Naamah's Curse (80 page)

She smiled at him. “On the balance, you have brought far more joy than sorrow. So I will count it as a kindness, and be grateful.”

One by one, the happy days fled.

A part of me wanted to cling to them, wanted the world to slow in its turning, to stay here in this charmed valley with people I had come to love, and be happy as long as I was allowed. A part of me welcomed it, yearning to return home, longing for just one glimpse of my mother’s face.

I wondered what she would make of Bao.

I had a feeling they would like one another, my taciturn mother and my insolent, irrepressible magpie.

In the Rani Amrita’s capable hands, the plans for our wedding proceeded apace. To be sure, it would be an untraditional affair. Family, that vast, extended web that was a cornerstone of Bhodistani society, would not come into play here. There would be no dowry, no symbolic transfer of power as I moved from my parents’ household to that of my husband.

“Still!” Amrita said in a firm voice. “It will be a very, very splendid celebration, and certain things will be observed.”

Certain things meant petitioning the elephant-headed god Ganesha to remove any obstacles to our union.

Certain things meant another ritual in which a priest smeared a dot of red turmeric powder on my brow and Bao’s.

Certain things meant that I must sit still for hours on end while a special artist applied intricate designs of henna paste to my hands, arms, and feet, rendering me beautiful after the manner of every Bhodistani bride.

It was a good thing I had learned a great deal about patience.

I didn’t mind it, though, not really. There was music and dancing, and it made me glad to hear my lady Amrita and the women of the Falconer’s harem discuss men and their foibles and giggle together, finding brightness in the shadow of sorrow and suffering, weaving the strands of loss and anguish into a fabric of togetherness.

And on the eve of our wedding, certain things meant that Bao and I must spend the night apart.

“I will miss you, Moirin,” he said to me. “Even for just one night.”

I laid one hand on his hard chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my palm. “I will miss you, too.”

Alone in the chamber we had shared, I slept…

… and dreamed of Jehanne again.

In my dream, I opened the door of the bedchamber she had had made for me, my enchanted bower, filled with growing plants. I found Jehanne naked in my bed, her pale blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her arms wrapped around her knees.

My heart pounded in my chest.

“Hello, my beautiful girl.” Her eyes sparkled at me. “Won’t you come and give me the kiss of greeting?”

I sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “Jehanne, you know I love you. Must you insist on tormenting me on the eve of my wedding?”

She looked away, then looked back at me with one of her unreadable expressions. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.” I gazed at her impossible beauty, the delicate green fern-shadows etched on her fair skin. A tickle of foreboding brushed me, as though someone had trailed a feather along my spine. “This isn’t just a dream, is it?”

“I’m not meant to be here yet,” Jehanne replied indirectly. “At least, I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell. Time moves differently on the other side, you know.”

“I know,” I murmured.

She nodded seriously. “You do know about such things, my lovely witch-girl. That’s why I’m able to reach you. Only… if it’s not time yet, I suppose you’re right, and it’s jealousy that draws me.” She gave me a self-deprecating smile. “Are you angry?”

“No.” I frowned. “But… what is this? Why? My lady, I don’t even know what questions to ask.”

Reaching out with one slender hand, Jehanne stroked my brow, then trailed her fingers down my cheek. “Don’t scowl, Moirin,” she said in a teasing tone. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

I pulled away from her distracting touch. “Jehanne, please! Talk to me.”

She withdrew her hand, looking so disconsolate that it was all I could do not to take her in my arms and comfort her with kisses. “I can’t move onward,” she said. “Neither forward nor backward.”

I struggled to recall what my father had told me of the D’Angeline afterlife. “You cannot pass on to the Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond?” I asked, and she nodded. “Nor can you be reborn in the mortal world?”

“I have to wait,” she agreed.

“Oh, my lady!” I swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears. “Why such a cruel fate?”

Her fair shoulders rose in a graceful shrug. “I don’t understand it all. I only know that your business with Raphael de Mereliot is not finished. The time is coming when you will have to reckon with him, and you will need my help before the end.”

A shiver ran over my skin. “Do you know how or why?”

Jehanne shook her head. “Only that it is coming. Don’t cry for me, Moirin,” she added, reaching out to wipe a tear from my cheek; and this time I didn’t pull back from her. “Leaving was the hardest part.”

“Dying?” I asked softly.

She shook her head again. “Death is not so fearful as I thought it would be. But leaving… leaving Daniel, leaving my infant daughter. Leaving a world with one such as
you
in it.” She smiled at me. “Will you tell my Desirée about me when you meet her? Everyone in the Court except her father will only tell her of the scandals and gossip I caused. You… you can tell her that her mother did a very good thing once when she rescued a beautiful young woman from her own folly.”

I couldn’t help my tears. “Jehanne, of course I will! You needn’t ask; I would have done it anyway. I will tell her that you loved her very much, that you would have been a wonderful mother, and grown into a wise and gracious queen.”

“Like your precious Rani?” Jehanne asked crossly in a mercurial mood shift that was so familiar it made me laugh through my tears.

“You
are
jealous!” I said to her.

She smiled again, taking my hand. “Yes. And a bit cheated that I didn’t have the time to grow into this wise and gracious queen you dreamed I would become.” Watching me beneath her lashes, she traced the intricate patterns of henna on my hand and forearm with the tip of one finger, a touch that was at once impossibly delicate and maddeningly arousing, making my skin prickle.

