Naamah's Curse

FIFTY-NINE

Offerings.

So many offered, so many made! I did my best to obey my lady Amrita’s advice and keep my heart open, waiting for the guidance of the gods-hers or mine.

Other than the constant shadow of foreboding, it was a pleasant time. I liked visiting the temples. Although the issue of the untouchables continued to trouble me, I liked Bhaktipur and its folk.

I continued to be a little bit in love with Amrita; and I grew passing fond of her son, Ravindra, too. He was such a somber, polite young lad, more like a miniature adult than a child. At times it made me smile, but he had the keen wits to match his demeanor, and when he spoke, I took care to listen. It was understood that when Ravindra turned sixteen, his mother would relinquish the throne that had been his father’s to him, and the boy took his impending duty seriously, immersing himself in his studies.

It was the custom of mother and son to converse over a game of chess after the evening meal, and it pleased them to have me join them.

It pleased me, too. The Bhodistani chess set they used was a gorgeous thing, with ornate pieces carved of ivory. I especially liked the knights, which were elephants with ruby eyes and tiny riders.

I liked to watch Amrita and Ravindra concentrate, heads bent over the black-and-white marble board. Betimes it made me think of old tales, of how Prince Imriel had disguised himself with magic and wooed his Princess Sidonie with games of chess when she was under Carthage’s spell and did not know herself. It was a tale with a glad ending, which made me hopeful.

Betimes it made me think of my lady Jeha

“Why such a sad look tonight, Moirin?” Amrita inquired the first time it happened, noticing my melancholy. They had finished their game, Ravindra had departed for bed, and we were enjoying cups of tea spiced with cardamom and sweetened with honey. “Are you worried that the gods have not spoken to you yet?”

“No.” I shook my head. So long as my diadh-anam remained quiet and Bao’s was unchanged, I was not worried-or at least no more than I had been. “Thinking of the past, only.” I had not told her the whole of my history. “In Terre d’Ange, I served as Queen Jeha

“Ah, very good!” she exclaimed.

I smiled with sorrow. “Yes and no, my lady. I learned in Vralia that my lady Jeha

“Oh!” Compassion flooded her features. “I am sorry, very sorry.” Sipping her tea, Amrita studied me. “I think you loved her very much, this queen,” she said gently. “I know something of D’Angelines and their customs, and your face is much the same as when you speak of your young man Bao.”

“Aye,” I murmured. “I did.”

Amrita cocked her head. “Do I remind you of her?”

It startled a soft laugh out of me. “You? No, my lady. Jeha

“There is no secret wisdom that comes with motherhood,” Amrita said ruefully. “I never felt more alone and lost than when Ravindra was born.”

She had been sixteen, I knew now; they wed young in Bhodistani countries. Sixteen, a young widow, and a new mother, far from her childhood home, forced to assume rule of a tiny kingdom that lay beneath the shadow of Kurugiri.

“It must have been very, very hard,” I said.

“Yes.” She made an eloquent gesture. “But it was my kharma. Elsewhere in Bhodistan, it would have been worse. I would have been expected to follow my husband into death. However, he forbade it.”

“I am very glad.” I shuddered inwardly at the revelation, and inhaled the fragrant steam rising from my tea. “Did you love him?” I asked softly. “Ravindra’s father?”

“My lord Chakresh?” Amrita was silent a moment. “I honored him. He was a good man, gentle and brave. A good husband, and he would have been a good father. In a way, I wish he had not been so brave, insisting on facing Khaga’s assassins, for he might have lived if he had not. I miss him. But I do not think I felt what is written on your face when you speak of those you love.” She gave me a faint smile. “Perhaps sometimes it is the flaws that make us fall in love, eh? Like your bad boy and your queen.”

“Perhaps,” I acknowledged. “Although they both had good hearts. Jeha

“I hope not.” A troubled expression settled over her lovely face. “Moirin… I do not know what is truth and what is only a tale. But it is said that Kamadeva’s diamond ca

A shudder ran the length of my spine. “Are you saying Bao is a willing victim?”

Amrita tipped her head back and forth, and made an ambiguous gesture with one hand. “No. Willing, no. He crossed the Abode of the Gods in search of you, a journey as difficult as your own. Since he does not come to you, it must be that his will is not his own. But Jagrati could not bind him to her with Kamadeva’s diamond if there were not a spark of true desire present.”

I glanced unerringly in the direction of Kurugiri, where Bao’s diadh-anam was a dull, guttering spark. “Is she beautiful, this Jagrati?”

“I have not seen her,” Amrita admitted. “But the tales say so. Beautiful and terrible at once, like Kali dancing.”

The image of the goddess Kali I had seen surfaced in my memory, her tongue thrust out in a frenzy as she danced, wearing a necklace of human skulls and a girdle of severed arms around her waist.

I shivered.

Bao had died-died, and lived. There was a shimmering darkness that hung over him that had not been there before. Mayhap such a terrible beauty spoke to him.

“Oh, Moirin!” Amrita said with dismay, reaching out to stroke my arm. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“No, I know.” I raised her hand to my lips and kissed it. “Better to know, yes? There are many kinds of desire, my lady.”

She shook her head at me, but she was smiling again, which pleased me. “You are a little bit of a bad girl, I think.”

I smiled back at her. “I am a child of Naamah’s line, and desire is my birthright. I do not need a god’s ashes to make it so. I hold it sacred. It is my path. I am enough of a D’Angeline that I am not afraid to fight for love. I am not afraid to acknowledge it where I find it, including in your person, highness. And when it comes to Bao, I am not afraid to match desire for desire with the Spider Queen.”

Amrita’s gaze lingered on mine, caring and worried. “Is that wise, Moirin?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, my lady. I hope so. But so long as the gods remain silent, who can say?”

Ten days later, the gods broke their silence; or at least the mortal agents by which they made their will known surfaced. I found out why my diadh-anam had been content to allow me to linger in Bhaktipur.