Naamah's Blessing

myself, unseen by the hundreds of watching eyes. I was glad Desirée wasn’t there. I wasn’t sure I could have borne it.
    Duc Rogier wore a grave expression as he watched the delegation approach. Already, there were folk keening with grief in the crowd behind him, expecting to hear the sorrowful news a second time.
    Upon reaching the Regent, Balthasar Shahrizai bowed, precise and correct. “Your excellence,” he said. “We have returned from Terra Nova.”
    The Duc inclined his not-quite-crowned head. “I beseech you, my lord Shahrizai, to deliver your news.”
    “My news pertains to House Courcel,” Balthasar said in a clear, carrying voice. “I would deliver it to the Dauphine myself. No ears should hear it before hers.”
    It wasn’t what Rogier de Barthelme had expected to hear, and it took him aback, his mask of composure slipping as he blinked in surprise. “You cannot… she’s a child, my lord!” Regrouping, he took on a tone of calm reason. “By your reticence, I trust you have not come to deliver happy news. Desirée should never have been allowed to hear word of her brother’s death in such a public manner the first time. Let those of us who know and care for her deliver it to her now, and spare her the brunt of it.”
    “I will tell her myself,” Tristan added with dignity. “She is my betrothed, you know.”
    Balthasar fixed him with an unreadable stare. “Yes. I know.”
    The lad flushed as though he’d been slapped, and for a few seconds, his mouth took on a petulant cast. His younger brother looked uncomfortable, and I liked him better for it.
    “Desirée de la Courcel is the heir to the throne,” Balthasar said simply. “I will deliver my news to her, or not at all.” Pausing, he indicated Eyahue and Temilotzin. “As you can see, our mission was not entirely unsuccessful. Relations with the Nahuatl Empire have been established. Despite her tender years, a future monarch must be prepared to contend with such news. I note you have brought your own sons here today.”
    The tentative keening stopped, giving way to murmurs of curiosity and uncertainty. I avoided looking in the direction of my father.
    Duc Rogier de Barthelme frowned. “My sons are young men, not little girls. It is an unnecessary cruelty.”
    Balthasar declined to reply and waited him out with implacable patience, the steely core of his will on full display.
    “As you will, my lord,” the Duc said at length, his voice hard. “She is a fragile child. On your head be her grief.”
    With a tight smile, Balthasar bowed. “I accept it.”
    We proceeded on foot through the streets of the City of Elua, following the royal carriage and its attendant guards. Hundreds upon hundreds of D’Angeline citizens trailed in our wake, the crowd growing with every block, amassing outside the Palace and waiting there as we passed beneath its doors.
    Inside the Palace walls, Duc Rogier issued several crisp commands. Servants scuttled in various directions to carry out his orders.
    “He acts as though he rules here, does he not?” Thierry murmured to me.
    “He does,” I said. “For now.”
    Rumors and gossip ran down the marble corridors, spreading throughout the labyrinthine Palace. By the time we arrived at thethrone-room, a number of lords and ladies were demanding to attend the audience, several of them members of Parliament. With obvious reluctance, the Duc acceded to their demands.
    We assembled in the throne-room, and waited. The throne sat empty. Rogier de Barthelme had more sense than to lay claim to it in this moment.
    The cool and calculating Duchese Claudine de Barthelme arrived to take her place at the side of her husband and sons. She, too, wore a modest gold circlet atop her golden hair, hers adorned with pearls. I wondered if she was afraid her treasonous gambit with Edouard Durel had been uncovered. If she was, it didn’t show. Mayhap she assumed he had failed to carry out her orders. No fear showed on the lad Tristan’s face, either; but I didn’t think he knew enough to be afraid yet. He was young, and life had dealt him no grievous setbacks, lending him confidence in the machinations to which he had been a party.
    That
was about to change.
    We waited.
    I breathed the Five Styles, holding the twilight in place, keeping Bao and Thierry and me unseen.
    At last, Desirée arrived. Her eyes were downcast and her gait tentative. Sister Gemma, the Eisandine priestess whom I had appointed to serve as her