Naamah's Blessing

understand, even in Terre d’Ange where lovewas reckoned an art. Raphael de Mereliot was her storm; Daniel de la Courcel was her anchor.
    “My lady?” The steward stood with his hand poised on the door to the Salon of Eisheth’s Harp.
    I nodded. “Aye.”
    Inclining his head, he opened the door. Music spilled into the hallway. I took one step beyond the threshold. A bow screeched across the strings of a violoncello, and the music went silent. In the arranged chairs, heads turned.
    A tall figure rose.
    “Moirin.” Daniel de la Courcel, King of Terre d’Ange, said my name quietly. Our gazes locked.
    Ah, gods! There was a world of sorrow in his, as much as I had feared and more. Lines of grief etched his handsome face.
    A terrible memory surfaced behind his dark blue eyes, and I
saw
. I saw Jehanne on her death-bed, her fair skin deathly white from loss of blood—white as lilies, white as paper. I saw her pale lips move, shaping a word.
    Desirée
, her daughter’s name.
    Somewhere in the King’s memory, Raphael was still trying, still plying his physician’s arts, still trying to stanch the endless flow of blood that spilled from her and sopped the bed-linens with crimson, still raging, still exhorting Jehanne to stay with him, to be strong and live.
    But Daniel had known it was already too late.
    I saw the light in her sparkling eyes, her eyes like stars, flicker and die. I saw them stare blindly, her head going slack on her pillow, her perfect lips parted.
    “I’m sorry!” I fell to my knees in the aisle, borne down by the weight of his grief; tear-blinded, limp as a cut-string puppet. I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, my lord! I’m so very, very sorry. I should have been there.”
    “No.” His hands descended onto my shoulders, and his deep voice was firm. “Moirin, no.”
    I peered up at him between my fingers.
    “You could not have known,” Daniel said. “You loved her. It was enough.”
    “But it wasn’t,” I whispered. “It
wasn’t
.”
    Gently, inexorably, he raised me to my feet. “It was.” The King’s arms enfolded me, and I clung to him. “Against all odds, you were one of the better things in her life. It was enough.”
    His words, and the tenderness with which he held me, broke open a dam of grief and guilt inside me. Only the King, who had loved Jehanne more than anyone, had the right to absolve me. I accepted it and wept unabashedly, my tears dampening the front of his velvet doublet.
    When at last Daniel released me, there were tears on his cheeks, too. A soft sigh ran through the salon, and I could feel the mood of the D’Angeline people shift toward me. In one compassionate stroke, the King’s absolution had changed me from a figure of suspicion to one of tragic romance.
    A discreet attendant handed Daniel a silk kerchief. He blotted his tears, summoning the ghost of a weary smile. “A poor greeting, I fear. Come, cousin, introduce me to this husband you have brought from afar.”
    Stepping beside me, Bao bowed deeply in the Ch’in manner. “We have met, your majesty,” he said. “Years ago. I served as Master Lo Feng’s apprentice.”
    “Ah, yes.” The King nodded. “A very wise man, your master. Does he prosper?” His tired smile turned wistful. “Did the Camaeline snowdrop bulbs I gave him survive the long journey?”
    Bao hesitated. “I fear Master Lo is no longer with us.”
    King Daniel’s faint smile vanished, the weight of grief returning to his features. “I am sorry to hear it.”
    “Your gift survived the journey, my lord,” I said softly. “I kept them alive. And on the slope of White Jade Mountain, where no mortal foot had trod before, I planted three snowdrop bulbs. It is a sacred place. There, I have been promised that the snowdrops will thrive, until mayhap one day they will play a role in someone else’s story.”
    The King’s deep gaze settled on me. “Then you found the destiny your gods ordained for you?”
    I nodded. “I did.”
    He exhaled a long breath. “Was it worth the cost?”
    I thought of the future I had glimpsed on the battlefield where the bronze cannons of the Divine Thunder boomed, a future written in blood and fire, where there were no bear-witches or dragons. I thought of the thousands upon thousands more men who would have died had the dragon not called the rain and lightning, drowning the dreadful cannons.
    I thought of Jehanne, too.
    “How can one measure such a thing, my lord?” I asked. “All I can