael, it’s all passion and tumult, but Daniel is the anchor that grounds me.”

  “Not so very strange,” I said. “Not so strange as you being here with me.”

  “Mmm.” The sparkle returned to her eyes. “What if I’m your destiny? Did you ever think of that?”

  I smiled. “My diadh-anam says no. But I wouldn’t mind if it were true.”

  “Your diadh-anam,” Jehanne repeated. “You’re an odd creature to be sure, Moirin mac Fainche.” She regarded me. “Is the magic real?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you show me?”

  “Close your eyes.” I set down my wineglass and took her hands in mine. I closed my own eyes and breathed in slowly. I could taste the air from the courtyard garden, but it was Jehanne’s marque that came to mind. Night-blooming cereus. It was said to have a wondrous, intoxicating scent. I couldn’t imagine it was headier than hers. I breathed in the scented twilight of my imagination, exhaled it softly. It settled over both of us like a caress. “There.”

  “Oh!” Jehanne’s voice was soft with awe.

  I opened my eyes. All around us, the chamber had grown soft and dim and magical. “You see it?”

  Her hands tightened on mine. “I do.”

  I let it go. “That’s my gift as I was taught to use it.”

  “It’s lovely.” Jehanne gave me a long, deep look I couldn’t interpret, then sighed with regret and withdrew her hands from mine. “And time passes apace, my lovely witchling. Are you ready for your Showing?” She plucked a bell from the table. “I’ll send for Etienne. We were often paired when I was an adept here.”

  “No.” I caught her wrist.

  “No?”

  “I don’t want to see you with another,” I admitted.

  Pleased and delighted, she laughed. “Ah, but I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t teach you aught of pleasing men. Isn’t that what you came for?”

  I shrugged. “Be remiss.”

  Again, Jehanne’s eyes danced. “Oh, I have a better idea.” She climbed gracefully from the bed and crossed the room to rummage in a cabinet, producing an object and brandishing it. “I’ll teach you to perform a languisement that will make grown men weep.” She read my face. “You’ve never seen an aide d’amour?”

  “No.” I eyed the large ivory phallus she held, cradling the sculpted ballocks in the palm of her hand. Until this very moment, I hadn’t imagined such things existed in the worl
d. “No, I have not.”

  Jehanne smiled sweetly. “Then I’ll be sure to demonstrate all its uses.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  I returned to Raphael’s townhouse in a state of dazzled fulfillment.

  Jehanne.

  I could feel her touch everywhere on my body, her scent clinging to my skin. It seemed impossible that Raphael wouldn’t take one look at me and know.

  “Are you going to tell him?” she had asked before I left.

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.” A flash of my initial anger returned. “Will it ruin your precious game if I do?”

  “No.” Jehanne was unperturbed. “But he might take issue with it and dismiss you from his house. Men don’t like being played for fools.” She laughed at my expression. “Moirin, you’re looking far too sultry at the moment to glower effectively. Now come here and kiss me farewell.”

  I sighed and obeyed.

  She wound her soft arms around my neck, returning my kiss with ardor. “Don’t be too angry with Lianne Tremaine. She hasn’t the faintest idea what I did with the information she gave me.”

  “Was she spying for you?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes and no.” Jehanne drew a line down my throat with one fingertip. “She was perishing of curiosity in her own right and our interests happened to align. Don’t make a fuss. All she did was pass on gossip, for which I rewarded her generously. It’s not wise to trust a poet with one’s secrets, but it’s not wise to cross them, either,” she added. “One good satire can make you the laughingstock of the entire City.”

  “Will I wake to find myself that very thing on the morrow?” I asked wryly.

  “Are you having regrets?” Jehanne searched my face. The concern in her voice sounded genuine. “Oh, say you aren’t, please.”

  With the last chords of pleasure still echoing through my body, it was hard to refuse her. “Not yet, no.”

  That satisfied her. “Then you won’t, not on my account. One may accuse me of many things, but never violating the tenets of Naamah’s Service.” She gave me one last kiss, then released me. A wicked smile played around the corners of her lips. “Now go home to Raphael de Mereliot and decide whether or not you mean to tell him that his delightfully uncanny young lover just got very, very thoroughly served by his royal mistress.”

  Off I went in my daze.

  I was hoping Raphael wouldn’t be there when I returned, but it was late, twilight falling over the City. I gazed out the window of the carriage, taking comfort in the purple gloaming and wondering if I’d just made one of the most idiotic choices of my life.

  It was quite possible.

  Not only was Raphael already home, but he heard me return and emerged from his study to greet me.

  “Well?” He looked amused.

  My face grew hot. “Well?”

  He folded his arms and leaned against the door-jamb. “Was it educational?”

  “Oh, yes.” The hot flush crept down my throat. Despite having used the wash-basin at Cereus House, I could smell my own arousal mingled with the scent of Jehanne’s. “Very.”

  “Good.” Raphael smiled lazily. “Mayhap later you’ll show me what you learned.”

  The image of Jehanne with her lips wrapped around the aide d’amour flashed behind my eyes. That was before she had shown me its other uses, which had left me pleasantly sore. I cleared my throat. “It’s been a long day. Tomorrow, mayhap?”

  “All right.” He pushed himself away from the doorway and came over to kiss me, holding the back of my head hard when I tried to pull away from him, sure that he would smell her on me. His tongue delved into my mouth. My body, still tuned to the key of desire, responded mindlessly. Raphael cupped one of my breasts and squeezed, his thumb teasing the erect nipple through the cloth of my gown. “You’re sure?”

