Naamah's Blessing

Moirin. I was helpless before your charms. Haven’t you heard?”
    I eyed him. “I wish!”
    “But I am,” he said guilelessly, fluttering his lashes at me.
    “I should have left you to Jagrati,” I muttered.
    At that, Bao caught me by the shoulders, giving me a shake. “Not that,” he said fiercely. “Not ever! Don’t say it, Moirin. Don’t even think it.”
    I nodded. “Don’t jest, then.”
    Bao took a deep breath. “I am sorry. It is only that my mistakes lie behind me, while yours…” He shrugged again. “They’re still awaiting us, aren’t they?”
    Raphael…
    Jehanne. Jehanne had not been a mistake. Never, ever would I believe it. She had saved me from myself.
    “Aye,” I said firmly. “And I will deal with them, husband of mine.
We
will deal with them, one by one as they come. Agreed?”
    Bao nodded. “Agreed.”
    Two days after our arrival, we left the city of Marsilikos behind us.
    I was not sorry to see the last of it; but if I thought my reputation would be restored as we grew closer to the City of Elua, I was mistaken.
    Contrary to gossip in Marsilikos, I hadn’t left Terre d’Ange in disgrace, but I
had
left under a cloud of scandal. There was a kernel of truth to Leo’s accusation. Raphael de Mereliot and a group of scholars calling themselves the Circle of Shalomon had been involved in the arcane pursuit of summoning fallen spirits, rumored to possess the ability to bestow fabulous gifts on their summoners.
    And I had helped them; at first because I foolishly believed myself in love with Raphael, and in the end, because he extracted a promise from me in exchange for helping to save my father’s life.
    With my aid, the Circle of Shalomon had succeeded—at least in summoning spirits.
    Spirits who tricked them, over and over. The only gift ever bestowed on the members of the Circle of Shalomon was the ability to speak the language of ants. Still, they kept trying.
    Focalor, a Grand Duke of the Fallen, was the last spirit summoned, the price for saving my father’s life. He had found a flaw in the chains that bound him and broken free, attempting to take possession of Raphael’s body and killing a woman in the process.
    If it hadn’t been for Bao and Master Lo coming to the rescue, Focalor would have succeeded. With their aid, I’d managed to force him back through the gateway my gift had opened.
    The next day, I’d left the City of Elua, bound for Ch’in, called to destiny by my
diadh-anam
.
    I remembered how Jehanne had insisted on giving me a royal escort to the gates of the City. She had made a production of bidding me farewell so that everyone would know I wasn’t leaving in disgrace, had kissed me, and given me a bottle of her perfume to remember her by.
    I had it still.
    And if Jehanne had lived, it might have been enough. Despite whatever cloud of rumor hung over me when I departed, I would bereturning in triumph to a royal favorite’s welcome. But I had left, and Jehanne had died.
    It was enough to make folks eye me with resentment and suspicion; and to be honest, I couldn’t blame them for it. It might not be fair, but I blamed myself, too.
    “You could disguise yourself,” Bao suggested at the end of our second day on the road. “Dress like a respectable matron.”
    I stroked the edge of the green silk sari I wore, another gift from our lady Amrita. The border was a handspan deep with gold embroidery. “Do you think it would help?”
    “No,” he said honestly. “Not really. You couldn’t look respectable if you tried, Moirin.”
    I sighed.
    “Moirin.” Bao pulled me close. “You are Emperor Zhu’s jade-eyed witch, who freed a dragon and saved an empire. You are the Rani Amrita’s
dakini
, who helped conquer Kurugiri and rescue Kamadeva’s diamond.” He kissed me, then looked serious. “Do not forget these things are true.”
    I ran my fingers through his thick, unruly hair. “Remind me again?”
    He lowered his head to kiss me again. “Anytime, my disreputable wife.”
    Despite everything, it made me laugh.

FOUR

    S ome days later, we presented ourselves at the southern gate of the City of Elua.
    “Lady Moirin mac Fainche.” The guard said my name slowly, looking me up and down. His expression was unreadable. “So it’s true. You have returned to the City of Elua, my lady?”
    “I have.” There was a chill in the autumn air. I fought the urge to grip my Bhaktipuran coat of colorful squares of padded silk more tightly closed against