THIRTY
Two weeks later, all was in readiness.
The ship Naamah’s Dove was laden, the captain and crew assembled. Balthasar Shahrizai’s hand-picked party of fighting men were ready to board at a moment’s notice. I’d written yet another letter of explanation and apology to my mother, entrusting it to my father’s care.
I had one last meeting with Lianne Tremaine, the former King’s Poet.
“What can I tell you, Moirin?” she said with a shrug. “I’ve done my best to shape opinion and foster the notion that this is a noble quest. But after the losses Terre d’Ange has suffered, a lot of folk long for stability, not more pointless tragedy. Seeing House Barthelme embrace the young princess has soothed their nerves. Almost half the realm fears you’re mad to undertake this.”
“Do you?” I asked her.
“No.” Her mouth twisted. “But I was there when the Circle of Shalomon had its ill-advised successes. I saw what you’re capable of doing and what your damnable gift can achieve.”
We sat together in silence a moment.
“If I were more brave, I would ask to come with you,” Lianne said presently. “It’s what I always wanted, isn’t it?”
“The prospect of an epic tale to tell,” I agreed. “You’d be welcome. I’d be glad of your company.”
She shuddered. “I can’t. I’m afraid.”
I couldn’t blame her for it. I was afraid, too. Ah, gods! I was afraid of so much. Of the journey to come, of Terra Nova and what awaited us there. Of leaving Desirée behind and what might befall her here. Of never seeing Alba again, of never seeing my beloved mother again.
The Duc de Barthelme hosted a farewell supper for us, inviting the principal organizers of the expedition, members of the Great Houses, and a selection of the fighting noblemen from the Lesser Houses who would be accompanying us.
It was an extravagant, glittering affair held in the great hall of the Palace. While the cooks labored in the kitchen to prepare the endless stream of dishes that would strain the long tables, servants in immaculate livery circulated with trays of food and drink to tantalize our palates.
Duc Rogier and his wife, Claudine, were unfailingly gracious, their sons, Tristan and Aristide, handsome and charming. Desirée, permitted to attend the reception prior to the dinner, was glowing, the excitement of the occasion overshadowing the fact that it was meant to celebrate our departure.
“I have a secret, Moirin,” she whispered to me.
“Oh? What is it, dear heart?”
She giggled and shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I promised Papa Rogier. He wants to tell you himself.”
I raised my brows. “Papa Rogier, is it?”
Desirée nodded. “He said it was all right to call him that, him and Maman Claudine. It is, isn’t it?”
I made myself smile at her. “Yes, of course, if he said so.”
Before we were seated to dine, the royal steward rang a silver bell, summoning us to attention. “My lords and ladies!” he called. “His excellence, Duc Rogier Courcel de Barthelme, Regent of Terre d’Ange, begs your indulgence for an announcement of joyful tidings!”
“Uh-oh,” Bao muttered.
“He wouldn’t dare,” I said under my breath. “Not here, not tonight. Would he? Is he that confident?”
Gathering his family, including Desirée, at the head of the hall, Duc Rogier smiled beneficently at the murmuring crowd. “My thanks to all of you for gathering together on this momentous eve!” he said in a carrying voice. “In a moment, we will sit and break bread together, sharing our hopes and prayers for our valiant explorers as they prepare to embark on a quest of imminent danger. Before we do, I am pleased to share news of a joyous nature!”
Tristan de Barthelme reached down to take Desirée’s hand. She held his gladly, gazing up at him in adoration.
“He is,” I said in disbelief.
But instead of making the announcement I dreaded, Duc Rogier gestured toward the back of the hall. Attendants opened the doors and ushered in a fair-haired couple who looked to be in their mid-fifties or later. She possessed a delicate, ephemeral beauty that had turned brittle with age, harsh lines bracketing her lips. He had greying silver-gilt hair caught back in a long braid, and blue-grey eyes whose sparkle had dimmed. Although I’d never seen either of them before, they looked familiar nonetheless.
I caught my breath, suspicion rising.
Together, they approached the head of the hall, exchanging greetings with Desirée, who had clearly met them already and been delighted by the revelation. Duc Rogier’s smile broadened.
“My lords and ladies, I present to you the Comte and Comtesse de Maillet, her highness’ maternal grandparents,” he said. “With their blessing, I am pleased to announce that the ties between House Courcel and their descendants in House Barthelme will be strengthened even further with the betrothal of her highness Desirée de la Courcel to my eldest son, Tristan Courcel de Barthelme.”
