Naamah's Blessing

You’ll need good steel by your side—sharp swords, and strong arms to wield them.” He lowered his voice. “You’ll find no shortage of volunteers amidst the Royal Guard, my lady. Prince Thierry was a great favorite in the Palace, always quick with a kind word and a jest.”
    “My thanks,” I said to him, my eyes stinging. “I will remember it.”
    He nodded. “You do that.”
    Ah, gods! Last night, the sailor; today, the guards. It was almost too much to bear, for I knew in my heart that Rogier de Barthelme was right. If we undertook this quest, whether we succeeded or failed, men would die.
    It was as simple as that.
    And their blood would be on
my
hands.
    “It’s not your fault, Moirin,” Bao said quietly to me on the carriage-ride to Denis de Toluard’s home. “You didn’t choose your destiny, burdensome as it is.”
    “No.” I wiped my eyes. “But this time I am the one setting this thing in motion, Bao. That means
I
am responsible for it. And I cannot help but think…” I paused, and he waited patiently. “I cannot help but think Denis de Toluard is right,” I said at last. “Somehow, everything goes back to the Circle of Shalomon. That’s where it all began to go wrong. My lady Jehanne even said I’m meant to finish my business with Raphael in Terra Nova. I don’t know how, but it’s all tied together, and Thierry is caught up in it through no fault of his own.” I shook my head. “I should never, ever have aided them. And that, too, is my responsibility.”
    Bao shrugged. “And you are facing it.”
    “Aye,” I said. “But so are
you
. And others! Stone and sea, so many!”
    “I chose this,” he reminded me. “I chose you, Moirin. And I found a way to do it on my own terms.” Bao put his hands on my shoulders and gave me a hard kiss, firm and anchoring. “Everyone makes their own choices. Let them, eh?”
    I laughed ruefully. “I’ll try.”
    “Good.” As the carriage-driver drew rein outside the de Toluard townhouse, Bao kissed me again, hard and long and deep, his tongue delving into my mouth, his
diadh-anam
intertwining with mine until I felt myself melting against him.
    Naamah, the bright lady, smiled. Her enduring grace showered down upon us like a hail of golden sparks.
    I made an inarticulate sound of protest when he pulled away. “Bao!”
    He gave me a serene smile. “Let us finish Naamah’s business later, Moirin. Now let us go see if Denis de Toluard is sufficiently sober to tell us what might have befallen your Prince Thierry, and why Terra Nova is such a terrible place.” He adjusted the sleeves of his black-and-white magpie coat, affording me a glimpse of the stark zig-zag tattoos on his corded forearms and reminding me of all we had endured together. “After all, it can’t be worse than Kurugiri, can it?”
    “Surely not,” I agreed.
    As it transpired, it could.

TWENTY-EIGHT

    I t’s a bloody place,” Denis de Toluard said bluntly.
    “How so?” I inquired.
    He sighed and scrubbed at his face with both hands. He looked better, much better, but still ages older than he ought. “They’re a bloody folk, the Nahuatl. And I mean it quite literally. It’s not just that they built an empire by conquering damn nigh everything in sight. They practice human sacrifice.”
    “Oh.” I felt a bit sick. “Gods! Why?”
    “They believe it’s their duty,” Denis said. “They believe it’s necessary for the world to continue. That the gods sacrificed parts of themselves to create the world, and that ongoing sacrifice is necessary to sustain it. They believe that without it, the sun will not rise and the rain will not fall.” He gave us a grim smile. “According to Diego Ortiz y Ramos, the commander of the Aragonian garrison, it’s a great deal better than it used to be. When they first arrived in Tenochtitlan, the Nahuatl would sacrifice hundreds, even thousands, of victims at a single festival. The steps of the temples would run red with blood.”
    “But no longer?” I asked hopefully.
    Denis shrugged. “The Aragonians have been working to convert the Nahuatl to the worship of Mithras, and they’ve had some success. But the practice continues on a lesser scale. I’ve seen it,” he added with a shudder. “And it’s horrible.”
    Balthasar Shahrizai looked unwontedly pale. “Exactly where do they find all these victims to sacrifice?”
    “Prisoners of war, for the most part,” Denis said. “They actually fight to maim and injure