Naamah's Blessing

can’t bear it. Go!” She flapped one hand at me. “Go, go! Take my counsel and put it to use. We’ll meet again later as matters progress.”
    I bowed again, and made to take my leave.
    “Moirin?” Her voice called me back. I paused and turned, seeing a rare vulnerability in her expression. “Thank you.”
    I inclined my head. “And you.”

FOURTEEN

    T hat afternoon, I met alone with Rogier Courcel, the Duc de Barthelme and Royal Minister of the realm.
    I had requested an audience thinking it might be some days before he had time to grant it; but to my surprise, the royal steward ushered me into his presence in his study straightaway.
    My father was not there. I wished he was.
    “Moirin.” The Duc tapped his pen on his desk. “I’m pleased you’ve come. As I said, I wanted to speak to you regarding the Vralian matter. Please, sit.”
    I sat, sinking into one of the padded leather chairs opposite his desk, tracing the rivets in the armrests with my fingertips.
    “So?” He arched his strongly etched Courcel brows. “Do I understand that you contend that Vralia has committed an act of aggression against Terre d’Ange?”
    I shook my head. “Not exactly, my lord.”
    He looked curious. “What, then? I am unclear on the details.”
    I told the tale in brief. How I had been betrayed by the Great Khan Naram, whose daughter Bao had wed, and been delivered in chains to Pyotr Rostov, the Patriarch of Riva. How the Patriarch represented an extreme faction of a schism within the Church of Yeshua in Vralia, and how he fervently believed that a holy war against the licentious D’Angelines and all they represented, as well as rooting out the blasphemous bear-witches of the Maghuin Dhonn, would lead tothe return of Yeshua ben Yosef. How I had escaped with the aid of Rostov’s sister and nephew.
    The Royal Minister listened, sketching occasional notes. It reminded me uncomfortably of being forced to confess my sins to the Patriarch, and I tried not to squirm in my seat. “You’re right,” he said when I had finished. “We cannot exactly hold Vralia to account for one man’s actions. Still, it is troubling.”
    I nodded. “Pyotr Rostov was acting in his capacity as the spiritual leader of Riva. But he had the support of the Duke of Vralsturm, who was acting in a political capacity. When the Patriarch ordered me stoned to death, I begged him to aid me as a descendant of House Courcel. He refused.”
    He tapped his pen again. “I will inquire into the matter.”
    “Oh… well, you should probably know that I tried to kill the Patriarch,” I said reluctantly.
    “What?”
Rogier Courcel’s face froze in shock.
    “He and the Duke of Vralsturm and his men caught up with Aleksei and me in the city of Udinsk, my lord,” I said. “If I hadn’t resisted, they
would
have stoned us to death.” Remembering the future of endless war and bloodshed that would have ensued, I shuddered. “And believe me, it would have stoked the fires of their cause.”
    “I… how? The two of you, alone?”
    I spread my hands. “Yes and no, my lord. Aleksei and I were alone at the time. The Patriarch gave the order to take us, and I… well, I had my bow drawn and an arrow trained on him. I warned him,” I added. “It was a fair warning. I did not shoot until he gave the order.”
    He stared at me. “But you
didn’t
kill him.”
    “No.” I shook my head. “Aleksei threw himself at me, knocked me from my horse and spoiled my aim. As a result, I only wounded his uncle. But make no mistake, I meant to kill him. And then that is when Vachir’s tribe rode into the city center and intervened.”
    A soundless breath escaped the Royal Minister. “Vachir’s tribe?”
    “Tatars,” I said. “They were in Udinsk to trade. They felt stronglythat the Great Khan had violated the laws of hospitality in betraying me, so they came to my aid to set matters right.”
    Rogier Courcel was silent for a time. “My thanks, Moirin,” he said at length. “I think mayhap… mayhap I’ll let discretion prevail, and not inquire into the specifics of the matter. It’s over and done with, and there’s no need to provoke a diplomatic crisis. But this business of a schism and anti-D’Angeline fanaticism concerns me.”
    I noted that he expressed no concern for the Maghuin Dhonn, but I held my tongue on the thought. “So it should, my lord.”
    His pen tapped. “How was it called again? The church of faith your Patriarch