If Desirée hadn’t looked so gods bedamned happy, mayhap there wouldn’t have been as many cheers; but she did. Happiness radiated from her every pore as she stood clutching the hand of her betrothed Sun Prince, the hands of her newly found grandmother resting on her shoulders, her newly found grandfather with an arm around his wife’s waist, Papa Rogier and Maman Claudine gazing on with approval. No one could begrudge the orphaned Little Pearl her joy.
It was a brilliant move.
“Queen Jehanne’s parents?” Bao asked me.
I nodded. “She couldn’t abide them, or at least not her mother. They had a dreadful relationship.”
He eyed them. “Why would they be a party to this?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Except that according to my lady Jehanne, her mother ever resented her. Jehanne convinced his majesty to gift them with a modest title and send them into virtual exile in the provinces. Mayhap this is her chance at last to eclipse her daughter’s star, or exact petty vengeance for being banished from her life.”
Across the hall, Duc Rogier caught my eye. He lifted his chin a fraction, daring me to speak out against this.
I glanced around the hall. I had allies here, allies amongst House Shahrizai, amongst the Lesser Houses. Amongst the guardsmen and attendants, who were not greeting the news with cheers.
Not enough.
You’ll fail, Jehanne’s voice murmured in my memory; and I saw the truth of it unfurl before me. I may have been Desirée’s oath-sworn protector, appointed by King Daniel himself, but his majesty was dead and I was a bear-witch of the Maghuin Dhonn. In Terre d’Ange, I would always be suspect. If I spoke out now, all I would do was further alienate those who thought I was mad, and jeopardize the goodwill of those who believed in me enough to risk the voyage to Terra Nova.
I inclined my head to Duc Rogier, ceding this battle.
He smiled, glancing sidelong at his wife, Claudine. She smiled, too.
The balance of the evening was like a dream best forgotten. For Desirée’s sake, I put the best face I could on it. Breathless with excitement, she was permitted to introduce Bao and me to her newly found grandparents.
I greeted them politely. Behind the reciprocal politeness of the Comtesse de Maillet, I saw only dislike born of a lingering resentment. I had loved her daughter, therefore, she opposed me. It was as simple as that. Jehanne’s father was another matter.
“I understand my daughter found comfort and kindness in your companionship,” he said to me in a low voice. “I was glad to hear it.”
“And I to provide it,” I said honestly. “My lord, if I might have a word in private regarding this betrothal—”
Averting his gaze, the Comte de Maillet turned away from me. “I beg you, do not speak to me of politics. I have no stomach for controversy. We do but seek what is best for our granddaughter, and it seems to me that this alliance will serve her well.”
“It won’t,” Bao interjected in a blunt tone. “And you ought to know it.”
Shaking his head in denial, the Comte withdrew further, demurring and deferring to his wife.
I sighed.
“Well!” A heavy hand settled on my shoulder. “Looks like you’ve been outflanked, eh?”
“Oh, aye?” I glanced up at the owner of the hand, finding a pair of bright blue eyes in a face homely by D’Angeline standards, topped with a thatch of copper-red hair. “And who might you be, my lord?”
He laughed. “You don’t know?”
Bao shifted uneasily, reaching for his staff.
“Peace, peace!” The redheaded fellow unhanded me, backing away, his blue eyes bright with mirth. “I mean no harm. I’m your captain, you idiots. I’ve been to Terra Nova and back. And I come from a line of naval commanders foolish enough to believe that the gods choose unlikely vessels.” He bowed with surprising grace. “Lord Septimus Rousse, at your service.”
Balthasar Shahrizai drifted alongside us. “Oh, good!” he said in a languid voice. “You’ve met.” He nodded toward the Comte and Comtesse de Maillet. “Quite the masterstroke, eh, digging up dear old Grandmother and Grandfather to lend their blessing to the whole affair? I nearly thought I’d hear you denounce it.”
“I wanted to,” I admitted. “But it wouldn’t have done any good.”
“You’re learning.” He continued to gaze toward the royal family, eyes narrowing in thought. “Fourteen years.”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s how long the Regent would be in power until Desirée is old enough to take the throne,” Bao said. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it?”
“Exactly.” Balthasar gave a precise nod. “Fourteen years to rule the realm, fourteen years to train his successor. If we fail, that child will never be anything more than a figurehead.”
“Then we’d best not fail,” I murmured.
“I’ll hold up my end of the bargain,” Septimus Rousse said in a steady tone. “And that’s a promise.”
It made me feel a little better.
But only a little.