Naamah's Kiss
Page 21

He blinked. "You speak with trees?"
"With that one, aye. Mostly, their thoughts are simpler. Not thoughts, exactly, but awareness."
"And how is that done?" Raphael asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know, I just do. It's a small gift, but it's my own. My lord, why are you so curious?"
"Call me Raphael." He gestured to the chef to carve the roast standing beside the table. "Because unlike many in Terre d'Ange, I believe magic is a tool we shouldn't fear to put to good use. But from my studies, I've come to find that the incidence of pure, inherent magic in human beings is exceedingly rare. In most documented cases, it's acquired only by dint of intense study and discipline or great sacrifice. Or both." He poured sauce from a pitcher over the slice of beef the chef had laid on my plate. "The Maghuin Dhonn are a fascinating exception."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the chef shudder. "Well, we are a very old people."
Raphael gave me a curious glance. "You think of yourself as one of them?"
"I am one of them," I said firmly. "No matter where I am or how far I go, I carry the spark of my diadh-anam inside me."
His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Are the old stories true? Can you take on the shape of a bear?"
I cut a piece of roast and chewed thoughtfully. "No," I said at last. "The old stories are true, aye. But we lost that gift generations ago, when Berlik broke the oath he swore on behalf of all the Maghuin Dhonn. He was the last to wield it." I put down my fork. "We are also a dwindling folk, my lord Raphael. What magic left to us is small and insignificant, meant to protect and conceal us. I'm sorry to disappoint you."
"On the contrary." He reached out and held one hand several inches above mine. "Can you feel that?"
The air between us vibrated. I nodded.
"Energy." Raphael took his hand away. "It is the essence of all things. It flows through us and around us. With great practice, one can learn to control and manipulate it." He applied himself to his dinner, continuing to talk between bites. "I studied traditional medicine at the Academy in Marsilikos, but in the past year, we've been honored to have a great teacher from Ch'in at the Academy here, Master Lo Feng. It is a wondrous opportunity, for his folk almost never venture this far abroad, and they admit few foreigners to their country. Did you know that the Ch'in have a very different view of the healing arts?"
"No," I said.
"They do." He pointed his fork at me. "And under his tutelage, I've learned there is far more to healing than meets the eyes. After months of practice, I've learned the rudiments of controlling my own energy and using it to help heal others. But you—" He shook his head. "What you're capable of, you do without even thinking."
"Aye, but it's not the same thing," I said. "What I do is a gift of the Maghuin Dhonn."
Raphael shrugged. "Mayhap it has applications you've never dreamed. We could explore them, you and I." He smiled at me. "Mayhap it was destiny that placed you in that very street at that very moment."
My diadh-anam pulsed in my breast as though in agreement. "That," I said, "may be a more real possibility than you know."
He resumed eating. "When you're feeling stronger, I'd love to have you meet him. Master Lo Feng, that is."
"Why not?" I agreed. I'd never met anyone from Ch'in.
"And of course I'll introduce you at Court….." Raphael started. "Oh! Name of Elua, I'm an idiot. Your father."
My heart quickened. "You found him?"
He nodded. "I think so, or at least his name. I'm sorry, Moirin. It went clean out of my head when I saw you….. sparkling." Somewhere in the background, there was a commotion and raised voices. Raphael frowned and beckoned to a manservant standing by with a jug of wine. "Gerard, go see what that is."
Gerard set down his jug and bowed, exiting the dining hall. Raphael watched him go, still frowning.
"My father?" I prompted him.
"One moment," he said absently.
Gerard returned and bent down low, murmuring in his lord's ear. Raphael looked at once grim and oddly satisfied. "I'll speak to him." He dabbed his lips with a linen cloth. "Forgive me," he said to me. "I'll be back straightaway."
Curiosity got the better of me without even trying. I waited all of three heartbeats before following him. As soon as I'd slipped past the watching eyes of the servants in the dining room, I used the memory of Elua's Oak to focus my thoughts, and managed to call the twilight without too much effort. I trailed behind Raphael as he made his way to a large marble foyer I vaguely remembered from my dazed arrival.
