Kushiel 03 - [Moirin 01] - Naamah's Kiss
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“Yes.” His hand slid down my spine to settle in the small of my back, pulling me to him, my hips pressing against his. It felt good. I acceded willingly, gazing up at his face. “Moirin, if we succeed, the princess and the dragon will be parted. He will be free in all his celestial glory. She will be human once more—the daughter of the Son of Heaven, yes, but a woman of Ch’in nonetheless.” His lips brushed mine, defying the customary prohibition against such public displays. “You will still be you. A witch, and a foreigner.”
“Which doesn’t seem to bother you,” I commented.
“I may have exaggerated your perils,” Bao admitted. “But it is better for your safety that the others remain fearful of your reputation.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “Are you angry?”
“Yes.” I kissed him. “No. Maybe.”
The dragon rumbled.
Master Lo Feng cleared his throat.
With reluctance, Bao let me go. “When this is over—”
“When it is over we will talk,” I said firmly. “About this and fat babies and many other things. Assuming we live through it.”
“There is always that,” he agreed. “And hopefully we will do much more than talk.”
A week into our journey, the mood of the Imperial couriers who hurtled past us on the road changed. No longer did they pause to ask questions, and a new pennant flew from the standards affixed to their saddles beneath the Imperial insignia: a crimson banner.
The first time one passed, a wave of cries trailed in its wake. Beside me, the princess tensed. “What is it?”
I shook my head. “I’ve no idea, my lady.”
“War!” Bao’s face appeared in the window, exultant. “His Celestial Majesty’s riders are flying the red banner of war!”
“He’s done it,” Snow Tiger breathed. A ripple of relief ran through her; for a moment, she buried her veiled face in her hands. “Ah, gods be thanked! Mayhap there is a greater purpose in this.”
“It must have been a powerful letter you left for him,” I said.
“Yes.”
I thought she would say more, but she didn’t, not then. Not until later, long after we had made camp for the night, long after the simple supper and sparring, when she and I had retired to our tent of oiled silk. I was nearly asleep when her voice floated in the darkness, hushed and disembodied.
“I said many things in the letter I wrote,” the princess whispered. “I begged my father to put his faith in his bravery and wisdom, not his doubts. I assured him that he had not lost the Mandate of Heaven, that he could lose it only through inaction. I told him that this was the battle he was born to fight, the battle of a lifetime, ten lifetimes. And…”
“Aye?” I propped myself on one arm.
“I said that I would fight it if he did not,” she murmured. “That once the dragon and I were freed from the curse Black Sleeve laid upon us, I would raise an army to confront Lord Jiang and his vile sorcerer. And that if my Noble Father had failed to stand by me, I would consider myself an orphan and the rightful heir to the Mandate of Heaven.”
I caught my breath, aware of exactly how grave an offense this was for a dutiful Ch’in princess. “A dire threat, my lady.”
“Yes.” A rueful note crept into her voice. “But a necessary one. They tell me my mother was unafraid to cross him at times, and he loved her better for it. It seems there is a certain fondness for insolence in our lineage.”
I reached out one hand in the darkness between our pallets. “I’m sorry. I cannot imagine how difficult it was for you to do such a thing.”
She squeezed my hand in gratitude, then let go. “Thank you. If you would do me a kindness, I would ask you never to speak of it to anyone.”
“Of course,” I promised readily. “Your trust honors me.”
“It is strange,” Snow Tiger mused. “What you once shouted at me is true. There is great value in having a loyal listening ear into which to whisper one’s troubles. Perhaps I begin to understand your D’Angeline customs better. Perhaps I am not so different from your Queen as I thought.”
The dragon stirred, a hopeful thought beginning to form. If you are not so different—
“Nor so alike, either,” the princess added hastily. “It is friendship of which I speak, nothing more.”
