“I have a daughter who worships a bear,” my father remarked, having finished his offering.
Noémie d’Etoile went pale.
“You would understand if you saw Her,” I said. “And I cannot help who I am.”
“I like who you are.” He smiled at me. “And I do not expect you to forsake your heritage. Only that if the gods of Terre d’Ange speak to you, you listen to them as well. It may be that their will accords with hers.”
“I will listen,” I promised.
After we broke our fast at the temple, my father escorted me back to Raphael’s townhouse. We passed through Elua’s Square so I could visit the great oak there. I told my father it remembered being planted by Elua and Anael. He shook his head in wonder, gazing up at the mighty crown of branches. I leaned my cheek against the rough bark and listened with pleasure to the oak tree’s slow, ancient thoughts.
And then, all too soon, it was time to say farewell.
I invited my father inside, but he declined. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll return.”
“I wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll miss you.” Even though I’d known him only a day, it was true. “If Blessed Elua bade his people to love as they will, why do families like that lad’s seek to keep lovers apart?”
He smiled wryly. “Because people are human and imperfect. We let matters of status and wealth affect our judgment.”
“You don’t.”
“I try.” He gave me one last warm embrace. “And if you’re your mother’s child, I suspect you don’t, either. Take care of yourself, and I’ll be back in a month’s time to see if you’ve found your destiny.”
“All right,” I whispered.
I watched my father walk away, his crimson robes swaying gently around him. At the end of the street, he turned and gave me one of his lovely smiles.
Then he was gone.
I sighed and went inside.
Raphael wasn’t there, but he’d left word that he hoped I would join him in attending a dinner party that evening hosted by the Comte de Thibideau. One of Prince Thierry’s men had delivered the filly Blossom along with a letter congratulating me on reuniting with my father and expressing the hope that I would join him on a delayed excursion to Balm House that afternoon. And Daphne told me that Benoit Vallon had sent a messenger from Atelier Favrielle saying that there were more garments ready to be fitted.
“He said that now that you’re well enough to thoroughly disregard his advice, you can present yourself at the atelier.” She handed me a package wrapped in pretty paper. “What advice was that?”
“Advice I probably should have heeded.” I examined the package. “Who is this from?”
“It’s a token of thanks from Cereus House.” Daphne looked puzzled. “I’ve never heard of the like. It must be a new custom.”
I unwrapped the package to find a well-worn book titled Trois Milles Joies. When I opened the book at random, I was confronted with the image of a man and woman engaged in an act called The Rutting Stag. The faint, unmistakable scent of Jehanne’s perfume rose from the pages. Both things sent an unexpected bolt of desire through me. In the back of my mind, I could see her eyes dance with amusement.
“How very thoughtful.” I closed the book quickly. “Daphne, I thought I might go to the Academy of Occult Philosophy to seek out Master Lo Feng. Is that inappropriate?”
“I don’t see why it would be.” She eyed me. “But whatever for?”
“I liked him.”
She shivered. “Somewhat about him makes my skin crawl. It’s those slanty eyes, I reckon. You don’t know what he’s thinking.”
“Really?” I was surprised. “I thought he was lovely.”
Daphne shrugged. “They say the Ch’in eat dogs. They’re barbarians.”
“Well, I’m not a dog, so I’ve naught to fear.” I didn’t feel like arguing with her. “If Raphael returns before me, tell him I’ll be pleased to accompany him tonight. And, um… do I need to reply to Prince Thierry?”
“Aye, my lady. I’ll have paper and ink sent to your chambers.” She gave me a disapproving look. “Though you oughtn’t turn down an invitation from the Dauphin for no good cause.”
“Why?” I asked. “I don’t wish to go to Balm House with him.”
“But he’s the Dauphin!”
“Oh, aye,” I said wryly. “And his status and wealth should dictate my desires?” Daphne looked hurt, and I immediately felt guilty. My father might have made the same point, but he’d have done it with grace. “I’m sorry.” I gave her a quick hug. “I know you mean well.”
