Naamah's Blessing

“I’m so pleased you could bestir yourself to join us.” He gestured at the six men. “Would you care to tell me what this is all about?
They
don’t seem inclined to.”
    “I haven’t the faintest idea, my lord,” I said.
    He drummed his fingers on the arms of his throne. “Are you sure?” Reaching into his ever-present basket, he tossed a few leaves to the skirling eddy of ants at his feet. “I can resort to more… persuasive… methods.”
    “Do it, then, Raphael!” Thierry shouted unexpectedly, his fists clenching at his sides. “Gods! You keep us alive only to torment us!”
    “Is that what you think?” Raphael shook his head slowly from side to side. “You wound me, Thierry. I saved your life in the jungle, didn’t I? Were it not for the guidance and aid of my little friends, our company surely would have perished before we reached Vilcabamba.”
    “Mayhap it would have been better if we had,” one of the others muttered.
    Raphael gestured carelessly, and one of the Quechua guardspromptly drew his sword and laid its edge against the man’s throat. “Is that your wish, Michel?” Raphael inquired. “I’m willing to grant you a clean death if it is. After all, I am not without mercy.”
    The fellow’s throat worked. “No.”
    Another gesture, and the blade was lowered. “Let’s try this again,” Raphael said in a conversational tone, circling one finger. Ants poured across the floor, scaling Bao’s legs, turning the lower half of his body into a writhing mass of blackness. A few essayed higher, crawling over his face. “Messire… Bao, is it? Moirin tells me I do not accord you your due, but see what respect I have for your courage. Few men could abide such a torment once, let alone twice. Will you not tell me why you and Thierry fought?”
    Bao stood very still, his face unnaturally calm. “No.”
    “I wonder that you can abide the sight, Moirin,” Raphael remarked to me. “Claiming to love him as you do.” He flicked his fingers, and the tide of ants climbed higher. “Shall I bid them to bite?”
    A faint sound of protest escaped me.
    “For the love of Elua, enough!” Balthasar Shahrizai took a deep, shaking breath. “We quarreled over a plot to escape, Raphael.”
    Sparks flickered in his eyes. “And how in the world did you think to accomplish such a thing, my lord Shahrizai?”
    Balthasar was silent.
    “Ah.” Understanding dawning in Raphael’s expression. “You sought to find a way to kill me, didn’t you?”
    “Do you blame us?” Balthasar asked. “My lord de Mereliot, we are desperate. And yet I know you do not keep us alive to torment us.”
    “Oh?”
    “No.” Balthasar shook his head, his face pale beneath the sun’s tan. “You’re sick, Raphael. Sick with madness. And the healer within you knows it. It’s what stays your hand, and keeps you from slaying your countrymen.” His voice was filled with terrible compassion. “Raphael, I beg you, listen to me. It’s not too late to turn away from this path. Pray to Blessed Elua for forgiveness, to Kushiel for mercy, and to Eisheth for healing.”
    “Gods bedamned! Do you not understand that the gods
failed
me!” Raphael shouted at him. “Over and over!”
    “Did they?” Balthasar asked steadily. “Or did you fail
them
?”
    Raphael gritted his teeth. “Kill him,” he said to his guards. “You heard him, he has confessed to an attempt on my life.”
    “No!”
    The outcry arose from multiple throats, mine included. But it was Thierry de la Courcel’s that rang the loudest. “Neither Balthasar nor Bao nor Captain Rousse argued for attempting to kill you, Raphael,” he said. “
I
did.”
    Raphael’s fingers drummed restlessly. “Did Moirin not warn you that should anything happen to me, all your lives are forfeit?”
    Thierry met his gaze. “She did. I thought it a risk worth taking. I thought the Quechua might have more respect than you reckon for a man able to kill a god, and acknowledge me their new leader.”
    “You know, that’s not badly reasoned,” Raphael commented. “You’re wrong, of course, but it wasn’t a bad notion.” He leaned forward, propping his chin on one fist. “Tell me, how did you plan to do it? You’re hardly in a position to plot an assassination.”
    “Does it matter?” Thierry asked.
    Raphael shrugged. “Indulge me for Messire Bao’s sake, won’t you?”
    Thierry glanced at Bao. “You’ll call off your ants if I do?”
    “I will.”
    “Very