I smiled in the darkness, knowing she couldn’t see me. “I do not think people are so different, my lady. It is only that in Terre d’Ange, the expression of desire in all its forms is sacred, so long as it is offered freely. They worship aspects of pleasure some peoples deny or reckon unsuitable. But they are not the only nation to celebrate the act of love.” I paused. “Do not the Ch’in have manuals on the arts of the bedchamber? Bao told me as much.”
“Oh, yes.” Her voice turned wistful. “If my mother had lived, she would have presented me with such a book before my wedding night. None of my father’s other wives saw fit to do a mother’s duty.”
“A pity.” Although it was on the tip of my tongue to offer her whatever instruction she might desire, I managed to swallow the words. I did not want to spoil the moment. “From what you told me before, it sounds as though you and Jiang Jian would have managed without it.”
“Yes.” She was silent a moment. “But I would find it difficult to trust myself in such a way again. At least of my own will.”
The dragon didn’t speak, but the tenor of its thoughts was chastened.
“One day you will find a way, my lady,” I assured her. “I do not doubt it.”
Whether or not Snow Tiger believed me, I could not say; but she had begun to allow herself to trust me and accept my friendship. It was enough.
Now all the gossip that passed along the road was of war. Rumor ran rampant from every quarter. Imperial troops were said to be on the march, recalled from duty elsewhere. It was said that they meant to sail into Guangzho and strike at the heart of Lord Jiang’s forces; it was speculated that Lord Jiang would move his army to the outskirts of Ludong and begin by taking that city.
Then it changed. Then it was rumored that Lord Jiang’s army was withdrawing to the south, that the mere threat of war with the Imperial army had them in retreat.
I didn’t believe it.
Nor did Master Lo. “They will have heard the rumors, too, my lady,” he said to the princess. “Including the tale of your disappearance.”
Her head tilted. “So?”
We were arrayed around a makeshift map etched in the loose soil of yet another harvested field. Master Lo’s elegant hands sculpted a mountain in the southern provinces. “My son is not a fool. It may be that he and Jiang Quan have crafted enough of their terrible weapons to defeat any army your Noble Father raises. I cannot say. And yet there remains one battle they dare not lose.” He guided her hand to the mounded soil. “White Jade Mountain.”
Home! The dragon’s voice soared.
Kneeling, the princess was very still, listening.
“My son and Lord Jiang know we are coming, my lady,” Master Lo said gently. “They know that I am here, and that we have puzzled out the nature of their deed. Although I counseled against it, your father tipped our hand. If we succeed in freeing you from this curse, it does not matter how many battles they win, how many weapons they possess, how many men they command. We will set loose a dragon in all its glory. If we succeed, the truth will be known, and ten thousand times a thousand hands will be raised against them. No one will take up arms against you. No one will man their terrible weapons. That loss, they cannot afford. Therefore, they will make a stand where it matters most.”
“Here.” Despite her blindfold, Snow Tiger’s hand moved unerringly, drawing a line in the dirt. “In the pastures surrounding White Jade Mountain.”
He bowed his shaven head. “Even so.”
Her head returned to its considering pose. “Can we hope to outpace either army?”
Glances were exchanged, heads shaken.
“No,” I said aloud for her benefit. “It seems we cannot, my lady.”
“Home.” The princess echoed the word. Her hand clenched into a fist. “So be it.” She inclined her head, neat and precise. “Thank you, Venerable One. If your words be true, and I do not doubt their wisdom, it seems your son has chosen the battlefield.” Her smile was tight and hard. “Let us bring the battle to them.”
SEVENTY
We took to the river.
For my part, it was a relief, a blessed relief.
Our carriage was a less stifling affair than D’Angeline carriages, but it was still an uncomfortable way to travel. I preferred being in the open air, not jounced and battered along the road.
In a large fishing village, Bao and Dai scoured the waterfront until they found an entrepreneurial merchant willing to trade a boat called a sampan for the horse and carriage. It was a good-sized boat for its kind, long and low, with a midsection covered by an awning of tightly woven fronds.