She sniffed. “Don’t forget about Atelier Favrielle.”
“I won’t.”
It was a blessed relief to ride out of the City and across the ancient Tiberian bridge in the open air. Blossom thought so, too. I let my thoughts ease into hers. We got on well together. She was gentle and willing and needed little direction. I let the reins lie slack and guided her with my knees, watching the water of the Aviline River slide past us, laughing when the sun emerged from behind a bank of clouds and Blossom shied and pricked her ears at her own shadow cast in sharp relief on the venerable stones.
“Silly,” I said fondly. “It’s only your shadow.”
The thought seemed to amuse her. Blossom arched her neck and picked up her gait, trampling her own shadow defiantly.
In the courtyard of the Academy, I turned her over to an ostler’s care. She looked at me with prick-eared alarm. “It’s only for a little while,” I assured her, and she relaxed.
The ostler clucked his tongue in a friendly manner. “Smart one, isn’t she? You’d almost think she understands you.”
I smiled. “Almost, aye. Do you know where I might find Master Lo Feng?”
“That Ch’in fellow?” He jerked his thumb toward the west, his expression hardening. “Try the glass pavilion.”
I thanked him and set out in search of it.
The Academy was a sprawling complex with a multitude of passageways and hidden courtyards. Twice, I had to ask passing scholars for directions. They obliged with an air of pleasant distraction. Once I found it, I felt foolish for having had to ask.
The glass pavilion was exactly that: a vast pavilion made wholly of glass. I stood for a moment and gaped at it. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how it had been built. The domed roof rose high into the air. The structure that supported it was made of white-washed iron as delicate and intricate as lace. Countless panes of glass glittered in the sunlight.
And behind them, greenery.
It was filled with plants.
At length I found the door and opened it. Warm air wafted out, redolent with moisture and the aroma of green, growing life. I stepped inside and shivered with pleasure. If one had to be indoors, surely this must be the most wondrous place on earth.
A pretty young woman watering an unfamiliar tree glanced up. “May I assist you, my lady?”
“I’m looking for Master Lo Feng.”
“Ah.” She smiled and pointed. “You’ll find him in the bamboo gallery.”
“My thanks.” I came over to touch the tree’s slender, ridged trunk. At the top, fronds like giant ferns radiated outward, brown hairy seeds as large as a child’s head clustered beneath them. “Who’s this fellow?”
Her smile deepened. “He’s a coconut palm.”
In its placid thoughts, the tree dreamed of warm breezes murmuring through its fronds. Almost all the plants in the glass pavilion did. I glanced around. “Forgive me, but what does this place have to do with occult philosophy?”
The young woman laughed. “It depends on who you ask, but in my opinion, not much. It was commissioned by Gautier de la Courcel to house the exotic species he brought back from his travels. The Academy seemed as good a place as any.”
“Gautier de la Courcel.” I remembered Thierry pointing out his portrait and telling me it was his grandfather. “He’s the one who vanished?”
“Aye.” She sobered. “Searching for the Book of Raziel.” She
stroked the palm tree’s trunk. “He should have stuck to plants.” Her bright, curious gaze studied me. “Are you the bear-wit—” She caught herself.
“Moirin,” I said wryly. “Of the Maghuin Dhonn.”
“I’m sorry, my lady.” She colored prettily. “I’m Marie-Thèrese. Welcome.”
I thanked her and went on in the direction she’d indicated, deeper into the pavilion, breathing the air with relish. Heat rose from beneath my feet. The panes of glass high above me were opaque with mist. I saw an archway onto a middle section where a grove of tall, slender plants grew on segmented stalks. Their leaves were thin, pointed, and graceful. I felt my diadh-anam quicken inside me.
It was somehow familiar.
Master Lo Feng’s surly lad lounged in the archway, sitting with one knee drawn up loosely. He looked indolent and bored, but when I approached, his segmented staff swept up to bar my passage. He spared me one glittering black glance from beneath his shock of hair, then looked away, his nostrils flaring.
