TWENTY
The oath-swearing ceremony was a solemn affair, as it should be.
It took place in the throne room of the Palace. There was not the large crowd that would be present later at the royal theater for the celebratory performance, but there were still some thirty or forty peers in attendance, including the royal minister, Rogier Courcel, Duc de Barthelme.
For a mercy, none dared show disapproval in the King’s presence, although I knew full well many of them felt it. Duc Rogier wore a look of studied neutrality that spoke volumes, and I could sense tension between him and my father, who couldn’t conceal his pride.
I breathed slowly and deeply to settle my nerves, holding Desirée’s hand in mine. Earlier, she had been high-strung and excited, but the solemnity of the occasion had made an impression on her, and she was behaving herself impeccably.
His majesty greeted his young daughter with quiet dignity, doing his best to mask the pain the sight of her caused him. Clad in a white satin gown, her fair hair caught in a gilded mesh net studded with pearls, Desirée looked more than ever like a miniature version of Jehanne.
I stood beside her as the senior priest from the Temple of Elua gave an invocation, citing the bonds of love and loyalty in which the tradition was rooted.
“The gods in their wisdom answer our prayers as they see fit, not as we ask.” The priest fixed me with a deep-set gaze. “Love and courage are often found in unlikely places, and there is no nation on earth that knows this better than Terre d’Ange, no nation better suited to honor this truth. Moirin mac Fainche, is it your will to accept this duty offered you today?”
“It is,” I said in a firm tone.
The priest inclined his head. “May Elua’s blessing be on your undertaking.”
King Daniel beckoned for Desirée and me to approach the throne, summoning his daughter to the dais beside him, while I stood before them. Together they made an achingly poignant picture: the dark, melancholy King with lines of sorrow etched on his face, his gossamer-pale daughter with hair like spun moonlight. A soft sigh went around the room. Whether they agreed with the King’s choice or not, no one could fail to be moved by the sight.
“Moirin mac Fainche,” the King said in his deep, resonant voice. “Do you pledge yourself this day to be her highness Desirée de la Courcel’s oath-sworn protector?”
“I do.”
“Will you regard her interests as your own, seek to defend her from every danger, and hold her happiness as a matter of sacred trust?”
“I will.”
His majesty extended his right hand, the signet ring of House Courcel on his forefinger. “Then in the presence of all assembled here, I bid you give your oath.”
There was a weight to the moment. I felt it pressing down on me, felt my diadh-anam flicker in response to it.
The folk of the Maghuin Dhonn did not swear oaths lightly. I had prayed to the gods of Terre d’Ange; now I prayed to the Great Bear Herself to give me the strength to carry out this duty.
“On the blood of Blessed Elua, I swear it.” Raising my voice, I added the ancient oath of the Maghuin Dhonn. “By stone and sea and sky, and all that they encompass, by the sacred troth that binds me to my diadh-anam, I swear it!”
The words rang in the quiet throne room, followed by a startled murmur. But King Daniel met my eyes with grave approval, understanding what it meant to one of the Maghuin Dhonn. I knelt and pressed my lips to his signet ring. “So be it,” he murmured, laying his hand on my head in benediction. “May you serve my daughter as faithfully and truly as you served her mother.”
My eyes stung. “I will do my best, your majesty.”
He smiled sadly. “I know.”
“Thank you, Moirin!” Desirée flung her arms around my neck, hugging me hard. “Can we see the tumblers now?”
I kissed her soft cheek. “I do believe we can, dear heart.”
She gave her royal father an unwontedly shy look. “Will you come, Father? To see the tumblers?”
The King hesitated.
“It is a day for joy,” I reminded him. “A day to be celebrated. And I have just sworn an oath to hold your daughter’s happiness as a sacred trust. Would you have me forsworn already?”
His mouth quirked. “Yes, child,” he said gently to Desirée. “I will come see the tumblers.”
Of all the gifts I could have given the young princess, I daresay that was the best one. She glowed in her father’s presence, basking in his rare affection.
