“But would it not violate Blessed Elua’s precept here in Terre d’Ange?” I asked. “Love as thou wilt?”
“That’s why he’s courting her,” Lianne said cynically. “Oh, please! The dashing young Sun Prince in his gilded armor bending a knee to her? What better manner to plant a seed of girlish infatuation in her heart? I couldn’t have crafted a better storyline myself. And there’s a long history of politicking surrounding the pageant on the Longest Night. Now all this attention? Please. What fourteen-year-old boy willingly devotes himself to a girl her age? He’s courting her.”
“She’s a child!” I was repeating myself. “She’s four years old!”
“And when I was five years old, I informed my mother I meant to marry the baker’s boy.” She shook her head. “If she dotes on the lad, and squeals with delight when Duc Rogier proposes a betrothal, no one will speak against it. Not if the King gives his consent to the union. Do you think he would?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But as Desirée’s oath-sworn protector, I would argue against it. No one knows their heart at that age.”
“Mayhap you should speak to his majesty,” Bao suggested.
“I wouldn’t,” Lianne countered. “Not yet. Your father’s right, there’s nothing untoward in the situation… yet. You run the risk of looking vindictive and overly suspicious.”
“Aye,” I said slowly. “But if I wait for them to show their hand, it may be too late.” I made up my mind. “I’ll speak to him.”
The next day, I begged an appointment with King Daniel, who heard me out patiently. When I had finished, he folded his hands on his desk. “Moirin, I have no intention of arranging a betrothal for Desirée before she comes of age.”
A wave of relief washed over me. “You don’t?”
“I don’t,” he said in a firm tone. “However, when that day comes, I would certainly find Tristan de Barthelme an acceptable candidate should my daughter find his suit pleasing, and I do not begrudge Duc Rogier the opportunity to allow his eldest to befriend her. Indeed, I would have thought it would please you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I am pleased to see Desirée happy, your majesty. But—”
The King sighed. “But you suspect their motives. Ah, Moirin! This is Court; no one’s motives are entirely devoid of self-interest.” He summoned his faint smile. “Except mayhap yours, which is another reason I appointed you. Desirée is a child, let her have her happiness and bask in the boy’s attention. She’s D’Angeline, and her mother’s daughter.” His smile turned sorrowful. “When she does come of age, she’s like to fall in love ten times over before she settles.”
I laughed ruefully. “True.”
He rose. “I give you my word, I’ll not see her betrothed young. And if Duc Rogier does propose it…” He hesitated. “Let us say he is not the man I took him to be, and I will feel my trust misplaced.”
I rose, too. “I hope I am wrong, my lord.”
“I suspect you are.” Daniel de la Courcel clasped my hand. “Nonetheless, I appreciate your concern. But I think it best you keep it to yourself rather than spread further ill will in the realm. Do not forget, all of this will change when Thierry returns in the spring.”
My diadh-anam flared, reminding me that Prince Thierry’s return also meant the return of Raphael de Mereliot. Hopefully, whatever unfinished business lay between us would at last be concluded, and I would be freed from my everlasting destiny. “I look forward to it.”
“So do I,” the King said quietly. “So do I.”
I left the King’s presence comforted by his promise, but still uneasy with the situation. Mayhap I was being overly suspicious, my thoughts poisoned by Lianne Tremaine’s cunning mind. Mayhap I was overly naïve in the intricate ways that courtship and politics intertwined in Terre d’Ange; or mayhap simply overprotective of Jehanne’s daughter.
I wished Jehanne would appear in my dreams once more to give me guidance, but she didn’t.
Short winter days wore on to long winter weeks, winding slowly toward spring. I debated sharing my fears with Sister Gemma or the tutor Aimée Girard and decided against it, based on the King’s warning. During their studies together, Bao kept watch over Tristan’s dealings with Desirée.
“He’s patient with her,” he said. “Too patient, at least for a boy his age. The poetess is right. It’s unnatural.”
“And Desirée?”
“She adores him,” Bao confirmed. “But, Moirin… what do you suppose he’s like when he’s not with her?”
I was intrigued. “I could find out, couldn’t I?”
Bao grinned. “None better!”