  I closed my eyes. “Please. Tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Did you think of me?” he asked insistently.

  “Aye.” I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and lied to him. “I thought of you the whole time.”

  Raphael let me go. “Good girl. Go freshen yourself; dinner’s to be served shortly.”

  In my borrowed chamber, I sank onto the bed and buried my face in my hands. Stone and sea! I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. A complicated knot of pleasure and guilt and confusion lay heavy in the pit of my belly.

  “My lady?” There was a knock at the door.

  I lifted my head. “Aye?”

  Daphne entered with a ewer of fresh water for the basin. “Are you all right?” Her shy, sweet, open face looked worried. “Was it not nice?”

  “No.” I smiled ruefully. “It was nice.”

  She looked relieved. “Oh, good.” Water splashed into the basin. “All the Houses of the Night Court have their specialties. But they say that Cereus House is the first and oldest and best.” Daphne bustled around the chamber, examining the ball of soap to determine whether or not it needed to be replaced and laying out fresh linen towels. She glanced at me and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner. “Did you know that Queen Jehanne herself served as an adept at Cereus House?”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “So I heard.”

  Daphne’s expression took on an unwonted hard edge. “They say her beauty and her wiles cured King Daniel of his grief after his first wife died a few years ago. He wed her out of gratitude and dotes on her yet.” Her voice dropped another octave. “Even to this day, his majesty is willing to put up with all manner of her transgressions, including her dalliance with Lord Raphael.”

  “Oh, aye?” I rubbed my eyes. “Well, from what little I’ve seen, her majesty can be… compelling.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Daphne said darkly.

  Somehow, I survived that night’s dinner. For a mercy, Raphael didn’t press me for details of my assignation. He was caught up in some arcane business at the Academy to which he eluded in a vague and offhand manner. Since he was being cryptic, I listened with only half an ear, caught up in my own concerns.

  “May I count on your assistance, Moirin?” His eyes were intent. “Your gift may make the difference.”

  I shook myself. “In what?”

  “The project,” Raphael said steadily. “Or are you afraid?”

  “Of course not.” I had no idea what he was talking about. “And of course I’ll do my best to aid you. Only I accepted an invitation from his highness Prince Thierry to go hunting tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes.” Raphael relaxed. “I’ll be there as well. We can’t make a new attempt for a few more days anyway.”

  “That’s good,” I said blankly.

  The following day dawned sunny and bright with a hint of crisp autumnal chill in the air. I dressed in one of the riding gowns that Benoit Vallon had designed for me. I should have been excited by the prospect of a day spent outdoors. Instead, the knot in my belly had grown worse.

  Poets bedamned; why in the name of stone and sea and sky and all that they encompassed had I trusted Jehanne de la Courcel?

  Why hadn’t I told Raphael?

  At the breakfast table, I tried to tell him. But every time I opened my mouth to speak, a flash of memory came over me, followed by a hot flush. I couldn’t get the words out. If he didn’t think I’d played him for a fool, he’d think I was a pure blind idiot for giving Jehanne exactly what she wanted. And like as not, he would be right.

  “Are you all right, Moirin?” Raphael gave me a curious glance. “You look fevered.”

  “I’m fine,” I managed.

  “Let me see.” He felt at my forehead and the pulse of my wrist, then bade me stick out my tongue and peered down my throat. “All right, then. Don’t overtax yourself today, mind? You’re not long out of bed-rest.” He gave me a wry smile. “And you may have spent a good deal of time in bed yesterday, but I fear it wasn’t particularly restful.”

  Another flush swept over me. “No. No, it was not.”

  Prince Thierry’s invitation bade me to come unmounted and meet h
im in the courtyard of the royal stables. Raphael rode alongside the carriage on his own hunting steed, a glossy chestnut with powerful hindquarters. I rode in the carriage, sick with apprehension.

  One good satire can make you the laughingstock of the City, Jehanne had said. Yesterday I’d taken her warning at face value.

  Today I wondered if it had been a taste of things to come.

  It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t done anything Jehanne hadn’t done. But she was a highly trained courtesan. I had no doubt she could dissemble in the ways of desire as well and better than any woman. I was a half-breed of the Maghuin Dhonn with no skill whatsoever when it came to hiding my own desires. And I knew, instinctively, that if Jehanne de la Courcel put it about how gullible I’d been and how ardent a role I’d played in my own seduction, I would be a laughingstock.

  And Raphael would despise me for lying.

  I don’t know which thought made me sicker.

  By the time we reached the royal stables, I was strung tighter than my own bow and half ready to vomit. A footman in Courcel livery helped me from the carriage.

  “Lady Moirin!” The Dauphin was standing beside a groom, who was holding the head of a glossy black filly. Thierry beckoned to me, his expression glad and friendly. “Come here, will you?”

  I relaxed a measure. “She’s lovely.” I stroked the filly’s neck. “Are you riding her today?”

  “No.” He grinned, took the reins from the groom, and handed them to me with a courtly bow. “You are. She’s a gift.”

  I stared. “Whatever for?”

  “Do I need a reason?” Thierry asked. “A beautiful lady should have a beautiful mount. But as it happens, she’s a gift of thanks,” he added. “Marc de Thibideau’s a good friend and hunting companion. I’m grateful for what you did to aid him.”

  “It was Raphael’s doing,” I murmured.

  “Raphael had already treated the young man in question with limited success,” Raphael offered in a laconic tone from astride his tall chestnut. “Give his highness your thanks.”