Naamah's Blessing

one hand when I sat opposite him in his study, forestalling my tale. The lines of sorrow etched on his face were deeper than ever.
    “You were right, Moirin,” he said heavily. “Duc Rogier approached me yesterday with a proposal that we arrange a betrothal.”
    I swallowed the words I’d meant to speak. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”
    “I’d thought better of him,” he mused. “Truly, I did. Why? Was it not enough that I appointed him to administer the affairs of the realm?”
    As ever, his grief made my heart ache. “Ambition is a dangerous thing,” I murmured. “One can harbor it unknowing, only to find it sparked into life when the opportunity presents itself.” I thought about the offer that the fallen spirit Marbas had made me, and about how I’d been tempted by Kamadeva’s diamond. “No one is immune to it, my lord. I know that I myself am not.”
    He sighed. “Would that I had been born a simple shepherd!”
    I met his gaze. “We do not choose our destinies, my lord. I am sorry, but it is true. What will you do?”
    His shoulders rose and fell. “I have denied his proposal. Now I suppose I must appoint someone else to serve in his stead.”
    “
Your
stead,” I reminded him.
    It was a piece of insolence, and a part of me hoped that his majesty would rally against it, chastising me. Instead, he bowed his head, dark locks of hair spilling over his brow, his eyes in shadow.
    “My stead,” he agreed softly. “At least until Thierry returns. I plan to abdicate the throne to him, you know.”
    I nodded. “I suspected you might.”
    But in less than a week’s time, everything changed.

TWENTY-THREE

    A s though the fates were conspiring to grant the King’s wishes, the very day after my meeting with his majesty word came that the Dauphin’s flagship had reached the harbor at Pellasus and was making its way up the Aviline River toward the City of Elua.
    The City rejoiced; and I breathed a sigh of relief.
    Spared from the necessity of having to appoint a new Royal Minister, I daresay the King was relieved, too. Couriers tracked the ship’s progress along the river. His majesty arranged for a royal reception to greet his returning son, and on a bright spring afternoon, we gathered at the wharf.
    Flying the silver swan of House Courcel beneath the lily-and-stars pennant of Terre d’Ange, the ship made dock.
    I was there with Bao and Desirée, alongside his majesty and his Royal Minister, presenting a seemingly united front to the realm. Whatever discord seethed beneath the surface was hidden. My father was there, and Tristan de Barthelme beside his own father, the sun glinting on his golden curls. He was on his best behavior.
    Desirée squirmed with impatience as we waited for the gangplank to be lowered, eager to meet the older brother of whom she had heard so much and knew so little. I held her hand, praying that Thierry’s return would suffice to make up for the loss of Tristan’s attention likely to come. I would urge Prince Thierry to be kind to her, I thought. He had a good heart, and he would listen to me. I hoped so,anyway. During the time that I had served as Jehanne’s companion, we had come to form an odd bond of kinship, Thierry and I.
    At last, the gangplank was lowered, and a lone figure descended it. The crew remained on the ship, watching in unusual silence for sailors come to port after a long journey. A soft hiss ran through the gathered crowd.
    “Moirin?” Bao inquired. “That’s not the prince, is it?”
    My throat felt tight. “No.”
    It was someone I knew, though—Denis de Toluard. He had been one of Raphael’s closest friends, and a member of the Circle of Shalomon.
    It appeared he was fighting tears.
    For once in Terre d’Ange, truth had outstripped rumor. There on the wharf, Denis de Toluard made his way to King Daniel’s presence and fell to his knees. He gazed upward, his eyes filled with tears and his mouth working.
    “Your majesty,” he said in a husky voice. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I wanted you to be the first to hear it.”
    “Tell me.”
The words dropped like two stones from the King’s lips. Desirée had gone still, and her hand felt slippery in mine, although I daresay it was mine that sweated.
    Denis bowed his head. “The Dauphin is gone.”
    Although he spoke softly, the words carried in the stillness; and where they did not carry, they were passed from mouth to ear. A great outcry of shared grief arose, a spontaneous ululating.