Summoning the twilight, I wrapped myself in its cloak and spent a day stalking Tristan Courcel de Barthelme through the halls of the Palace.
It wasn’t easy.
’Twas a tricky business at best to exist between the mortal realm and the spirit realm, rendered trickier by having to navigate the crowded Palace. But I managed, following pretty golden-haired Tristan and dodging peers, guards, and servants in the hallways as he departed the nursery and caught up with friends, twin sons of the Comte de Rochambeau, whose household was alleged to have taken the last available suite in the Palace.
For the most part, I found that young Tristan was a perfectly normal adolescent boy. He was far less polite with friends his age, given to bragging about unlikely exploits, but that was normal.
By the time he abandoned his friends to return to his father’s quarters in the Palace, I was in two minds as to whether or not to follow him. It was more risky to be trapped in a private space than roaming a public one, and I’d not learned anything useful of the lad thus far. On the other hand, if the Duc was in residence, mayhap they would speak openly of their intentions.
Deciding that the latter possibility was worth the risk, I slipped into their quarters behind Tristan.
Unfortunately, the only other person there was an attractive little maidservant in the process of dusting. She startled at the sight of the lad. “Oh! Forgive me, my lord! I’ll be on my way.”
“No, no, don’t go.” Tristan caught her wrist. “Sylvie, isn’t it?”
“Aye, my lord.” She tugged in vain. “I should be going.”
His voice took on a wheedling tone. “Just one kiss.”
Reluctantly, the maid gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Tristan took the opportunity to put his arms around her and pull her close, nuzzling her neck. She struggled. “Please, my lord!”
“What’s the matter?” He tightened his grip on her. I daresay I could have broken it easily enough, but she was a slight wisp of a thing. “Don’t you like me, sweet Sylvie? You said I was a lovely boy.”
There were tears in her eyes, glimmering in the twilight. “So you are, but I’m newly wed and faithful to my husband.”
“I know.” Tristan traced the curve of her shoulder. “Which is why you’ll not speak of this, will you?”
She shook her head. “Don’t, my lord! It’s heresy.”
“Not if you’re willing.” He tried to kiss her lips, grabbing her chin when she sought to evade him. “Come, come, sweet Sylvie! It’s just a kiss.” The wheedling tone in his voice gave way to a threatening one. “Don’t you know I could have you dismissed from your post? Now give me a proper kiss.”
I’d heard enough—and I had an idea.
Grabbing a handful of his thick, golden hair, I gave it a firm yank, then took him by the scruff of his neck and shook him. Tristan’s entire body went rigid. I didn’t know firsthand what it felt like when I touched someone in the twilight, but Bao said it was like being touched by a ghost.
To be sure, the lad found it profoundly unnerving.
Lowering my voice, I willed him, and him alone, to hear me. “Tristan de Barthelme, make no mistake! The path you tread is one of heresy,” I intoned in his ear. “Let the girl go, and trouble her no more.”
He released her as quickly as though her touch scalded him, backing away so fast I had to spin out of his way and nearly lost my grip on the twilight. “I’m sorry!” he said to her, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Just… go!”
The maid fled without hesitation, still clutching her feather duster. I had to hurry to slip out the door behind her.
When I told Bao what I’d done, he laughed until he wept. “Ah gods, Moirin! Why didn’t you tell him to leave Desirée alone while you were at it?”
“I didn’t think of it,” I admitted. “Mayhap I should go back?”
“No, best not to.” He wiped his eyes. “Too many folk know about your gift. The lad’s likely to figure it if you push your luck too far.”
“Well, at least we know he’s a lout,” I said.
Bao shrugged. “He’s a boy trying to steal a kiss from a pretty maid. I was no different at his age.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not that. That, I understand. It’s that he didn’t care that she was unwilling, that he’d thought through the reasons she wouldn’t dare speak of it.” I shuddered. “And he was quick to threaten her. I don’t like him, Bao. And I don’t want his majesty thinking he’s a fit suitor for Desirée, now or ever.”
He sobered. “No, you’re right. You should speak to him again.”
I did; or at least I tried to.
King Daniel willingly granted me an audience, but he held up 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
As 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.
