Naamah's Blessing - By Jacqueline Carey Page 0,19

I turned over another card. “Oh.”

“Someone you know?”

“Aye.” I gazed at Lianne Tremaine’s name, surrounded by a printed wreath of delicate blossoms. “She was the King’s Poet once—the youngest ever appointed. And she was a member of the Circle of Shalomon.”

“The demon-summoners?” Bao asked.

I nodded, glancing at Noémie. “You must have known.”

“I did.” Her expression remained serene. “People make mistakes, Moirin. Sometimes they learn from them. I believe Lianne Tremaine has done so. She’s fallen far from her days of glory.” Leaning over, she tapped the card. “Those are eglantine blossoms. Since the King dismissed her from her post, she’s taken a position at Eglantine House.”

It surprised me. “As a Servant of Naamah?”

“No, no.” Noémie shook her head. “As a tutor to their young poets, although it’s also true that many patrons commission her to write poems on their behalf. Whatever else may be true, her talent is undeniable.”

Bao examined the card. “You should see her, Moirin.”

“Why?” My memories of Lianne Tremaine weren’t particularly fond ones.

He gave me one of his shrewd looks. “You and she, you made the same mistake.”

“I didn’t want to!” I protested.

Bao shrugged. “But you did it. Maybe you can learn from each other. Maybe she knows something about that idiot Lord Raphael that can help you figure out what unfinished business you have together.”

“You have an irksome habit of being right,” I observed. “My lady Noémie, was there any word from his majesty?”

“No,” she said. “Were you expecting it?”

“I’m not sure what I expected,” I admitted.

“Let’s go call on the little princess,” Bao suggested. “Afterward, you can decide what you want to do about this.” He flicked Lianne Tremaine’s card with one finger. “And the King.”

“Do you think we should return so soon?” I asked.

He nodded. “We promised her. Soon never comes soon enough to a young child. And I think that one has been disappointed many, many times before. Let her see that we mean to keep our promise.”

I smiled at him. “You’re uncommonly sensitive when it comes to children, my bad boy. All right, then. Let’s go.”

Once again, Bao was right.

Upon presenting ourselves at the royal nursery, we were confronted by the stony-faced nursemaid Nathalie Simon. “You’re interrupting her highness’ morning lesson,” she informed us.

“Do you mean to forbid us entry?” I inquired.

Bao favored her with one of his most charming smiles. “We’ll be only a minute, my lady.”

Grudgingly, she admitted us.

Desirée and her tutor were seated in undersized chairs in a sunlit corner of the chamber, heads bowed over a slate of sliding alphabet blocks. I paused, listening to the sound of her childish voice chanting the alphabet.

“Ah… Bay… Cey…”

“You’ve guests, young highness,” Nathalie announced in a hard tone.

Desirée’s silver-gilt head lifted, and a dazzling smile dawned on her face. “You came!”

“Of course!” Bao scoffed. “Did you think we wouldn’t?” With careless grace, he crossed the room and sank to sit cross-legged beside her, peering at the slate of blocks. “So these are D’Angeline letters, huh? Maybe you can teach them to me.”

Her fair brow furrowed. “Are you mocking?”

Bao shook his head. “No. In Ch’in, we write differently.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We just do.”

Watching them, I couldn’t help but smile. Desirée’s tutor rose, her expression caught somewhere between respect and defiance.

“Lady Moirin, I believe?” She made a reluctant curtsy, bobbing her head. “I’d heard you’d taken an interest in the child.”

“So I have,” I said calmly.

“She’s bright, very bright.” Her chin rose. “I’ll not apologize for teaching her beyond her years.”

“Nor should you,” I agreed. “What’s your name?”

“Aimée Girard.”

A thought came to me as I watched Desirée earnestly teaching the alphabet to Bao. “Do you suppose you might take on a second pupil, my lady?”

“You’re serious?”

I nodded. “Bao, what do you think of the notion?”

He glanced up. “I think I would like to read the names written on these calling cards we are receiving.” A grin crossed his face. “Not to mention what is written in the very interesting books in the temple’s library.”

Aimée Girard flushed. “Ah… well. You understand we will be reading only very, very simple texts?”

“Yes, of course.” With one finger, Bao pushed blocks around on the slate. “Would you like me to study with you, your highness?”

Desirée’s expression was dubious. “You’re not mocking?”

“No.” His voice was solemn. “I promise.”

“Then I would like it very much,” she said decisively. “Can Bao stay, mademoiselle?”

“Will you be on your best behavior if I say yes?” her tutor inquired. The child nodded vigorously. “Very well, then.” She smiled. “Messire Bao, it

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