“But I am,” he said guilelessly, fluttering his lashes at me.

“I should have left you to Jagrati,” I muttered.

At that, Bao caught me by the shoulders, giving me a shake. “Not that,” he said fiercely. “Not ever! Don’t say it, Moirin. Don’t even think it.”

I nodded. “Don’t jest, then.”

Bao took a deep breath. “I am sorry. It is only that my mistakes lie behind me, while yours…” He shrugged again. “They’re still awaiting us, aren’t they?”

Raphael…

Jehanne. Jehanne had not been a mistake. Never, ever would I believe it. She had saved me from myself.

“Aye,” I said firmly. “And I will deal with them, husband of mine. We will deal with them, one by one as they come. Agreed?”

Bao nodded. “Agreed.”

Two days after our arrival, we left the city of Marsilikos behind us.

I was not sorry to see the last of it; but if I thought my reputation would be restored as we grew closer to the City of Elua, I was mistaken.

Contrary to gossip in Marsilikos, I hadn’t left Terre d’Ange in disgrace, but I had left under a cloud of scandal. There was a kernel of truth to Leo’s accusation. Raphael de Mereliot and a group of scholars calling themselves the Circle of Shalomon had been involved in the arcane pursuit of summoning fallen spirits, rumored to possess the ability to bestow fabulous gifts on their summoners.

And I had helped them; at first because I foolishly believed myself in love with Raphael, and in the end, because he extracted a promise from me in exchange for helping to save my father’s life.

With my aid, the Circle of Shalomon had succeeded—at least in summoning spirits.

Spirits who tricked them, over and over. The only gift ever bestowed on the members of the Circle of Shalomon was the ability to speak the language of ants. Still, they kept trying.

Focalor, a Grand Duke of the Fallen, was the last spirit summoned, the price for saving my father’s life. He had found a flaw in the chains that bound him and broken free, attempting to take possession of Raphael’s body and killing a woman in the process.

If it hadn’t been for Bao and Master Lo coming to the rescue, Focalor would have succeeded. With their aid, I’d managed to force him back through the gateway my gift had opened.

The next day, I’d left the City of Elua, bound for Ch’in, called to destiny by my diadh-anam.

I remembered how Jehanne had insisted on giving me a royal escort to the gates of the City. She had made a production of bidding me farewell so that everyone would know I wasn’t leaving in disgrace, had kissed me, and given me a bottle of her perfume to remember her by.

I had it still.

And if Jehanne had lived, it might have been enough. Despite whatever cloud of rumor hung over me when I departed, I would be returning in triumph to a royal favorite’s welcome. But I had left, and Jehanne had died.

It was enough to make folks eye me with resentment and suspicion; and to be honest, I couldn’t blame them for it. It might not be fair, but I blamed myself, too.

“You could disguise yourself,” Bao suggested at the end of our second day on the road. “Dress like a respectable matron.”

I stroked the edge of the green silk sari I wore, another gift from our lady Amrita. The border was a handspan deep with gold embroidery. “Do you think it would help?”

“No,” he said honestly. “Not really. You couldn’t look respectable if you tried, Moirin.”

I sighed.

“Moirin.” Bao pulled me close. “You are Emperor Zhu’s jade-eyed witch, who freed a dragon and saved an empire. You are the Rani Amrita’s dakini, who helped conquer Kurugiri and rescue Kamadeva’s diamond.” He kissed me, then looked serious. “Do not forget these things are true.”

I ran my fingers through his thick, unruly hair. “Remind me again?”

He lowered his head to kiss me again. “Anytime, my disreputable wife.”

Despite everything, it made me laugh.

FOUR

Some days later, we presented ourselves at the southern gate of the City of Elua.

“Lady Moirin mac Fainche.” The guard said my name slowly, looking me up and down. His expression was unreadable. “So it’s true. You have returned to the City of Elua, my lady?”

“I have.” There was a chill in the autumn air. I fought the urge to grip my Bhaktipuran coat of colorful squares of padded silk more tightly closed against it, holding the guard’s gaze instead.

His gaze slid sideways away from mine, settling on Bao. “And…?”

My peasant-boy turned Tatar prince sat on his horse with careless grace, easy in the saddle, his bamboo staff strapped across his back. Gold hoops glinted in his ears, and his tattooed forearms showed beneath the wide cuffs of his embroidered tunic. He looked very, very foreign in this setting. “Bao.”

“Bao,” the guard repeated in an uncertain tone. “You must be—”

“My husband,” I supplied helpfully.

“Just… Bao?”

I glanced at Bao, who shrugged and raised his brows. “I have had other names,” he admitted, affecting a look of innocent candor. “But that is the one my mother called me. Is it not good enough?”

