“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Bao crouched beside us. “It is their way of teaching us to be strong,” he said to her. “It is a hard way, but it is the only way. And you are strong, aren’t you?”
The young princess gave him a faint smile. “Strong like a dragon?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
After the funeral service was concluded, there was another procession through the streets of the City of Elua, ending in a reception at the Palace. Sister Gemma reclaimed Desirée and restored her to the nursery. I watched the politicking that took place, feeling uneasy at it.
Life ended, but politics continued.
When the delegation from House Shahrizai approached us, I felt chagrin added to my grief. They, too, would suffer from the way the politics of this tragedy played out. “I’m so sorry, my lady,” I said to Celestine Shahrizai. My voice sounded hollow. “I fear your generosity toward us proved a bad investment.”
The matriarch of the House gave my elbow a hard squeeze—hard enough to hurt, yet strangely bracing for it. “Do not blame yourself for the vagaries of fate, young one, nor fear our generosity will be withdrawn. We knew the risk we took.”
“It’s not your fault,” Balthasar added. With his blue-black hair and ivory skin, he looked well in mourning garb, but his eyes were rimmed with red and there were dark shadows beneath them. His mouth twisted bitterly. “I should have been there. I should have gone with Thierry.”
“There’s nothing you could have done,” his cousin Josephine murmured.
Balthasar turned his grief-haunted gaze on her. “We’ll never know, will we?” His gaze shifted onto Rogier Courcel, deep in conference with the Comte de Thibideau, with a handful of other peers respectfully waiting their turn to speak with him. “And gods damn Daniel de la Courcel for putting us in this situation!”
The other Shahrizai hushed him hastily. I glanced around, but it didn’t seem anyone had noticed.
“I’m going to go get drunk,” Balthasar announced. “Who’s with me?”
Bao and I declined. I had to address the Parliament tomorrow, my petition to do so having been reluctantly granted, and I would need my wits about me. As the reception thinned, we took our leave, returning home through the somber, silent streets of the City of Elua. Our house steward, Guillaume Norbert, greeted us with weary gravity and asked if there was aught that we required.
All I wanted was to sleep, and wake to find this was all a terrible dream. I thanked him for his kindness and retired to the bedchamber. I undressed and crawled into bed. Bao moved around the chamber quietly, snuffing the lamps.
“It will get better, Moirin,” he murmured, joining me in our bed. “Day by day, bit by bit. It will get easier to bear.”
“It’s just so unfair!” My voice broke on the last word.
“I know.” Bao held me and breathed the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves, deep and soothing. “I know.”
Comforted by his warmth and worn out by sorrow, I fell into sleep as though it were a bottomless pit from which I never wished to emerge.
I slept, and dreamed.
I dreamed I was back in the Palace, standing in the hallway outside the door to the enchanted bower Jehanne had had made for me.
I took a deep breath before I opened the door.
Jehanne was there, seated on the edge of my bed beneath the green fronds of the great fern. As ever, the fern-shadows painted delicate traceries on her fair skin; but this time, she was fully clothed. She lifted her head as I entered the room, and her blue-grey eyes were bright with tears.
She knew.
A choked sound escaped me. I crossed the room and fell to my knees before her, burying my face in her lap. My shoulders shook with sobs, the sobs of profound grief that I’d not yet loosed. Jehanne held me, stroking my hair until the worst of the storm had passed. It was a long time before I could look up at her.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said sadly. There was a depth of knowledge and wisdom in her beautiful face that she’d only begun to acquire in life. “So am I. And I am angry, too, my beautiful girl. But Daniel had borne all that he could, and I forgive him for it.” She stroked my cheeks, wiping away the tracks of my tears. “This was one blow too many.”
I repeated what I knew was a child’s futile protest. “It’s not fair!”
