Naamah's Blessing

“And if I read the histories rightly, it was meant to acknowledge the healing of a rift between House Courcel and House L’Envers. Since then, it has become something of a political prize to be won.”
    “Oh?” I inquired.
    The King leveled his gaze at me. “When Thierry was born, I appointed my kinsman Rogier Courcel, the Duc de Barthelme, to be the oath-sworn protector of my firstborn son. This charge, he accepted with grace and gratitude. He swore the Montrèvan Oath.”
    “Do you doubt him?” I asked softly.
    “No.” He leaned forward, hands braced on his knees. “Not his loyalty, no. I would never have appointed him Lord Minister if I did. But my daughter, Jehanne’s daughter…” His fingers clenched, bunching the fabric of his breeches. His voice broke. “She should have an oath-sworn protector who
cares
for her happiness. Someone like you, Moirin.”
    I saw the picture he was painting.
    “My lord!” I said in protest. “Oh, my lord! It is a great honor you offer, but I cannot promise to stay with her. My home lies in Alba, and I mean to return there in the spring, at least for a time. And…” I touched my chest. “There is the matter of my inconvenient destiny, which I do not think is finished with me. What if it calls me away from her side… as it did—as it did from her mother’s?”
    King Daniel de la Courcel’s gaze was unwavering. “And yet it brought you back, too. I am not asking you to
stay
with her, Moirin. I am asking you to
love
her. Will you?”
    I sighed. “How can I do otherwise?”
    He leaned back in his chair. “Before you accept, hear me out in full. I fear this will not be a popular decision. You’re a descendant of House Courcel, but you’re a young woman without land or a title. You’re only half-D’Angeline—”
    “And the other half Maghuin Dhonn,” I said wryly. “Believe me, my lord, I know the regard in which my mother’s folk are held.”
    Daniel nodded. “Many will claim I chose you out of sentimental folly. It’s likely to cause a scandal, and I daresay you’ve had your fill of those. That’s why I make this offer in private. If you wish to decline, I will understand. No one else need ever know this conversation took place.”
    “Are you sure it’s
not
sentimental folly?” I asked him.
    “No.” His expression was candid. “Not entirely. But sentimental folly lies at the heart of all that is good in Terre d’Ange.”
    “Love as thou wilt,” I murmured.
    “Yes.” He fixed me with his unblinking gaze. “So, Moirin. Do you accept or decline?”
    My
diadh-anam
flickered, but it gave no guidance, merely warned me that this was a decision of moment, and my own to make. “If I accept, does it grant me the authority to replace the head nursemaid?”
    He gave me his faint smile. “And the tutor, too, if you deem her unsuitable.”
    It occurred to me that I should talk to Bao before making such agrave decision; and then I thought twice, and knew what he would say. For all his teasing ways, Bao had a hero’s romantic heart. He wouldn’t hesitate. “I accept.”
    The King inclined his head. “I will make the announcement, and see that a date is set for the ceremony.”

NINE

    W hile I waited for the princess’ lesson to finish, I sought to distract myself in the Hall of Games, where I encountered a pair of young noblemen I had known years ago, members of Thierry’s circle of friends.
    “Lady Moirin!” Marc de Thibideau greeted me with ebullience. “I’d heard you returned. Surely that means my luck’s changed.”
    I smiled. “I’d thought to find you gone with Prince Thierry. How is your leg? Does it trouble you?”
    “Only when it’s dire cold.” He rubbed his thigh. It had been badly broken years ago, and I’d used my gift to help Raphael heal it. “But I’m still grateful to you, my lady. If not for you, I’d have lost the leg for sure.”
    The second nobleman slung an arm over Marc’s shoulder. “And his father’s still so shaken by nearly having a crippled son, he begged Marc not to join the expedition.” He gave his friend a squeeze. “You’re a good son, aren’t you?”
    Marc flushed. “Are you calling me a coward?”
    “Not for a minute.” Balthasar Shahrizai smiled lazily. “I’m praising your sense of filial duty. Me, I
am
an avowed coward. I never had the slightest interest in sailing with Thierry. Lady Moirin, welcome back. Come, join us at the dicing table. As I recall, you used to enjoy a