Naamah's Blessing

congratulating King Daniel for making a choice that acknowledged the shared heritage and long-standing history that lay between Alba and Terre d’Ange.
    “How?” I asked when I heard the news, glad but bewildered. “I thought the Straits were impassable in the winter!”
    “They are for ships.” Bao’s eyes glinted. “But Naamah’s temples use doves to carry messages. You didn’t know?”
    I shook my head. “I did not.”
    “They say at Eglantine House that the monarchs of both realms have tried to duplicate the feat,” Bao offered. “Without success. The doves fly only for priests of Naamah’s Order.”
    My father confirmed it when I met with him the following day.
    “Oh, yes,” he said. “ ’Tis an art honed over the centuries. We thought the Cruarch ought to know.”
    He looked tired to me, more tired than he ought. “
We
?” I asked.
    “Naamah’s Order, yes.” My father gave me a faint smile. There were dark smudges beneath his green, green eyes. “I had the honor of playing a part in the decision.”
    “That must not have sat well with his grace the Royal Minister,” I said softly.
    My father didn’t deny it. “My lord Rogier is… concerned… that the orders of the priesthood have involved themselves in politics. First Eisheth’s Order, and now Naamah’s.” He knuckled his eyes and yawned. “But we discussed it into the small hours of the night, and I believe he understands that this is a courtesy we felt compelled to extend to the Cruarch, not some nefarious plot to undermine his influence.”
    I touched his crimson sleeve. “I’m sorry. I never meant to put you in an awkward situation.”
    His gaze cleared. “Nor did you, Moirin. It’s nothing, I promise.” He changed the subject. “So tell me, how are the plans for EglantineHouse’s spectacle progressing? Everyone in the City is perishing of curiosity.”
    I laughed. “I’ve no idea. Bao’s taken to being almighty secretive about the entire thing. All I know is that he’s consulting with the master of props to devise somewhat he claims has never been seen in Terre d’Ange. And if Bao’s boasting, like as not he’ll make good on his claim.”
    My father smiled. “I rather like that young man.”
    “He rather likes you,” I said. “I think you may have been the first D’Angeline he
did
like. I certainly wasn’t.”
    He laughed, too. “Well, he’s more than changed his mind on that score. You’ve done well together, the two of you.” His expression turned serious. “I’m very proud of the way you’ve dealt with this business, Moirin. You’ve handled it with grace and thoughtfulness.”
    I kissed his cheek. “Thank you. It means a good deal to me to know you think so.”
    “I do,” he affirmed.
    Plans continued apace, secretive and otherwise.
    Benoit Vallon summoned Bao and me to Atelier Favrielle for a fitting. Like all his work, the wardrobe he had created for Bao was elegant in its simplicity: close-fitting black breeches that tucked into boots, and creamy white shirts that lay open at the neck, with a bare minimum of ruffle at the cuff. He’d sewn the black-and-white magpie square onto the back of a black velvet coat that fell to knee-length, also fitted, but loose enough to permit freedom of movement. It looked D’Angeline, but it spoke of Ch’in, too.
    “I like it,” Bao said decisively, examining himself in the mirror and adjusting his cuffs. “I like it very much. Moirin?”
    “You look splendid,” I assured him.
    He preened. “I do, don’t I?”
    For me, the couturier had created a series of gowns in deep jewel-toned hues: emerald, ruby, amethyst. He had used the sari fabric as subtle accents to complement the gowns, hints of their ornate richness revealed in the borders and linings. I had to own, it was a clever usage, though I was glad I’d kept a few back.
    “
This
is what you will wear to the oath-swearing ceremony, my lady,” Benoit announced, a gown of pale gold brocade fabric over his arm.
    It was the piece on which he had used the square of embroidered bamboo, cutting it apart and reassembling it as a high collar that framed my face. The green and gold silk harmonized surprisingly well with the gold brocade.
    “Very nice.” Benoit fussed with the collar. “You see the effect it creates? As though you are rising from a bamboo grove like some… some exotic young goddess.” He scowled uncertainly at my reflection. “Are you angry that I did not keep the square