Naamah's Blessing - By Jacqueline Carey Page 0,226

and grown more in those years than I ever could have believed possible.

It had all begun here.

Laying one hand on Elua’s Oak, I breathed the Breath of Trees Growing, and remembered.

To the oak-tree, it had happened an eye-blink of time ago.

“Moirin?”

I turned toward Bao. “Aye?”

He gave me a quick, crooked smile. “You’re a thousand leagues away again.” Bao nodded toward the long tables, and the places held empty and waiting. “It’s time.”

Beneath his heavy crown, Thierry wore an expression of amused tolerance. At his side, Desirée looked happy and anxious, wanting everything to be perfect on this of all days, seeking assurance that it was.

And there were others who had become dear to me, even Eyahue and Temilotzin, reveling in their roles as honored ambassadors, no trace of the infamous Nahuatl stone faces and hearts on display here. Lianne Tremaine, an unlikely friend, committing every moment of the day to memory. Balthasar Shahrizai amidst his always slightly disreputable clan, tilting his head and regarding me with a predatory fondness I’d come to find reassuring. And there at a table lined with members of the various priesthoods was my father, his green eyes lit with quiet pride, the grace of Naamah’s blessing shining forth from him.

A wave of love and gratitude overcame me. I was glad, so glad, I was here among these people on this day.

“They’re waiting for us,” Bao said. “For you.”

I took a deep breath. “I am here.”

EIGHTY-FIVE

A month later, we departed the City of Elua.

We would have gone sooner, but we stayed for Desirée’s sake. After so much disruption and upheaval in her life, she was loath to see us go, fearful that this time we might not return. As her oath-sworn protector, I had sworn on my diadh-anam to hold her happiness as a sacred trust.

And so we stayed until Thierry’s tactful intervention freed us to go.

“Do you miss your mother, Moirin?” Desirée asked me one day when we were paying a visit to her.

“Aye,” I said in surprise. “Of course.”

Bowing her head, she fidgeted with a bit of embroidery in her lap. “I think… I think she must miss you, too. That’s what mothers do, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” I said softly. “It is.”

“Thierry said so, too.” Desirée lifted her head, screwing up her delicate features in fierce concentration. “I think you should go to see her. If I had a mother, I would not want to make her unhappy.”

I opened my mouth to say somewhat soothing, to tell her for the hundredth or thousandth time that she did have a mother, one who had loved her very much and regretted leaving her more than anything; but Bao forestalled me.

“You know it would mean we will be gone for a time, young highness?” he asked her. “Away in Alba, all the way across the Straits?”

She scowled at him. “I know where Alba is!”

Bao smiled back at her. “Well, then.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Bao and I will stay as long as you wish.”

After a moment of silence, Desirée nodded. “Yes,” she said with a child’s dignity. “I’m sure. You should go see your mother, Moirin.” She paused, her voice breaking a little. “But you will come back, won’t you? Both of you?”

I hugged her, gathering her against me. “Always,” I whispered against her silken hair. “Always and always, dear heart.”

And so we left.

There were farewells aplenty, but they were small and private. When we left, we left without fanfare. Thierry begged us to accept an escort, but we declined. Terre d’Ange was at peace, and I didn’t reckon we’d encounter any dangers. Eschewing the offer of a royal coach, we rode beneath the open skies, crossing the land that had become a second home to me since first I set foot on it.

Seven years.

When all was said and done, it was a short length of time in which to have lived so very much, and gone so very, very far from home. With Bao at my side, I retraced my passage across the breadth of Terre d’Ange, remembering how terribly young and incredibly naïve I had once been.

I breathed in the scent of lavender blooming under the hot sun. I savored once more the sharp, piney taste of rosemary flavoring a roasted capon, remembering my first taste of it, and how oddly the woman at the inn had looked at me when I’d inquired after the name of it.

Now it was all different. Herbs such as rosemary and basil were old, familiar friends, and the bear-witch from