I took a deep breath. “Jehanne…”

Her blue-grey eyes opened wide and ingenuous. “You promised you would not say no to me. And I do not know when I will be able to reach you again, Moirin.”

“Aye, and I’m getting married tomorrow!” I protested.

“Tomorrow is tomorrow.” She stroked my skin with that exquisite touch. “And I am here. You used to say that to me, remember?
I am here
. It always comforted me. Will you not stay?”

I hesitated.

Jehanne’s voice broke slightly, breaking my heart. “Please? It’s so very lonely where I am.”

And because I could no more resist her than the ocean’s tides could resist the pull of the moon, I gave in to her as I had done a thousand times before; and even though it was a dream, it felt so very real, my lady Jehanne warm and alive in my arms, naked and silken, the intoxicating scent of her skin making me dizzy with longing, Jehanne winding her arms around my neck, kissing me with consummate skill and desperate ardor, whispering my name like a prayer.

I stayed; and this time the dream did not cast me out. In my dream, I fell asleep holding her.

I awoke to morning light and an empty bed, the linens rumpled.

Jehanne’s scent lingered in the room.

I sighed and arose, my heart at once heavy with guilt and light with gladness, my body languid with the aftermath of pleasure.

The Rani Amrita and her attendants bustled into the chamber, laying out the bridal finery I was to wear—the crimson sari embroidered and trimmed with gold, the elaborate jewelry.

“So!” my lady Amrita said brightly to me. “The day is here at last. Are you ready to wed your bad boy, my dear one?”

With guilt, regret, and a surety of purpose, I put my dream of Jehanne aside. It was real and not-real at the same time. It was a promise of things to come; but they were things that had not happened yet.

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

I
t was a glorious day.

The Rani’s attendants helped me bathe and prepare, rubbing fragrant oils into my skin, brushing my hair until it gleamed, painting my eyelids with kohl. They helped me don the gorgeous crimson and gold sari, pinning the folds in place. Amrita insisted on adorning me with jewelry herself, sliding gold bangles onto my wrists, fastening tinkling anklets in place, pinning a gold filigree headpiece to my hair.

When she had finished, she clapped her hands together in delight. “You are the perfect bride, Moirin!”

I had a fleeting memory of my dream and smiled ruefully. “Not quite, I fear, but surely you have done your best, my lady.”

She fussed with the filigree pendant hanging on my brow. “You are perfectly yourself, dear one, and that is all that matters. And you look very, very lovely.”

I hugged her, holding her close. “Thank you, Amrita.”

She returned my embrace, then released me. “You’re very welcome. Now, do not muss your sari.”

For some reason, her fussing and mothering made me laugh aloud. Amrita gave me an inquiring glance, and I shook my head, unable to explain. All I could do was gaze at her with a heart filled with a complicated mixture of affection, remembering all the many kindnesses she had shown me.

“Bad girl.” She tapped my lips lovingly with one finger. “Do not look at me so. You are getting married today, remember?”

I smiled at her. “Oh, I do.”

Once the preparations were finished, we adjourned to one of the palace’s towers to watch the bridegroom’s procession approach. The sun was high overhead, the sky was a bright, cloudless blue, and the spring air was warm and balmy.

I was getting married today.

It was an exhilarating thought—and a frightening one, too. But my heart beat surely and steadily and my
diadh-anam
called to Bao’s, measuring his progress toward me. I felt him long before I saw him, resplendent in a crimson tunic and breeches, riding astride a white horse garlanded with flowers, his head held high, a crimson turban atop his unruly hair, gold hoops gleaming in his ears, his irrepressible grin in place. Hasan Dar and a handful of guards surrounded him, Sudhakar and Ravindra among them, cheering and singing love songs. The sight made my heart swell inside my chest.

My magpie, my peasant-boy, my Tatar prince.

Gods, I
did
love him very much.

How had that happened?

Bao glanced up at me as I leaned out of the turret, his grin widening, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling.

I had to tell him about Jehanne and my dream.

Later, I thought; later.

Amrita tugged at my arm. “Come, come, Moirin! You’re meant to be in the garden before the bridegroom.”

“Yes, my lady,” I said obediently, following her.

It was spring in the charmed valley of Bhaktipur and the garden was in full bloom, filled with towering rhododendrons sporting a wealth of enormous purple blossoms, snaking lianna vines, delicate frangipani perfuming the air with fragrance, and marigolds I had coaxed to bloom early. Beneath the trees, an immense, elaborate canopy of colorful sequined fabric had been erected, sparkling in the sunlight, held up by gilded poles. There was a brazier of sacred fire, tended to by a lean priest whose kind smile belied his ascetic figure.

All the women and children of the harem were there, faces glowing on this happy day; and then the groom’s party entered the garden on foot, laughing and singing, and my heart grew even fuller.

With much fanfare, Bao and I were seated opposite one another beneath the canopy, smiling at one another.

The priest beamed at all of us. “Today among friends and loved ones, in the presence of the sacred fire, upon the life-giving earth and beneath the radiant sun, we come together to seek the blessing of the gods on the marriage of Moirin and Bao,” he announced.

My lady Amrita came forward and handed me a garland of flowers. Bao inclined his head, and I laid it around his neck, laughing a little as it caught and snagged on his unfamiliar turban and pulled it askew. He grinned and settled it in place. And then Ravindra, his narrow face solemn, extended a garland to Bao, who leaned forward and placed it carefully over my shoulders.