Naamah's Blessing

desk, which bore a considerable amount of clutter. “I do have a favor to ask in turn. If I understand rightly what Phanuel has told me, among other things, you were involved in an unpleasant business in Vralia which could have political repercussions for Terre d’Ange. I’d like to hear about it in detail.”
    “Certainly,” I said. “His majesty also indicated he might wish to speak with me.”
    “About
Vralia
?” The Duc looked startled.
    “Ah… no.” I frowned, realizing it was unlikely that King Daniel knew aught of my misadventures yet. “He did not say.”
    My father and Rogier Courcel exchanged a glance. The latter folded his hands on his desk. “Moirin, I have nothing but respect for my kinsman,” he said quietly. “But I fear Daniel de la Courcel’s days of taking an active hand in steering the realm are over. He has no heart for it. Until the Dauphin’s return, that burden falls to me, and I have accepted it. Does that make you uncomfortable?”
    “No, of course not,” I protested; although in truth, I wasn’t sure if it did.
    “It should.” Rogier smiled ruefully. “It makes
me
uncomfortable, and a number of the members of Parliament, too.”
    “You’ve done a fine job,” my father murmured. “Parliament has no cause for concern.”
    The Duc raked a hand through his hair. “Even so, I will be grateful when Prince Thierry returns, and I can rejoin my wife and children in Barthelme.”
    “Why do they not join you here?” Bao inquired. “Surely, there is room.”
    “My wife, Claudine, maintains an… extensive… household,” Rogier replied in a dry tone. “ ’Tis not worth the toil and effort of moving it for two seasons’ time. And my boys are happy in Barthelme, where they can run wild.”
    My father chuckled again. “Your eldest might feel otherwise if he were sixteen and old enough to gain admission to the Night Court.”
    “He might,” Rogier admitted. “But Tristan’s two years shy of that gilded threshold.”
    “Speaking of children,” I began. Both of them turned their attention to me, and I paused, trying to frame the matter politely. “In Marsilikos, we were told that the young princess Desirée was known as the Little Pearl, and was much beloved in the City of Elua. But Bao and I met with her this morning, and she seemed to me to be a rather lonely little thing.”
    “To say the least,” Bao muttered.
    “I’m sorry to hear it.” Rogier Courcel paused, too. “In the spring, on the occasion of her highness’ third natality, Daniel was persuaded to hold a procession throughout the City in celebration, so that the people might have a glimpse of young Desirée. It was a touching sight, the widowed King with his beautiful young daughter in his arms. To be sure, it charmed the populace.”
    My father nodded. “That was when they began calling her the Little Pearl.” He gave me a quiet smile. “The City of Elua has not forgotten Jehanne de la Courcel nor the endless delight they took in gossiping about her. They took her daughter quickly to heart. But I fear it was the last time his majesty appeared in public with her.”
    “A pity,” I said.
    The Duc raised his brows. “Is the child being mistreated?”
    “No,” I said slowly. “I would not go so far as to say that. But it was my sense that she feels unloved.”
    Rogier sighed. “Your concern is admirable, Moirin. However, I must tread a fine path here. Daniel has ceded the duties of state to me during this interim. He has not abdicated the throne, nor has he given me authority over his private affairs.” His mouth twisted. “It would be different if he had seen fit to appoint…” He let the thought go unfinished, shrugging. “I fear that if I were to intervene in the matter, Parliament would rebel and declare I had overstepped my authority.”
    “Mayhap you should speak to the King about your concerns,” my father suggested.
    I blinked. “Me? Ah, gods! I’d rather not intrude further on his grief.”
    He regarded me somberly. “You may be the only person in the world who can do so with impunity, Moirin. I heard about this morning’s display.”
    “I’ll think on it.”
    “Do,” the Duc agreed, rising from his chair. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve a great deal to do, and I believe you’ve a letter to write.”
    “Oh, yes.” I rose, too. “Thank you again, my lord.”
    “Rogier,” he repeated with a pleasant smile. “When I’ve more time, I’ll ask you for the