Naamah's Blessing - By Jacqueline Carey Page 0,214

stare at the Regent and his family. “If this is how you treat my sister in a public audience, I suspect Moirin’s fears were well founded.”

“Your highness…” The Duc’s throat worked as he searched for words, spreading his hands in an impotent plea. “We are overjoyed to see you safe! I swear to you, no one harmed the child.”

“One need not strike a child to harm her,” Thierry said in an implacable tone. “But we will speak more of this later. Guards!” He beckoned sharply to the royal guardsmen. “Take the Duchese de Barthelme and her eldest son into custody.” When they hesitated, overwhelmed and unsure, he raised his voice. “Now!”

“Have you lost your wits?” Duc Rogier asked in bewilderment. “My wife? My son? Your highness, what is the meaning of this?”

“Ask your wife,” Thierry said curtly. “Ask her if the name Edouard Durel means aught to her. He’s alive,” he added to Claudine de Barthelme. “Unfortunately for you, he was caught in the act of committing sabotage aboard the ship. He has made a full confession and is prepared to testify against you and your son Tristan.”

“Claudine?” Rogier turned toward her. “What in the name of Blessed Elua is he talking about?”

Even as the guards approached, her head was held high and her eyes blazed. Whatever else one could say of the woman, she didn’t lack for courage. “I did it for you, Rogier! For all of us!” She gestured impatiently in my direction. “This is the very outcome I sought to prevent.”

“A moment ago, I was but a delusional half-breed of a bear-witch, my lady,” I said softly. “It seems you put more stock in me than you care to admit.”

Claudine’s lips thinned. “The stakes were high. I sought to leave nothing to chance.” She shook off the hand of the guard who seized her arm. “Do not lay hands on me! I have given you no cause.”

“Mother?” Tristan asked uncertainly as a pair of guardsmen flanked him. “Must… must I go with them?”

For the first time, I almost pitied the lad.

And until that moment, I do not think Claudine de Barthelme fully realized how deeply she had implicated her son in her treachery. Visible fear flickered in her eyes as she addressed Prince Thierry. “He’s just a boy, your highness,” she said, trying to keep the despair from her voice. “It was all a game to him, a game of wits and crowns. I drew him into it! He didn’t understand what was at stake were we to fail. How could he? I beg you, whatever you do, have mercy on the lad.”

I felt Desirée stir in my arms, no longer sobbing. “Do you want me to put you down, dear heart?” I whispered to her.

She nodded against my shoulder. “Yes, please.”

I lowered her gently. Desirée clutched my hand in hers, reaching out blindly toward Bao. He took her other hand in his, closing his fingers around hers.

Thierry looked over at us, his expression softening. “All will be taken into account, my lady,” he said to Claudine. “All will be conducted according to the law. You shall have your chance to plead your case, and your son’s case, too. For the moment, I ask you to go peaceably.”

They were escorted from the throne-room by the royal guardsmen, Claudine de Barthelme with her not-quite-crowned head held high, and her eldest son casting uncertain glances over his shoulder.

“Your highness, I cannot expect you to believe it, but I knew nothing of this.” Duc Rogier spoke in a stiff, formal tone. Beneath the circlet he wore, there were beads of sweat forming on his brow, trickling down his temples. “I swear to you, I would never have condoned it. Never.”

Narrowing his eyes, Thierry considered him.

Once upon a time, it would have been nothing to be subjected to the scrutiny of Thierry de la Courcel.

That time had passed.

“I do believe you,” he said at length. “I believe you are guilty of nothing but naked opportunism. To be honest, I am not sure which I despise more. And so for the moment, I will ask you to remove yourself from my sight, cousin.” He tilted his head. “Go.”

Duc Rogier Courcel de Barthelme went, his shoulders slumped and heavy, taking his younger son Aristide with him. Like his brother, the lad glanced over his shoulder. Unlike his brother, Aristide gave Desirée a brave smile, waving his fingers at her. Glancing down, I saw her offer a tremulous smile in reply, and I thought