“You no bother him now,” he said with disdain.
Bao. That was his name. Beyond him, I could see Lo Feng seated on a stool in the midst of the grove, wielding a brush on an easel propped before him.
“Will you tell him I’m here?” I asked politely.
He refused to meet my eyes. “You no bother him, D’Angeline girl.”
It irked me.
I took a step backward and summoned the twilight. This was a man-made place, but it was a green place. My gift came easy. I blew it out, warm and balmy, wrapping myself in tropical dimness. The glass pavilion turned soft and muted and glimmering in my vision, and I had the satisfaction of seeing Bao leap to his feet with a sharp cry and unexpected agility. He lunged forward, his staff sweeping toward my head.
I ducked beneath it and passed through the archway.
“Hahhh!” There was a staccato sound behind me, a breeze passing above me as Bao’s entire body arced over my head. He landed in front of me in a crouch, wide- and wild-eyed, his staff spinning expertly in his hands as he straightened and advanced on me. A torrent of incomprehensible Ch’in poured from his lips.
“Stone and sea!” I scrambled backward, losing my grip on the twilight. The world turned sunlit and green. He blinked at my sudden appearance. I glared at him. “What are you trying to do? Kill me?”
He glared back at me. “Yes!”
Master Lo Feng rose. “Bao.”
His lean shoulders tensed; then he planted the butt of his staff with an abrupt thrust. They had an exchange in Ch’in. From what I could discern, Master Lo Feng sounded gentle and reproving, and his surly lad defensive. It ended with Bao inclining his head, clearly unhappy. Still, he stepped aside.
“Lady Moirin.” Lo Feng clasped his hands together and bowed. The corners of his eyes crinkled. I still thought him lovely. “You honor me.”
“I intrude,” I said in apology.
“No, no.” He beckoned. “Come and see a humble scholar’s attempt at art.”
I followed him into the bamboo gallery. A scroll of paper was stretched vertically on his easel. In a handful of elegant brushstrokes, he had captured the essence of the tame grove, using only black ink, each stroke filled with purpose. I traced the graceful lines of the bamboo, not quite touching the soft, absorbent paper.
“They yearn to bend and sway,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “They do.”
I pointed to three lines of strange characters. “And this? This is writing in your alphabet?”
“It’s a poem.” Master Lo Feng said in a tranquil tone.
I searched his face. “Will you tell it to me?”
He inclined his head. “Leaves like green spears seek to pierce the glass dome of Heaven; leaves seek and fail. The air breathes in a quiet hush. Beneath the bamboo, I am melancholy.”
“That’s very beautiful,” I said.
“It is a poor translation,” he said modestly. “But I would be honored if you would accept this painting as a gift.”
“Ah, no!” I protested. “You’re too kind.”
“Not at all.” After determining that the ink was sufficiently dry, Master Lo Feng took the scroll from its easel and rolled it. He presented it to me with a bow. “The other day, you gave me the gift of wonder. This is a small gift to give in return.”
I accepted it. “Thank you. I will treasure it.”
“May I ask how you got through the entry past Bao just now?” he inquired. “No one gets past Bao.”
Bao, leaning on his staff, muttered darkly.
“Oh.” I flushed. “I’m sorry. He did say you weren’t to be bothered.”
“Bao is rude and overprotective,” Master Lo Feng said calmly. “I am not angered. I wish to know.”
I told him.
“Hmm.” His expression was thoughtful. “You draw yin energy from the earth itself in the spirit world. Is this what you used to heal the young man’s broken bone the other day?”
“Aye,” I said. “Only I didn’t use it, Raphael did.”
“You cannot do it on your own?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Only with plants.”
Lo Feng’s eyes shone. “Will you show me?”
I glanced around. “Everything here is healthy. I could quicken it. Coax it to flower.”
Bao snickered.
“This species flowers but once every hundred years,” Master Lo Feng said apologetically. “It is a rare event. Perhaps we should—”
I closed my eyes and breathed in the twilight.
