Kushiel's Chosen

has one or two called to the Service of Naamah. You would be surprised at how many ask that question. Is it the will of Naamah that I serve her? To each one, I give the same answer: It is your will that matters. No less than any other, the Servants of Naamah keep the covenant of Blessed Elua. Love as thou wilt. Naamah's path is sacred to us, for she chose of her own will to win the freedom and sustenance of Blessed Elua with the gifts of her body. It was her choice, and she does not compel her Servants to follow." With that said, she turned back to give me a long, considering gaze. "To you, I answer differently."
    Her acolytes murmured, drawing near to listen. I set down the birdcage and waited. The priestess smiled and reached out to touch my face, tracing a line along the outer curve of my left eye.
    " 'Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal/Late of the brazen portals/With blood-tipp'd dart a wound unhealed/Pricks the eyen of chosen mortals,' " she quoted, citing the very verse with which Delaunay had identified my nature. "I cannot chart your course, anguissette; your calling lies beyond Naamah's purview alone. You are Kushiel's chosen, and he will cast you where he will. Only Elua, whom even the Companions follow, knows the whole of it. But you are Naamah's Servant as well, and under her protection, and to that I may speak. You ask, is it the will of Naamah that you serve her? I say: Yes." Wrapping her robe about her, the priestess gazed into the distance. "Tens of thousands of Servants of Naamah," she mused aloud, "all following a sacred calling. And yet our stature diminishes across the land. Whores, catamites, trulls ... I have heard these words, spoken with harsh tongues. Not by all, but enough. Too many."
    It was true, for I had heard it myself. Such words had not
    existed in our tongue when Elua and his Companions trod
    the earth, and peers and commoners alike delighted in Naamah's service. It was different, now, and the customs of Terre d'Ange were tainted by those of other nations. I had not chosen an easy course.
    "How long has it been since an enthroned ruler summoned the Dowayne of Cereus House for counsel?" The priestess' sharp green eyes measured my thoughts. "Four generations or more, I think. Too long. It is not my place to restore the glory of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, but the glory of Naamah. .. yes. I know who you are, Phèdre no Delaunay." She smiled, unexpectedly. "Comtesse de Montrève. Your story is known, and it is told, a sangoire thread woven deep into the tapestry of war and betrayal that nearly sundered our nation. Because of you, the Scions of Elua and his Companions have returned to the Houses of the Night Court, playing at fashion, grasping at secondhand glory with thoughtless ardor. But you are a peer of the realm, now. Is it Naamah's will that her presence breach the Palace walls to shine once more at the heart of Terre d'Ange? To you I say, yes."
    I met her eyes and held them. "Politics."
    Her smile deepened. "Naamah does not care for politics, nor power. Glory, yes. What does your heart say, sister?"
    I shivered, and had to look away. "My heart is torn," I murmured.
    She touched my face again, gently. "What does Kushiel say?"
    It burned this time, her touch, heating my blood so that it rose in a warm blush. Priests and priestesses, they have that damnable surety about them. I wanted to turn my face against her palm, taste the salt of her skin. "Kushiel's will accords with Naamah's."
    "Then your question is answered." The priestess took her hand away, calm and undisturbed; I nearly fell yearning against her, but kept myself steady. "And I will pose mine again. Is it your wish to be rededicated unto the Service of Naamah?"
    "Yes." I said it strongly this time, and stooped to open the birdcage. I took the trembling dove in my hands and straightened. "It is."
    The acolytes stumbled against one another in confusion, then one bearing a basin of water came forward to offer the aspergillum to the priestess. I stood, the dove's quick-beating heart racing against my palms, as she flicked a few drops of water over me. "By Naamah's sacred river, I baptize you into her service." So I had stood, scarce more than a child, while Delaunay and Alcuin waited proudly behind me. No one awaited me now. I opened my mouth obediently for the portion of honey-cake, the sip of wine. Sweetness and desire. Elua, but I ached with it! And chrism at the last, oil upon my brow, for grace. When I was a child,