Still, it was small enough that it dipped noticeably under each person’s weight as we stepped aboard. I got the princess settled comfortably under the awning, then eyed Bao as he took up a post at the long rudder pole. Suddenly, the boat seemed more precarious and the current swifter. “Are you sure you know how to steer this?”
He grinned at me. “Of course. I am Master Lo Feng’s magpie. I can do whatever he requires.”
“Right now, he finds it needful that his magpie be more discreet, Younger Brother,” Master Lo said mildly.
Bao sighed, chastened. “Yes, Honored Brother.”
Once we were under way, any fears vanished. For all his boastful streak, Bao never boasted in vain; he was skilled at the rudder. He swung the boat into the center of the river, letting the swift current take us. When Kang took to the oars, the little boat moved at an even livelier pace, much faster than we’d been travelling in the carriage, constrained by the foot-speed of our unlikely attendants. The scent of the river and the chilly breeze against my face made me smile, happier than I had been since our journey began.
The dragon was happy, too.
“He likes being on water,” Snow Tiger commented.
Yes. I wish I could see, he added.
“So do I,” she murmured, touching her thick veil. “So do I.”
I glanced around. No one was watching, and the awning concealed us from the casual view of outsiders. “Why not?” I hadn’t summoned the twilight since we’d left Shuntian. Given the effectiveness of our simple disguises, it hadn’t been necessary. The princess had not asked it of me; nor had the dragon, eager to be helpful. It hadn’t occurred to me that both must be longing for it in different ways. I took a deep breath and called the twilight, wrapping it around both of us. The sky dimmed, the river turned silvery, the green slopes leading down to it turned a soft heather-grey.
Ten Tigers Dai let out a sudden shout of alarm. “Where—”
“Here,” I murmured, letting him hear me. “It’s all right, be quiet. The lady and the dragon wish to see, and I am helping them.”
He stared through me, pale with fear. “Ah… all right.”
The princess removed her hat and veil, her dragon-reflecting eyes meeting mine. “It is all right, Dai. I promise. Tell the others.”
He eased. “As you say, my lady.”
The river? Please?
“Yes.” Beneath the awning, Snow Tiger leaned over the edge of the narrow boat, gazing at the moving waters. The dragon sighed with pleasure. She beckoned to me. Kneeling beside her, I watched the reflection of dragon’s pearlescent coils undulate with the flowing current alongside our boat, eeling through the reeds.
His happiness was like a song, a caroling chorus of gratitude running through it. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
“Of course,” I said softly. “I am sorry I did not offer before. You have only to ask, treasured friend.”
The princess dipped her fingertips into the water, letting them trail just below the surface. The dragon’s reflection rippled and wavered. I sensed his delighted reaction, like an immensely vast and impossibly glorious dog having his belly rubbed.
“Despite everything, I will miss him,” she said in a low voice. “Now that I know what he is. Now that I know him. Does that shock you?”
I shook my head. “I will miss him, too.”
“It is not the same.”
“No, of course not.” All too well, I remembered that quicksilver energy surging through my veins in the Celestial City when the dragon had poured a measure of his essence into me through her kiss. Like a storm in my blood, wild and joyous. “No, it is not, my lady. And yet I will miss him nonetheless.”
“And he, you.” She withdrew her hand from the water, letting it rest briefly on my shoulder. “Betimes I wonder, Moirin of the Maghuin Dhonn. Bear-worshipping witch, child of desire. The unlikely confluence of deities that begot you flung you into the world to work their will without guidance. Tell me, where does it end? With this greater purpose you perceive? Are you a minor character in my tale, or am I a lesser figure in yours?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” I murmured. “I suppose it depends on who is telling the tale.”
The princess contemplated me. The dragon’s doubly reflected image swam in her black pupils, coiling and uncoiling endlessly. “I suppose it does.”