Every seat in the Palace theater was filled to capacity, and there were ordinary D’Angeline citizens who had drawn gilded tiles in the lottery standing shoulder to shoulder on the floor, gazing up at the stage in eager anticipation. We sat in the royal box, directly overlooking the stage.
“Will there be dragons, Bao?” Desirée asked, her blue-grey eyes sparkling at him. “Truly?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes. Only one, but truly.”
She shivered with delight. “Did you hear, Father?”
“I heard.” King Daniel spared Bao a rueful glance. “I hope this spectacle of yours does not disappoint.”
“It won’t,” Bao said confidently.
It didn’t.
It was a gorgeous, glorious affair. Antoine nó Eglantine began by taking the stage and announcing that the day’s performance was a tribute to my adventures in the faraway, exotic empire of Ch’in.
That, I hadn’t known.
I looked sideways at Bao, who grinned. “Just watch, Moirin.”
There were tumblers performing slow, measured feats of strength, grace, and balance atop high poles; and somehow it reminded me of learning the Five Styles of Breathing from Master Lo.
There was a sequence with trapezes that somehow managed to evoke the feel of a long sea-voyage.
Then came war.
It began with drums—gods, so many drums! There must have been two dozen of them, deep-bellied and resonant. At first, the drummers beat softly on them, but the percussive chorus rose steadily. Tumblers on one side of the stage shot mock arrows from mock bows, trailing glittering strands of gilded fabric. On the other side, tumblers tossed round balls trailing broad crimson ribbons. Back and forth they went, filling the air between them.
The drums grew louder.
In the background, a pair of women mounted a scaffold, climbing ever higher and higher.
When they reached the apex, they jumped, silken robes billowing around them.
The drumming reached a crescendo, and halted. All the tumblers onstage fell down, exiting the stage with backward somersaults.
Somewhere, bronze sheets rattled, evoking thunder and lightning.
And then the dragon appeared, eliciting a shriek of pure joy from Desirée and gasps of awe from the crowd.
It was immense, long silvery coils shimmering in the lamplight as it flowed sinuously over the stage, winding like a river. The long-jowled whiskered features were so familiar, my heart ached at the memory.
“How in the world…?” my father whispered in bemusement.
“Look.” The King leaned forward. “The tumblers are underneath it, holding it up on poles.”
Desirée gazed raptly at it.
I stole a glance at Bao. “Well done, my magpie.”
He gave me a quiet smile. “It looks a lot like him, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “Very like.”
Onstage, the dragon continued its graceful, flowing dance, accompanied by the sound of flutes. And somehow it truly did manage to convey the beautiful and terrible majesty of the dragon in flight as he rose from the peaks of White Jade Mountain and descended onto the battlefield.
All too soon, the performance ended. The tumblers hoisted their poles, revealing themselves beneath the silvery segments of the dragon’s carapace.
The applause was thunderous.
Antoine nó Eglantine strode onstage and bowed in all directions, beginning and ending with a deep bow in the direction of the royal box.
“May I throw the flowers, Moirin?” Desirée looked at me with shining eyes. “May I?”
I handed her a bouquet of white roses grown out of season beneath the warmth of the glass pavilion. “Indeed, you may, young highness.”
“ ’Tis a long way to the stage.” Daniel de la Courcel took his daughter’s hand as she leaned over the balustrade, his voice gentle. “May I help?”
She nodded, wordless.
All around us, peers of the realm in their boxes watched. Below us, fifty faces were raised in wonderment as the King helped his daughter toss a bouquet onto the stage of the royal theater.
It landed at Antoine nó Eglantine’s feet.
He accepted it with a bow and a flourish. “Long life and good health to her highness, the princess Desirée!” he called. “Elua’s blessing on her and her oath-sworn protector!”
More cheers.
More applause.
I was glad. Glad for Bao and the tumblers of Eglantine House, who had worked so hard to make this occasion a worthy spectacle. Glad for myself that it had exceeded the considerable expectations it had raised. Most of all, I was glad to see his majesty allowing himself to love his tempestuous young daughter, at least in this moment.
My father laid one hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done a good thing here, Moirin.”
I smiled at him. “I have, haven’t I?”
There was no doubt in his voice. “Indeed.”