Laid my hand on the nearest stalk and breathed it out.
Coaxing.
Although it was quiet, it felt like a shout. The energy passed through me, passed into the slender stalk, leaving me drained in a pleasant way. It raced upward and downward. Travelled beneath our feet through an intricate series of connected roots and rhizomes. A little breeze sprang up. The spear-shaped leaves rustled.
All at once, the bamboo flowered.
All at once.
I sank to my knees, happy.
“Lady Moirin?” Master Lo Feng stooped before me. Concern was written on his face. Over his shoulder, I could see Bao scowling. Inside my breast, my diadh-anam pulsed. “Are you well?”
“Yes.” I smiled at him. “Would you take me on as a student?”
His eyes crinkled. “Of what?”
“Whatever you deem fit.”
He smiled back at me. “Of course.”
THIRTY-FOUR
I will begin by teaching you to breathe,” Master Lo Feng said the following day when we met in the Academy’s gardens.
I blinked at him. “What?”
“It is the essential process by which we draw energy into ourselves—for you, even more than most. It lies at the heart of your gift. And although this magic of yours is foreign to me, I believe I may help you hone your ability to wield it.” He gestured to Bao, who whipped his staff off his shoulder and twirled it. Three mats of woven palm fronds unfurled. Bao arranged them on the grass. Master Lo Feng sat cross-legged on one. “Sit.”
I sat.
Bao followed suit, his back upright, his staff across his knees.
“Does he ever let go of that thing?” I asked.
“Do not concern yourself with Bao,” Lo Feng said. “Now. The Five Styles of Breathing correspond to the Five Elements. We will begin with the one that is near to your own essence, the Breath of the Pulse of the Earth.”
He told me to concentrate on the earth beneath me, to inhale and exhale through the mouth. To draw the breath into the deepest part of my belly, to the very pit of my groin. To listen for the slow pulse of the earth and match the rhythm of my breath to it.
“That’s all?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said simply. “For now.”
For such a simple thing, it was surprisingly difficult. I found myself distracted by passing scholars shaking their heads, by a bell ringing in a tower summoning them to a lecture, by ants crawling on a nearby chrysanthemum.
I closed my eyes and listened.
“You are breathing through your nose.”
“Oh.” I breathed through my mouth.
“Breathe into your belly, not your chest,” he said.
I breathed into my belly, slow and steady. For a time, there was silence. Mayhap it meant I was doing well. I cracked open my eyes and peeked. Master Lo Feng’s eyes were closed, his face as serene as a statue’s. Bao’s eyes were half-lidded, dark, glittering slits watching me. He drew deep, even breaths between parted lips.
“Moirin, do not concern yourself with Bao,” Master Lo Feng said without opening his eyes.
“Bao is concerning himself with me,” I complained.
“Ignore him.”
I tried harder. I closed my eyes again. I thought about the earth beneath me and how deep it went. Deeper than the taproot of Elua’s Oak. I listened for its pulse. I drew breath deep into the pit of my belly and breathed it out slowly. I thought about the bright and dark world beyond the stone doorway, and how the tread of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself had made the ground tremble.
A measured tread, slow and stately.
Terrible.
Beautiful.
Like a heartbeat.
When the bell in the tower rang a second time, it seemed faint and distant, summoning me back to myself.
“Oh!” I opened my eyes with an effort, my lids feeling oddly heavy. The shadows cast by plants and shrubs in the garden had moved. A good deal more time than I reckoned had passed.
Master Lo Feng’s eyes crinkled. “Well done.”
“Was it?”
“Indeed.” He struggled to rise. Bao was on his feet in a flash, planting his staff and lending his master a solicitous hand. Master Lo Feng accepted it without a trace of embarrassment. “Old knees,” he said ruefully. “Forgive me. Proper breathing will prolong life, but mortal flesh and bone is still mortal.”
Bao muttered under his breath in Ch’in.
Master Lo Feng ignored him. “So. You bade me teach you as I saw fit. Will you continue?”
Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss Page 26