There were three D'Angeline men awaiting him clad in some manner of livery. I couldn't make out the color in the twilight, but their doublets bore the emblem of a swan worked in a crest. All of them wore swords.
Their captain inclined his head. "My lord de Mereliot," he said in a curt voice. "Pray tell me your doorman misspoke."
Raphael folded his arms. "He did not."
The captain took a step toward him, one hand hovering above his sword-hilt. I wished I had my bow. "Then I would hear it from your lips, my lord," he said with acid politeness. "So I might assure her majesty there was no mistake. Is it your intention to deny the Queen of Terre d'Ange entry?"
"Is it a crime?" Raphael gave a pointed glance at the captain's sword. "The last I recall, the Queen was not an Empress, and D'Angeline citizens still enjoyed certain rights. Or is there a state of emergency? Are the Skaldi on our doorstep? Does her majesty require refuge?"
The other man's face darkened. "Just answer, damn you!"
"Very well." He executed a crisp bow. "Yes. It is unequivocally my intention to deny the Queen of Terre d'Ange entry to my private domicile. Does that suffice?"
"You play a foolish game, my lord," the captain muttered.
"I?" A muscle along Raphael's jawline twitched. "Jehanne has seen fit to punish me for three weeks for missing a single, insignificant engagement. She was angry—well and good. I made my apology, but she didn't see fit to accept it. It was a foolish game. She carried it too far and now I am angry. You may tell her you heard it from my own lips."
Unexpectedly, the captain sighed. "Oh, fine. She'll be hell to live with."
Raphael smiled. "I know."
The men in livery took their leave. I turned to steal back to the dining hall and found my way blocked by a gauntlet of curious servants who had come to see the confrontation. With a sigh of my own, I turned back to Raphael and let go the twilight. The silvery candle flames turned golden and the foyer took on a warm, pinkish hue. Behind me, a shocked murmur arose. Raphael regarded me.
"Moirin." He didn't sound surprised.
"Aye." I shrugged in apology.
"Sly and uncanny, is it? Ah, well, I suppose I'd have done the same in your shoes." Raphael extended his arm. "Shall we finish our dinner? I believe I was on the verge of imparting some rather important information to you."
I took his arm gratefully, happy that he wasn't angry at me. He rearranged my hand, showing me how to rest my fingertips lightly on his forearm. Members of his household stared and whispered. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my hair, feel the warmth of his body inches from mine. It set the doves to fluttering in my belly.
The Queen's favorite courtier, her lover.
"Do you love her?" I murmured without looking at him.
"Yes," he said in a low voice. I did look up, then, gazing into his storm-grey eyes. Raphael caressed my cheek. "But it doesn't mean she's my destiny, does it? And after all, this is Terre d'Ange. I'm not bound to love one and one alone."
There before his entire household, he kissed me again, and this time it was slow and languorous and deliberate. Once again—I could feel the heat and rising energy coiling between us. But when I wound my arms around his neck, Raphael laughed deep in his chest and peeled me off him.
"Ah, no." He settled my hand on his arm. "You've healing to do, my lady. Come."
Over cold meat and mashed tubers, congealed sauce, and a salad of limp greens, he told me that he'd learned that Due Gautier de Barthelme, who was in fact a descendant of House Courcel, had attended Lord Tiernan's coronation, and that if there was a Priest of Naamah in attendance, it was almost surely Phanuel Demarre, the companion of his youth.
"It's an old custom," Raphael explained. "To assign a priest- or priestess-in-training to a scion of the royal family. Often, lasting friendships are formed."
I toyed with a forkful of tubers. "Do you know where he is?"
He shook his head. "No, but I reckon your mother's right about the Temple. On the morrow, I can—"
"No."
"No?" he echoed.
