Naamah's Blessing

Raphael in the City of Elua, he’d strung me along with expert finesse; playing on my belief in our shared destiny, playing on my infatuation with him, playing on my sense of guilt. He’d alternated between doling out affection and recrimination, keeping me compliant and desperately eager to please him for far too long.
    In some ways, this was not so different.
    Raphael de Mereliot
needed
me. And once again, he needed to keep me compliant. If he executed his threat, he ran the risk of pushing me to the point where I had nothing left to lose.
    I supposed he could begin killing men horribly one by one, keeping in reserve those whose deaths would cause me the most agony. But the fact that he hadn’t yet done so, assuming he was telling the truth, suggested to me that mayhap there was a shred of decency left in him, and that he was more comfortable relying on familiar patterns, doling out rewards along with punishment, dangling the hope of survival, and mayhap freedom, before me.
    At least the knowledge gave me a small measure of leverage; and I daresay I knew Raphael better than he knew me. I’d grown far from the love-struck backwoods maiden he had manipulated so easily.
    Although it was also true that the Raphael I’d known had been sane.
    For a mercy, it seemed he
had
told the truth. Cusi led me to a terraced field where dozens of men were bent over with digging-sticks, planting potatoes under the hot sun. When I caught sight of the familiar copper-red brightness of Septimus Rousse’s hair, I laughed aloud with relief.
    Across the field, heads rose.
    “Moirin!” Bao raced toward me, vaulting rows. I flung my arms around his neck, burying my face against his sweat-slick skin. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me hard. “You’re all right?” he asked in a fierce voice. “He didn’t harm you?”
    “Fine,” I murmured. “He won’t. He needs me.”
    Reluctantly, Bao released me. “There’s someone here I think you will very much want to see.”
    For the space of a few heartbeats, I didn’t recognize the gaunt, work-hardened, sun-browned man approaching me—and then I did.
    “Thierry,” I whispered.
    The Dauphin of Terre d’Ange tried to summon a smile, but his dark blue eyes were red-rimmed with grief. “Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn. You shouldn’t have undertaken this journey. Neither of us should.”
    “Oh, gods!” I covered my mouth with both hands, realizing that he would only just have heard the news from home. Tears stung my own eyes. “Oh, Thierry! I’m so sorry about your father!”
    “Thank you.” Thierry embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks. “I’m sorry to have led you here.”
    One by one, others came to join us. It pained me to see the faint glimmer of hope in their eyes at the sight of my freedom.
    “Any chance of talking sense into the Mad Lord de Mereliot?” Balthasar inquired. He looked around at the stream of ants that ringed the field, my own entourage having merged with their sentries. “I’m really not fond of insects.”
    I glanced at Cusi, who appeared to be straining her ears and concentrating hard. “Not yet, no.”
    Balthasar followed my gaze. “Ah.”
    “She spies for that idiot Lord Lion Mane?” Bao asked me in the Shuntian scholar’s tongue.
    I nodded. “Oh, yes. She believes he is a god.”
    Bao’s jaw hardened. “Figures.”
    Gazing at Prince Thierry, a thought struck me. “Your highness, Raphael de Mereliot knows no more than you did of the tragic events that have passed in Terre d’Ange. If he has any lingering care for Jehanne’s daughter, it may be that they will move him. I do not think I can sway him from his course here, but mayhap I can persuade him to free you to return to Terre d’Ange.”
    Thierry gave a hollow laugh. “Do you think I’d stand a chance of reaching it? I barely survived this journey.”
    I beckoned to Eyahue. “Would you guide him?”
    The wiry old
pochteca
dug in his ear with one finger. “Eh?”
    “Would you be willing to guide the prince back to Tenochtitlan if it could be arranged?” I asked patiently. “You and Temilotzin?”
    “Oh, aye!” Eyahue brightened. “Anything to get out of here!”
    “My ship
Naamah’s Dove
waits in Orgullo del Sol to carry you home, highness,” Septimus Rousse added. “Commanded by my able second, Alaric Dumont. It would be an honor to provide that service.”
    “I would not save myself at the expense of the rest of you,” Thierry murmured.