SEVEN
Not long afterward, we met Rogier Courcel—the Duc de Barthelme, Lord Minister of the realm, and the companion of my father’s youth.
“I trust we’re meeting under happier circumstances, Lady Moirin.” The smile he summoned was tired, but not so deeply tired as the King’s. It held the weariness of a man overburdened by duty. “As I recall, you were rather distraught on the previous occasion.”
I flushed, remembering.
The Duc de Barthelme and my father had ridden out to meet the royal hunting party I had accompanied, and I had been in a rare state of anguish, conflicted over my feelings for both Raphael and Jehanne, and feeling as though I’d not a friend in the world. Upon meeting my father for the first time, I’d flung myself into his arms and wept on his shoulder.
“Indeed, your grace,” I murmured. “Forgive me my rudeness. I was young and foolish.”
My father chuckled, and the Duc glanced sidelong at him. Rogier Courcel was a handsome fellow with thick, curling black hair, the strong brows of House Courcel, and grey-green eyes. I liked the easy manner he and my father had with each other, which spoke of their long familiarity. “You did manage to generate a considerable amount of scandal in a short time,” he agreed. His gaze shifted to Bao. “I take it those days are behind you?”
Bao bowed. “I would not count on it, my lord.”
The Duc’s smile deepened. “Ah, well! The City of Elua can always use a measure of scandal. Moirin, Phanuel tells me you wish to send a message to your mother in Alba. I’ve a courier leaving on the morrow with a packet for the Cruarch, and he’s likely to be the last of the season. Would you care to add a letter?”
“Very much so, your grace.” I smiled back at him. “Thank you for your kindness.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “ ’Tis nothing. Please, call me Rogier. After all, we’re near-kin.”
“Rogier,” I echoed.
“You’re lodging at the Temple of Naamah in the Tsingani quarter?” he inquired. “If you wish, I’d be pleased to grant you and your husband a suite of rooms in the Palace.”
I hesitated. “My thanks. But… I think we will wait awhile. There are too many memories here, at least for me.”
“Of course.” Rogier shifted a stack of papers on his desk, which bore a considerable amount of clutter. “I do have a favor to ask in turn. If I understand rightly what Phanuel has told me, among other things, you were involved in an unpleasant business in Vralia which could have political repercussions for Terre d’Ange. I’d like to hear about it in detail.”
“Certainly,” I said. “His majesty also indicated he might wish to speak with me.”
“About Vralia?” The Duc looked startled.
“Ah… no.” I frowned, realizing it was unlikely that King Daniel knew aught of my misadventures yet. “He did not say.”
My father and Rogier Courcel exchanged a glance. The latter folded his hands on his desk. “Moirin, I have nothing but respect for my kinsman,” he said quietly. “But I fear Daniel de la Courcel’s days of taking an active hand in steering the realm are over. He has no heart for it. Until the Dauphin’s return, that burden falls to me, and I have accepted it. Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“No, of course not,” I protested; although in truth, I wasn’t sure if it did.
“It should.” Rogier smiled ruefully. “It makes me uncomfortable, and a number of the members of Parliament, too.”
“You’ve done a fine job,” my father murmured. “Parliament has no cause for concern.”
The Duc raked a hand through his hair. “Even so, I will be grateful when Prince Thierry returns, and I can rejoin my wife and children in Barthelme.”
“Why do they not join you here?” Bao inquired. “Surely, there is room.”
“My wife, Claudine, maintains an… extensive… household,” Rogier replied in a dry tone. “ ’Tis not worth the toil and effort of moving it for two seasons’ time. And my boys are happy in Barthelme, where they can run wild.”
My father chuckled again. “Your eldest might feel otherwise if he were sixteen and old enough to gain admission to the Night Court.”
“He might,” Rogier admitted. “But Tristan’s two years shy of that gilded threshold.”
“Speaking of children,” I began. Both of them turned their attention to me, and I paused, trying to frame the matter politely. “In Marsilikos, we were told that the young princess Desirée was known as the Little Pearl, and was much beloved in the City of Elua. But Bao and I met with her this morning, and she seemed to me to be a rather lonely little thing.”
“To say the least,” Bao muttered.
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Rogier Courcel paused, too. “In the spring, on the occasion of her highness’ third natality, Daniel was persuaded to hold a procession throughout the City in celebration, so that the people might have a glimpse of young Desirée. It was a touching sight, the widowed King with his beautiful young daughter in his arms. To be sure, it charmed the populace.”
My father nodded. “That was when they began calling her the Little Pearl.” He gave me a quiet smile. “The City of Elua has not forgotten Jehanne de la Courcel nor the endless delight they took in gossiping about her. They took her daughter quickly to heart. But I fear it was the last time his majesty appeared in public with her.”