I stirred my mashed tubers, thinking of the bright lady's smile and the mystery that had called my unknown father to my unlikely mother. "What if he's there? To the best of my knowledge, he's no idea I even exist. I think it's something I ought to do myself."
"As you wish." Raphael inclined his head. "But not yet. I'd rather you gave that rib at least a week to heal."
"A week?" I said in dismay.
He laughed. "Given my druthers, I'd say four, mayhap six. Can you grant me a mere week? If you can, I'll promise you a consultation on the morrow with Benoit Vallon of Atelier Favrielle right here at home. In a week's time, he ought to be able to whip together at least one ensemble befitting you."
My spirits rose. "Truly?"
"Do you consent to my terms?" Raphael countered. "A week's time to rest and recover?" I nodded. "Then yes, truly."
After dinner, he escorted me back to my guest-chamber and bade me good night. He kissed me, but it was a gentle kiss.
"I do feel much better," I said without a hint of subtlety.
Raphael shook his head, looking amused. "You won't if you don't take your ease as I ordered." He kissed me again, then turned me around and gave me a tiny shove. "Go on to bed with you."
I glanced over my shoulder. "And in a week's time?"
"We'll see," he promised, and closed the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I fell asleep thinking about Raphael de Mereliot. When I woke up, the first thing I thought about was Raphael de Mereliot.
Stone and sea, I wanted him! And it was a kind of wanting unlike any I'd known before, deeper and harder, an ache I felt in the very marrow of my bones. I remembered my mother saying Cillian was doomed the minute he laid eyes on me. Suddenly, I understood it. I was doomed the minute Raphael laid his hands on me, infusing my battered body with that glorious golden warmth.
And if I hadn't been, that first kiss had sealed it.
My diadh-anam agreed. And yet when I thought about the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, all I could see was the sorrow and regret in Her eyes.
"Why?" I murmured aloud, sitting on the balcony. "It's because he loves another, isn't it? And not just any other, but the Queen of Terre d'Ange, who just happens to also be an adept of the Night Court."
There was no reply.
I sighed and rested my brow on the rail of the balcony, gazing at the garden below. The happy plants were sparkling with dew. Raphael de Mereliot, the Queen's lover. Mayhap, my destiny. Why couldn't it have been someone simple and uncomplicated like Theo the coach-driver? I'd spent the whole of my life in a small patch of forest. I suspected a lifetime of learning to catch fish with my bare hands, skin rabbits, and gather burdock root hadn't exactly prepared me for the intrigues of the D'Angeline Court.
There was a knock at the door. "Moirin?"
Already, even muffled, his voice was familiar. "Aye!" I called, rising from my chair. "Come in."
Raphael entered, another man in tow. The newcomer was tall and lanky, but he moved with loose-limbed elegance. When he saw me, he stopped short and narrowed his eyes. "So this is what you're hiding, eh?"
"Hiding?" Raphael's tone was nonchalant. "That's an interesting term, Messire Vallon." He winked at me. "May I present my lady Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn, a descendant of Alais de la Courcel?"
The tall man paled. "Do you jest?"
Raphael smiled. "Not in the least. Moirin, this is Messire Benoit Vallon of Atelier Favrielle."
"Well met, messire," I said politely. He merely nodded in reply, steepled his fingers, and pressed them to his lips, studying me.
"So?" Raphael clapped him on the shoulder. "Will you take the commission?"
"Her majesty would be furious with us," Benoit Vallon said absently.
"Her majesty is already furious with you for refusing her," Raphael informed him. "And with me. Will you take the commission?"
He didn't look away from me. "Yes. Yes, of course."
"Excellent." Raphael smiled at me, grey eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea. "Then I'll leave you to it, shall I?"
The couturier flapped a hand at him. "By all means, go."
As soon as Raphael had withdrawn, Benoit Vallon prowled around me in a circle, looking without touching. I turned my head and craned my neck, trying to track his progress. "Good bones," he mused aloud. "Youth's dewy freshness….. How old are you?"