“No, it’s not,” Jehanne agreed. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a purpose in it.” Her hand lingered against my cheek, cupping it with affection. The sorrow in her star-bright eyes reminded me of the sorrow in the gaze of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself when She had laid a destiny on me. “It’s coming time, Moirin.”
Even in a dream, I felt cold. “Time for what?”
“You.”
I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
Jehanne bent her silver-gilt head toward me as though she meant to kiss me or whisper a secret in my ear. I could smell her glorious, intoxicating scent wrapped around me, feel her soft breath on my cheek.
“Thierry is alive,” she said to me.
TWENTY-FIVE
Thierry is alive.
For the second time in my life, I jerked away from my lady Jehanne’s touch. I found myself on my feet without knowing how I’d gotten there. She sat without moving on the edge of the bed. I stared at her, aghast.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I shouted at her. “Gods, Jehanne! I could have kept your husband from killing himself! I could have kept your daughter from becoming an orphaned political pawn!”
She shook her head with regret. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“There are rules, Moirin,” Jehanne said in a gentle tone. “I don’t always understand them, but there are. I wasn’t allowed to know until now. It was his fate. Desirée’s depends on you now.”
I paced the room in a fury. “Thierry’s alive? You’re sure? You’re sure?” She nodded. I fetched up before her, flinging my arms wide. “So what am I to do about it?”
“You’re to cross the sea to Terra Nova, find Thierry, and bring him back,” Jehanne said simply.
Tears of frustration stung my eyes. “That’s all?”
“Yes and no.” Her exquisite face was grave. “I don’t know, Moirin. Not all of it. Only what I’m allowed to. But this business with Raphael… that’s where it’s meant to be concluded.”
That caught me up short, my diadh-anam blazing like a bonfire in my chest.
Raphael de Mereliot.
He had vanished along with Prince Thierry and the rest of the expedition, and my destiny was bound up with his. It always had been, and it remained unfinished. Of course he was alive, too. In my grief, I hadn’t even thought of it. I sighed and sat beside Jehanne on the bed. “I swore an oath to protect your daughter, my lady,” I murmured. “Would you have me forsworn?”
“Never.” Jehanne laced her fingers with mine, raising one hand to kiss it. “But you can’t do it from here.”
“I can try!” I protested. “Better here than afar!”
“You’ll fail,” she said with candor. “Moirin, you’re a bear-witch of the Maghuin Dhonn. You’ve done well, so very well, to court favor among certain quarters of Terre d’Ange.” She hugged my hand to her breast. “But it’s not going to be enough. There are too many forces arrayed against you, too many folk eager to resent you. If you stay, you will try and fail, and Desirée…” Her voice faltered. “You saw how she’s been since her father’s death? With the spark of life crushed out in her?”
I nodded.
“That will be her fate, if you do not bring her brother home.”
I sighed.
I paced the room.
“I’m scared,” I admitted at last. “Oh, Jehanne! I’ve already gone so very far, far from home.”
“I know.” She stood and wrapped her arms around me, leaned her brow against mine. “Gone and returned, my beautiful girl. Can you not do it once more?”
The memory of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself turning Her face away came to me, Her vast muzzle blotting out the stars. Behind Her oceans beckoned to me through the stone doorway, a multitude of sparkling oceans to cross.
“I will try,” I promised.
Jehanne kissed me tenderly, her lips soft and lingering on mine. “That is all I can ask of you.”
All too soon, I awoke with a gasp, cast out of my dream and into the grey dawn of reality. My diadh-anam continued to blaze within me. Bao was awake, staring at me with wide eyes and parted lips, and I knew he felt it, too.
“Moirin?” he said. “What passes here?”
“Thierry’s alive,” I whispered.
“How…?” Bao ran one hand over his disheveled hair, which stuck out in every direction. “Jehanne.” I nodded. He cast an unerring glance toward the west. “And we’re meant to go and fetch him, I suppose.”
I swallowed hard, fighting tears. “So it seems.”
