Naamah's Blessing

Balthasar’s great-aunt Celestine, the matriarch of House Shahrizai in the City of Elua, with her long silver hair confined in an elaborate chignon, ivory skin like wrinkled parchment stretched over elegant bones, and dark blue, blue eyes that missed absolutely nothing.
    She smiled with genuine pleasure upon being introduced to Bao. “Oh, you’re an interesting one, aren’t you?”
    Bao smiled back at her, his expression serene. “Am I?”
    Celestine Shahrizai patted his cheek. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”
    He raised his brows. “Should I be?”
    “Most people are,” Josephine remarked, approaching to give him the kiss of greeting, drawing back and flicking her tongue over her lips as though to evaluate the taste of him. “It’s always… interesting… to meet someone who isn’t.”
    “Told you so,” Balthasar offered.
    She glanced at him under her lashes. “So you did, cousin mine.”
    I cleared my throat.
    “Lady Moirin,” Gamaliel Shahrizai said smoothly, offering me a courtly bow before giving me the kiss of greeting. “We’ve heard so much about you. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you at last.”
    “I’m honored, my lord,” I said politely. “I wasn’t aware I’d been the topic of so much discussion.”
    He looked amused. “Certainly of late.”
    We sat to dine. I had been assured by both Lianne Tremaine and Noémie d’Etoile that the supper-club to which Balthasar Shahrizai had invited us was a very fine, very exclusive establishment.
    By all appearances, it lived up to its reputation. The dining room had an enormous crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room, lit with fresh tapers, and there was a matching candelabra on each of the four tables. Cloths of rich silk damask in muted golden hues and intricate patterns covered each table, and the tables were placed so that all the diners could see one another, but far enough away that one could speak without being readily overheard. Even so, folk spoke in low tones, the atmosphere well nigh as solemn and hushed as a temple.
    I was seated between Balthasar and Gamaliel, who made desultory small talk as the first course of pigeons baked in pastry was served, pointing out various peers among the other diners. “That’s the Marquise de Perigord,” Balthasar said with a discreet nod at an attractive blonde woman in a complicated gown, surrounded by admiring suitors. “A recent widow, and a wealthy one. Since her husband’s death, she’s become quite a figure in society.”
    I recognized Marc de Thibideau among her suitors. He caught my eye, and quickly glanced away. “Are you saying she’s someone we should court as an ally?”
    Gamaliel Shahrizai wagged a finger at me. “Ah, now, Lady Moirin! We try not to be so… obvious… with our counsel. You’ve been away for some years. We merely point out persons of interest.”
    The crust on the pastry was exquisitely light and flaky. I let a forkfulmelt on my tongue, digging up a bite of the meat below. It was tender and savory beyond belief. I wondered what game House Shahrizai was playing with us. Whatever it was, Bao seemed to be enjoying himself. I watched him banter blithely with Josephine under the matriarch Celestine’s keen gaze.
    “You’re suspicious,” Balthasar observed.
    I laughed. “Wouldn’t you be?”
    “Quite.” He grinned. “I promise you, our motives may not be pure, but they’re not bad, either. Enjoy yourself.” He gave another discreet nod. “The gentleman in the blue doublet at the far table? Mercer Trevalion, Comte de Fourcay. Not one you ought to seek to engage. Claire Fourcay was his niece.”
    “Duly noted.”
    As the night wore on, dish after dish was served to us by attendants in spotless white linen aprons. Each one was truly delicious. There was a rich, dense venison broth, followed by a haunch of venison, ground mustard seed, roasted pheasants, a variety of pates and terrines, fine white bread to sop up the meat juices. There were dishes of bitter winter greens that reminded me of home in their simplicity, and sauces so complex I couldn’t begin to guess what I tasted in them. All of it was washed down with copious amounts of wine.
    It was pleasant… and strange. The Shahrizai were at ease with one another, but I felt a prickly quality to their company. They were descendants of Kushiel, and his gift carried sharp edges.
    Once, it had made me nervous. Although I wasn’t easy with it, I wasn’t troubled by it anymore,