Naamah's Blessing

cat-calls from the crowd.
    “Maybe we need to send for some goose-grease, Moirin?” Bao suggested cheerfully.
    “No, no! Not yet!” Easing his hand out of the aperture, the smith opened it to show us a white porcelain tile. “No luck today, eh?”
    “I’m sorry, messire,” I offered with sympathy.
    He lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. “Still, it’s something to tell the grandchildren, eh? Thank you for the chance, lady,” he added. “Not many folk would have thought of it.”
    “Nor did I,” I said honestly. As much as I would have liked to take credit for the notion, it seemed unworthy—especially with my father and assorted priests and priestesses in attendance. “I must confess, the idea was another’s.”
    The smith laughed deep in his chest. “Ah, gods! It took a bear-witch to make an honest peer!” He thrust out one big hand. “I like you better for it, lady. You keep that young princess safe now, mind?”
    I leaned down and clasped his hand, squeezing it warmly. “I swear I will do my utmost.”
    The crowd liked that, too.
    One by one they came to take their chances at the urn, escorted by the solicitous guardsmen. None of the first dozen had the good fortune to draw a gilded tile, but they bore their failures in good spirits. Many of them took the opportunity to beg blessings of one or more of the priests on the dais.
    Many of them thanked me, too, waving aside any protestations on my part.
    I had entered D’Angeline society as Raphael de Mereliot’s unlikely protégée, and I had left it as Jehanne de la Courcel’s unlikely companion. But that day, on the dais beneath Elua’s Oak, surrounded by ordinary citizens of the realm, was the first time I truly felt myself to be part of Terre d’Ange and its folk. When an elderly woman supported by a pair of strapping grandsons drew the first gilded tile and opened her trembling fist to show it to me, her eyes damp with gratitude, I cheered as loudly as anyone.
    Bao whooped and did a careless handspring, pleasing the crowd further.
    I laughed for sheer gladness.
    So it went throughout the day. It took several hours. I commiserated and congratulated until the urn was empty, and the royal guardsmen had to disperse the lingering crowd.
    My father embraced me. “That,” he said, “was exceedingly well done, daughter of mine.”
    I gave him a tired smile. “Was it?”
    “It was,” he said firmly.
    Elua’s priestess stepped forward, clad in sky-blue robes. “You did well, Lady Moirin,” she affirmed. “Very well. Have you given thanks to the gods?”
    I shook my head.
    “You should.” She kissed my cheek. “Think on it.”
    I prayed in my own way that day, laying my hands on the trunk of Elua’s Oak and communing with it.
    Once again, I felt its age. It
remembered
. It had been planted by Blessed Elua himself long centuries ago when there was no City, only a tiny village in a river valley. Elua had held an acorn cupped in his hands, and his Companion Anael the Good Steward had blown on it, coaxing it to grow. Together, Elua and Anael had planted it here, and the City had grown around it.
    My father was descended from Anael’s line as well as Naamah’s, and it seemed I had inherited that gift, sparked to life by the inherent magic of the Maghuin Dhonn.
    I still wondered what it meant.
    In Bhaktipur, I had coaxed a field of marigolds to bloom out of season, spending my strength to breathe summer into winter, creating a miracle that lent the appearance of divine approval to the sweeping change the Rani Amrita was implementing. Ordinary folk had celebrated that day, too, weeping and laughing and rejoicing; most especially the folk of the lowest caste, those reckoned unclean and untouchable.
    Mayhap it was enough. It ought to be, but I wasn’t sure.
    Elua’s Oak held no answers, only memories and the sleepy thoughts of impending winter. I took my hands away to find the guards waiting patiently, and Bao regarding me with fond bemusement.
    “If you are done talking to the tree, Moirin, I think the priestess’ suggestion is a good one,” he said. “I have not visited any of the temples of the gods of Terre d’Ange but Naamah’s.”
    “And I have not visited them since Jehanne was trying to get with child and had little time for me,” I said softly, remembering. “It would be good to visit them again, to thank the gods for their gifts and offer prayers on Desirée’s behalf.”
    Bao nodded. “It seems fitting.”
    In the