Naamah's Blessing

the spirit world open.
    And then he had very nearly taken possession of Raphael, before Bao and Master Lo swept into the chamber, holding the fallen spirit at bay with a whirling staff, fire-powder, and mirrors, allowing me to thrust Focalor back into his world and close the door I had opened.
    Lianne Tremaine looked as I remembered her, with light brown hair, topaz eyes, and sharp, intelligent features that put me in mind of a fox. But the uncertainty in her gaze was new.
    “I wasn’t sure you’d see me,” she said in a low voice.
    “Neither was I.”
    She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. “May we speak in private?”
    I nodded. “I think it’s best.”
    After being formally introduced to Bao, she escorted us to her chamber, a generous room at the top of one of the turrets. It had windows that looked out over the whole of Mont Nuit, autumn sunlight streaming in to illuminate the space. The walls were lined with shelves and cubbyholes, holding a small fortune in books and scrolls.
    “Please, sit,” Lianne said. With a nervous gesture, she indicated a cozy arrangement of four upholstered chairs around a low table. “Shall I send for wine? Tea and pastries?”
    I remembered that she had been the first formal visitor I had entertainedin Terre d’Ange, when I had been a guest in Raphael’s home. Raphael’s maid had had to prompt me to offer the niceties of hospitality.
    It seemed like a long, long time ago.
    “Thank you, no,” I said politely.
    The former King’s Poet twined her hands together before her. “Lady Moirin… words are my métier. I use them to puncture the inflated sensibilities of pompous souls who hold themselves in high regard. I use them to soothe the tender spirits of offended lovers. I use them to build edifices to raise up and celebrate the achievements of worthy heroes, past and present. I use them to charm, to cajole, to sway. But I confess, I do not know how to use my words to frame the apology you deserve.”
    “Maybe you should stop trying so hard to make it sound pretty and just say it,” Bao suggested
    A brief flare of irritation came and went in her eyes. “You’re right. I should.” Lianne Tremaine met my gaze. “I did wrong by you, Moirin, and I am sorry for it. Can you forgive me?”
    “I’m not sure yet,” I said honestly.
    She sighed, and took her seat. “I cannot fault you for it. Those of us in the Circle of Shalomon, we knew what we were doing was dangerous. We knew Raphael was putting undue pressure on you to aid us. We saw the terrible toll that the summonings took on you. And yet we persisted.”
    “You were stupid,” Bao said bluntly.
    Lianne spread her hands. “I do not argue the point, Messire Bao. But to come so close to succeeding in our long quest… it was more heady and intoxicating than
joie
on the Longest Night. Compulsion gripped us like madness, ever driving us to make just one more attempt, just one more.” She shook her head. “I do not seek to justify it, only to explain.”
    Bao was silent.
    Having tended him through the ravages of opium-sickness, I suspected that he understood her explanation better than he wished. “You’ve made no further attempts?” I inquired.
    “No.”
Her tone was adamant. “None. I swear it.”
    “Good.”
    She looked steadily at me. “Moirin, I confess it; I resented you. All of us did. It seemed unfair that we, who had studied for so long and worked so hard, were dependent on a backwoods Alban half-breed blessed with a gift of undeserved magic for our success.”
    I raised my brows at her.
    “But I was wrong to do so,” Lianne admitted. “I have a poet’s trained memory. I have lived and relived those moments over a thousand times, and I have come to realize that the voice of protest you raised was a wise one. And to conclude that mayhap there are forms of wisdom that owe nothing to diligence, ambition, and intellect; and that mayhap the gods in their own wisdom bestow their gifts accordingly.”
    Her expression was sincere, and as close to humble as I suspected it ever came. I toyed with the bangles on one wrist, thinking. “I asked you why you did it, once. Do you remember what you told me?”
    Lianne tilted her head, the sunlight making her golden-brown eyes glow. “Of course.”
    “You told me that there are always further thresholds to cross,” I said slowly. “That despite the skills you already possessed, you sought words of such surpassing beauty that they would melt