Naamah's Blessing

story,” Bao commented.
    “Oh…” I shrugged. “Viper bites are not always fatal.”
    “Forgive me, my lady,” Marc said to me. “I don’t mean to insult you. It’s just that the role is a significant one, meant to be awarded to a peer of the realm capable of wielding political influence at need.”
    “Moirin has the King’s favor,” Balthasar observed. “You don’t consider
that
political influence?”
    Their argument was beginning to draw a crowd, and the process of rumor and hearsay was already under way. I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
    “No.” Marc de Thibideau lowered his voice. “No, I don’t, and you know why! He’s ceded the right to political power. He’s a figurehead, nothing more.”
    Balthasar glanced around. “You don’t want to have this conversation here, Marc.”
    “You’re right, I don’t.” He swept his stake from the table, shoving the coins in a purse. “In fact, I wish I weren’t having it at all.” He shot me an apologetic look. “Again, it’s nothing personal, Moirin. It’s just that there’s a great deal you don’t understand about politics.”
    Balthasar watched him go. “He really should have disobeyed his father and sailed with Prince Thierry,” he said in a mild tone. “He’s been out of sorts ever since. Lady Moirin, Messire Bao, would you care to walk with me in the garden? I’d have a further word with you if you’re willing.”
    Although I’d never been particularly fond of Balthasar Shahrizai, his unexpected support had surprised me. I glanced at Bao, who nodded. “Yes, of course.”
    It was chilly enough outdoors that no one else was taking in the Palace gardens. The gnarled branches of trees in the decorative orchard were barren of leaves, the trees dreaming of spring to come. Here and there were banks of late-blooming autumn flowers like chrysanthemums, but most of the flowerbeds were covered with mulch. Even the greensward looked listless. Only the evergreens were bright and lively, the brisk sap crackling in their veins; the tall cypresses standing like sentinels in a line, the pine trees shaped like umbrellas.
    We strolled along a promenade dotted here and there with marble benches meant for enjoying the view.
    “D’Angelines do love a scandal,” Balthasar said presently. “And you do seem to enjoy providing them, Moirin.”
    “The King is aware that his choice will be controversial,” I said. “He reckoned it worth the risk.”
    “As did you?”
    “She’s Jehanne’s daughter,” I said simply.
    He blew on his fingers to warm them. “Beastly cold! So you and his majesty made a choice of the heart rather than the head.”
    “Is that not the D’Angeline way?” Bao inquired with deceptive innocence.
    Balthasar gave him an astute glance. “Ideally, yes. In practice, love and politics often make bad bedfellows.”
    “There have been great political love-matches in the history of Terre d’Ange,” I said.
    He nodded. “So there have. And each and every one of them has been accompanied by controversy. If you would hear my counsel, I will tell you this. Many members of the Great Houses will be angered by this appointment, having hoped the honor would fall to one of their own.”
    “I am not a fool, my lord,” I said dryly. “The Lord Minister hinted at as much yesterday.”
    “So you know your potential enemies,” Balthasar said shrewdly. “But do you know who your potential allies are?”
    I shook my head. “To be sure, I didn’t expect you to be one.”
    At that, he laughed. “We Shahrizai often surprise! From time to time, it is in a good way.”
    “I like this fellow,” Bao remarked to me.
    “You would,” I commented.
    Balthasar smiled sideways at both of us. “The priesthoods,” he said, ticking off the point on his fingers. “And by extension, the Servants of Naamah. They will always err on the side of love. If you gain
their
support, it will fire the imagination of the commonfolk, who will raise their voices on your behalf. Your father’s a Priest of Naamah, that will help. Have you any ties to the Night Court?”
    “No—” I remembered Lianne Tremaine’s calling card. “Ah, well. Mayhap.”
    “Eglantine House,” Bao supplied helpfully.
    “The poetess?”
    I nodded.
    “Good, very good.” Balthasar blew on his fingers again, then shivered and wrapped his fur-lined cloak around him. “Never underestimate the power of a poet, even a disgraced one. After all, Anafiel Delaunay’s verses were