“A pity,” I said.
The Duc raised his brows. “Is the child being mistreated?”
“No,” I said slowly. “I would not go so far as to say that. But it was my sense that she feels unloved.”
Rogier sighed. “Your concern is admirable, Moirin. However, I must tread a fine path here. Daniel has ceded the duties of state to me during this interim. He has not abdicated the throne, nor has he given me authority over his private affairs.” His mouth twisted. “It would be different if he had seen fit to appoint…” He let the thought go unfinished, shrugging. “I fear that if I were to intervene in the matter, Parliament would rebel and declare I had overstepped my authority.”
“Mayhap you should speak to the King about your concerns,” my father suggested.
I blinked. “Me? Ah, gods! I’d rather not intrude further on his grief.”
He regarded me somberly. “You may be the only person in the world who can do so with impunity, Moirin. I heard about this morning’s display.”
“I’ll think on it.”
“Do,” the Duc agreed, rising from his chair. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I’ve a great deal to do, and I believe you’ve a letter to write.”
“Oh, yes.” I rose, too. “Thank you again, my lord.”
“Rogier,” he repeated with a pleasant smile. “When I’ve more time, I’ll ask you for the whole of your Vralian tale. Were you there, too?” he asked Bao.
Bao stretched out his arms, contemplating the zig-zag tattoos that marked them. “No,” he said darkly. “I wish I had been. But no.”
My father shuddered. “You’ll want to hear the whole of their tale someday,” he said to Rogier Courcel. “Trust me, it’s one to daunt the poets.”
The Lord Minister of the realm inclined his head toward us. “I look forward to it.”
With that, we were dismissed.
Since there was no word from King Daniel, Bao and I returned to the Temple of Naamah. This journey through the streets of the City of Elua was markedly different. Word of the King’s absolution and embrace of me had spread, and the gazes that followed us were more curious than suspicious. I felt all the more grateful for his generosity, and all the more uneasy at the notion of presuming to tell him how his daughter ought to be raised.
“Why?” Bao asked when I voiced my reluctance. “Don’t you think he might be glad of it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s just so terribly sad. I hate to add to his burden.”
He shook his head. “If he’s a man, he will bear it. You heard him this morning. He knows he’s neglected the child. If you ask me, he was very nearly begging for your assistance.”
“Do you think so?”
Bao gave me one of his rare, utterly sincere smiles. “Yes, Moirin. I do. I think the King recognizes that you have a very, very large heart, and that he hopes you will make a place for his little stormcloud of a daughter in it.”
“You, too,” I said. “You liked her, didn’t you?”
“I did,” he admitted.
At the temple, I begged paper, ink, and a pen of Noémie d’Etoile, who granted my request readily and showed me to the study, which was filled with texts dedicated to the arts of love and pleasure.
There, I did my best to concentrate on writing a letter to my mother, while Bao perused the shelves and cubbies. Although he could not yet read the western alphabet, many of the volumes were illustrated. There were at least a dozen different versions of the Trois Milles Joies alone.
“Have you ever read this?” Bao demanded.
“Aye, I have.” With a twinge of sorrow, I remembered how Jehanne had sent a volume to me after our first liaison at Cereus House.
“Look at this.” He showed me a print titled The Wheel-Barrow. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No.”
He studied it from all angles. “We should.”
“Bao, I’m writing to my mother!”
He flashed me an unapologetic grin. “All right, all right! Later, huh?”
I plucked the tome from his hands. “Later, yes.”
In the end, after long hours of agonizing, I made my letter a simple one. I wrote that I had returned to Terre d’Ange well and safe. I wrote that I had many adventures to tell, and that the Maghuin Dhonn Herself had done right in sending Her child so very, very far away. I wrote that I hoped to return to Alba in the spring, after Prince Thierry’s expedition came home.
I wrote that I loved her.
No matter how far I went, mother mine, I never ceased to think of you and miss you. I hope you are well, and Oengus and Mabon and all our kin, too.
I wept a bit.
Bao looked over my shoulder. “Did you tell her about me?”
“I did.” I traced a line of text with my finger, reading the words aloud. “It may surprise you to learn I have wed. I will bring my husband, Bao, when I come. He is exceedingly insolent, boastful, and arrogant, and I love him very much. I think you will like him.”
He pursed his lips. “You think so?”
I laughed through my tears. “I do.”
I folded my letter carefully, placing it in a vellum envelope. I addressed it to my mother in care of the Lady of Clunderry, as she had bade me so very, very long ago. I lit a taper, and sealed it with a careful blot of wax, pressing the signet ring my mother had given me into the hot wax.
A young, obliging priest offered to carry it to the Palace for me.
Off it went.
Bao cocked his head at me, waiting.
“Oh, fine,” I said. “Let’s try it.”