“Gods, Moirin!” he grumbled, clambering out of bed with a yawn. “Could your destiny possibly be any more burdensome? And what is it with D’Angeline princes going missing? Didn’t you tell me a long story about another one who couldn’t manage to stay put?”
It made me laugh through my tears. “Bao…”
“It’s all right.” He pulled on a pair of breeches and came over to kiss me, strong hands gripping my shoulders. “Moirin, if it is what must be done, it is what we will do. But we can only take one step at a time, and today you’re addressing the members of Parliament.”
“What’s the point?” I said dully. “Jehanne told me I’m bound to fail.”
“Does Jehanne know everything?” he asked. “Did she tell you exactly where to find Prince Thierry, and why in the world he and his party never returned?”
“No,” I admitted. “She said there are rules. That she only knows what she’s allowed to know.”
“Well, then.” Bao gave me a little shake. “Even if you do fail, it may be that the attempt is important. And anyway, you have to try. It’s in Desirée’s best interest, and you’re oath-bound.”
My diadh-anam flickered in agreement. I smiled ruefully at Bao. “Now you’re developing the sensibilities of the Maghuin Dhonn, my magpie.”
He let go of me and touched his bare chest with a somber look. “I have to. What would become of me if you broke your oath, Moirin?”
I didn’t answer; we both knew. The spark of my divided diadh-anam had restored Bao to life. I’d sworn the sacred oath of the Maghuin Dhonn. If I broke it, that spark would be extinguished in me. I would live, albeit in a hellish state of separation from all that was sacred to my people, stripped of the gifts of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself, barred forever from Her presence.
But Bao… Bao would die.
The reminder gave me the strength to rise and wash and dress, to break my fast and prepare to face the members of Parliament.
I spent the morning going over what I meant to say to them. There were two branches of Parliament in Terre d’Ange, the High and Low Councils. The High Council was composed of seventy hereditary seats among the Great Houses, ten for each province in the realm, plus a vote for the monarch and his or her heir; or in the absence of an heir of age, two votes for the sitting monarch. Since Terre d’Ange lacked a monarch, there would be only seventy votes cast by the High Council.
Naturally, Duc Rogier de Barthelme’s would be one of them.
The Low Council was composed of fourteen seats from the Lesser Houses of Terre d’Ange. These too were hereditary, held by descendants of the minor lords and ladies who had formed a shadow Parliament under the aegis of Alais de la Courcel, the Queen’s younger daughter, in a desperate attempt to restore order during a time when most of the Great Houses had been driven mad by dire magic and the realm torn asunder by the threat of civil war.
If I had any allies, it would likely be in the Low Council. It was a pity there were only fourteen members.
The Hall of Parliament was an imposing chamber, a vast space of unadorned marble with a high, vaulted ceiling. The members sat in tiered rows in a gallery that curved around the room, looking down on the speaker’s floor.
I’d been allotted a mere quarter hour in the early afternoon to address them. When I arrived, the atmosphere was calm, and I had the feeling that a consensus had already been reached. It made what I was about to do harder. Bao and my father both accompanied me, but they had to remain in the background while I walked onto the center of the speaker’s floor alone. Faces peered down from the gallery, some neutral, some curious. Only Celestine Shahrizai met my gaze with sympathy. Duc Rogier’s expression was unreadable.
“My lords and ladies…” My voice shook. I cleared my throat and took a few deep breaths. “You know me as Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn, but as I stand here before you, I would remind you that I, too, am a descendant of House Courcel—a direct descendant of Alais de la Courcel. There are fourteen of you sitting here today who would not be here were it not for my great-great-grandmother’s strength and courage.”
There were nods of agreement all along the upper tiers of the gallery, where members of the Low Council sat.
It heartened me. “In Alba, her counsel is credited with ensuring peace among all her folk,” I continued. “There, she is remembered as Alais the Wise. And I stand before you in the spirit of my great-great-grandmother, who never quailed in the face of terrible truths.”