Naamah's Blessing

his brows. “I see no urgency to the matter, Moirin. Betrothal or no, a royal wedding would be many years in the offing.”
    I shook my head. “The damage would be done long before that day.” My palms were sweating, and I wiped them unobtrusively on my gown. “She’s her mother’s daughter, Raphael,” I said softly. “High-spirited and willful, a handful even as a child. But she
is
a child, and spirits can be broken. Desirée’s will be. I’ve seen it.”
    His storm-grey eyes seemed to darken, sparks flashing in their depths. “I asked you not to speak of Jehanne!”
    “You asked me not to speak her name,” I said. “And I am speaking of her daughter.”
    “
Daniel’s
daughter,” he retorted.
    I held his gaze with an effort. “Daniel de la Courcel could barely bring himself to look at the child, so much the image of her mother is she. He took his life and left her an orphan, with no one in Terred’Ange capable of protecting her interests. I tried and failed. Thierry is her brother, and the rightful heir to the throne. I am begging you to let him go. It will change none of your plans here.”
    “The image of her mother, eh?” Raphael mused.
    I nodded.
    He returned to his seat on the throne, lost in thought for a long moment. When his gaze returned from the distance, it was keen and clear. “Mayhap that was what was destined all along. I do not intend to return to Terre d’Ange as a mere lord, Moirin—nor a mere mortal. I intend to return as the God-King of Terre d’Ange and Terra Nova alike.” He smiled at me. “And based on what you tell me here today, I do believe I intend to take Desirée de la Courcel as my bride.”
    I stared at him in horror. “You can’t be serious!”
    “Oh, but I am.” Raphael drummed his fingers on the armrests of his throne. “Once the summoning of Focalor is complete, I will have all his gifts. The wind will blow at my command, the lightning strike, the seas rise and fall. I shall be as powerful as the legendary Master of the Straits, and far, far more ruthless.”
    “But Jehanne’s
daughter
,” I protested. “Surely—”
    “I told you not to speak her name!” he shouted at me. The restless river of ants stirred, and the Quechua handmaids grew still.
    “It is no way to honor her memory,” I whispered. “You loved her, my lord! I know you did.”
    His face had turned stony. “And how did she repay that love? With too little, always too little.”
    I said nothing.
    “It will be different with her daughter,” Raphael said. “As you say, she is a child yet, and malleable.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, this is what destiny held in store for me. I will not break her spirit, no. But I will mold it to suit my own.” Dipping into his basket, he tossed a handful of leaves to the ants and shoved a few more into his own mouth, chewing. “Thank you, Moirin,” he said to me. “This has been very helpful. You may go now.”
    Sick at heart, I went.

FIFTY-SEVEN

    N o?” Thierry asked the following day, reading my expression.
    I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry, your highness. I tried. I fear I only made matters worse.”
    A sigh of regret rippled through the remnants of our company. Cusi, who had not yet availed herself of my offer to answer her questions, glanced from face to face, her gaze intent. She was not the most subtle of spies.
    I’d feared Thierry might succumb to despair after having his hopes raised and dashed, but instead it seemed to instill a new resolve in him. “This uncanny gift of Raphael’s and the undertaking he has planned,” he said. “It all goes back to the Circle of Shalomon, doesn’t it?” I nodded. “Explain it to me.” He glanced at Cusi. “To the extent that you deem prudent.”
    I shrugged. “I promised not to lie to her. Let her hear the truth and make of it what she will.”
    I described the summoning of spirits; of Caim and the gift of the language of ants he had bestowed on the Circle; of Focalor, and how the fallen spirit had nearly taken possession of Raphael. How a piece of his essence endured, fed by the worship of the Quechua people, and how Raphael believed that with my aid he could summon and control the spirit in its entirety once he was coronated as the
Sapa Inca
and worshipped by the whole empire.
    “Can he do it?” Thierry asked me steadily.
    “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I wish I did, but I don’t. If Raphael believes it, it’s certainly possible.” Sorrow brushed me. “I would