Since it made the stick-fighters nervous, I didn’t hold the twilight long, only long enough to soothe the dragon. The men whispered and murmured at our reappearance. Bao smirked at them. I wondered what further lies he’d told them about me. I wondered, too, whether he’d done it to protect me, or simply to aggrandize his own reputation.
Both, likely.
Although it should have bothered me, it didn’t. Now that I knew him, Bao’s cheerful arrogance, so at odds with the humility he tried to cultivate, couldn’t disguise the fact that he was loyal and fearless, not to mention a hopeless romantic at heart.
What the future held for us, the gods alone knew.
I watched the river unfurl like a ribbon before our boat, green and unending, and thought about what the princess had said. It was not entirely true that the unlikely confluence of deities who begot me had given me no guidance. My diadh-anam flickered steadily within me, a divine compass telling me that I was where I was meant to be, no matter how very, very far from home.
Of course, I’d been sure it was telling me I was meant to be with Raphael, too.
It had seemed so right. The unlikely collision of our meeting, his unhesitating acceptance of me, the way our gifts intertwined. Stone and sea, I’d been so sure! And I’d been so, so very wrong. The destiny that the Maghuin Dhonn Herself laid on me, Naamah’s gift, Anael’s gift, Master Lo’s teaching…
I didn’t understand what it all meant.
Patience. The dragon’s voice rumbled through my thoughts, tinged with a profound fondness and amusement only an immortal creature could muster. You are very young. Live. Learn. Love.
Startled out of my reverie, I smiled. “I am trying.”
He poured an immense surge of affection into me. You are doing well. Remember, the journey is more important than the destination.
“Old Nemed said the same thing,” I said aloud.
Yes. You would do well to remember the wise-woman when the time comes.
“What do you mean?” My voice rose. “What do you know?” The dragon fell silent, his thoughts turning misty and vague as they did when he dreamed and drifted. With the exception of the veiled princess, everyone on the boat stared at me. I cleared my throat. “Ah… forgive me. It is only that the dragon said something unexpected, and now he will not tell me what it means.”
“It may be that he cannot,” Master Lo said philosophically. “He is a celestial being, Moirin. Like sages, they speak in riddles.”
“Why?” I demanded. “It’s very irritating!”
His eyes twinkled. “Sages do so to instruct, to prod the lazy mind into thought. I susp
ect dragons have their own rules.”
Yes. The dragon surfaced to agree. Such as forgiving the follies that budding sages committed in their youth.
That, I declined to translate.
“Speaking of lazy minds…” Master Lo glanced around the boat. “Many sages claim the journey and the destination are one and the same. Perhaps, with the Lady Chan’s gracious permission, we might use this time to examine Sakyamuni’s teachings and the search for enlightenment undertaken by those on the Path of Dharma, and how it compares to the path of those following the Way?” He stroked his shorn chin. “It seems fitting.”
Snow Tiger inclined her head. “Of course, Venerable One.”
SEVENTY-ONE
I learned a great deal during our time on the river. Most of all, I learned that I was unsuited for following the Path of Dharma.
“These are the Four Noble Truths taught by Sakyamuni, the Enlightened One,” Master Lo said in his tranquil voice. “To live is to suffer. The origin of suffering is desire. It is possible to cease suffering. To do so one must walk the Path of Dharma, shedding all mortal attachments.”
I squirmed.
He bent his gaze on me. “You disagree, Moirin?”
“It is not what you taught me, Master,” I said, temporizing. “You said all ways lead to the Way.”
“So I did.” He folded his hands in his lap. “And this is one way among many. I do not claim to be what I pretend in guise, and yet I have some knowledge of the matter. Are you so wise that you will reject it at a glance? Or will you listen and hear?”
I sighed. “I will listen, of course.”
I liked the tale of the Bhodistani prince whose father had kept him so sheltered that for many long years, he did not know that such things as sickness, age, and death existed. At the same time, I thought he took the revelation overly hard. Surely, I thought, not all of life was suffering.
“You find it hard to grasp because you are a foreigner,” the princess observed.