It flustered the guard. “Of course, my lord… messire… Bao.” Opening the gates, he waved us through. “Ah… my lord, my lady, be welcome in the City of Elua.”

Behind the gleaming white walls surrounding the city, all was as I remembered it; and yet it was different, too.

I was different.

I had come to this place young and naïve, overwhelmed by its splendor; a child of the Maghuin Dhonn who had scarce known more than the cave and the wilderness in which I was raised. Now I was not so easily impressed. And yet I found myself longing for the familiar.

I wished Jehanne were here. And I missed my mother.

“Moirin?” Bao asked gently.

I wiped my eyes surreptitiously. “This way.” I nudged my mount. “Let’s see if my father’s in residence.”

Leading our pack-horses, we made our way to the Temple of Star-Crossed Lovers, drawing stares and murmurs all the way. A part of me wished I had taken Bao’s suggestion and purchased attire for both of us that would let us blend more smoothly into a crowd.

But then I thought about the simple delight Amrita had taken in showering gifts on us. I remembered Bao’s reminder and rode with my head held high.

Even so, I was profoundly grateful to see a familiar face when the priestess Noémie d’Etoile opened the temple door.

“Do you seek sanctuary—?” she began the traditional greeting, then halted, her breath catching in her throat. “Oh, child!” Noémie swept me into an unhesitating embrace. Beneath the crimson silk robes, her body was warm and comforting, and I returned her embrace gladly. She drew back, holding my shoulders and studying me with warm hazel eyes. “I’m so pleased the rumors were true! You’ve come a long, long way, haven’t you?”

“Aye.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat. Noémie was as gracious and lovely as ever, but visibly older. I’d been gone long enough that her hair had turned completely grey. “Is my father here, my lady?”

“Not at the temple, no,” she said. “You’ll find Brother Phanuel at the Palace more often than not these days.”

I blinked. “The Palace?”

“You’ve not heard?” she asked. I shook my head. Noémie pursed her lips, glancing past me to take in the sight of Bao holding the reins of all four horses in the street behind me. “Is that your Ch’in prince?”

I smiled. “I suppose so.”

Noémie was too polite to comment on the ambiguity of my answer. “He’s quite the exotic young man, isn’t he? Moirin… if you wish to go straightaway to the Palace to seek out your father, I will understand. But I would be pleased to offer you and your prince lodging here, and send word to Brother Phanuel.”

“I would like that,” I said honestly. “And… whatever you may have heard, my lady, Bao is here of his own will.”

“I would never for an instant have thought otherwise.” She smiled and gave me the kiss of greeting; and there was enough of a mother’s tenderness in it that my eyes stung. “Welcome home, Moirin.”

As soon as the young priest serving as an ostler had come to tend to our horses, Noémie extended the same greeting to Bao, kissing him warmly.

“Well met, your highness,” she said to him. “In Naamah’s name, be welcome here.”

Bao cleared his throat. “Ah… I am not exactly a prince.”

Her brows rose. “No?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Noémie regarded him with bemusement. “Well, you are welcome here nonetheless.”

He bowed to her in the Ch’in manner, hand over fist. “For that, and for your kindness to Moirin, I am grateful.”

Inside the temple, an air of quiet grace prevailed. Priests and priestesses in flowing robes of red silk glanced at us with gentle curiosity as they went about their duties, curiosity tempered by a long habit of patience.

This was Naamah’s place, and all lovers were under her protection. I felt a tightness inside me begin to ease.

“Tell me, my lady,” I said to Noémie over a light meal of honey-cakes and sweetened tea. “How does it come to pass that my father spends his days at the Palace? I thought him more the wandering type.”

“So he was.” She rested her chin in her hand. “But since the Duc de Barthelme was appointed Lord Minister of the realm, he has wished to keep the companion of his youth close by him.”

I frowned. “The Duc de Barthelme?”

“Rogier Courcel,” she clarified. “Another descendant of House Courcel, and a close kinsman of the King. Your father served as his royal companion.”

“Aye, I remember.” I did, although it was a vague memory. I’d met the man but briefly, distracted by the woeful tangle of affairs in which I’d gotten myself enmeshed and the enormity of meeting my long-lost father. “What does it mean that he was appointed Lord Minister?”

Again, Noémie studied me. “You heard of Queen Jehanne’s death?” she asked gently.

I nodded.

Her kind gaze was troubled. “Since that time, King Daniel has been… disengaged from the affairs of the realm. Recognizing his failings, he appointed his grace the Duc de Barthelme to administer to matters of importance.”

“You don’t think he should have done that, do you?” Bao asked.

Noémie d’Etoile looked mortified. “I did not say that!”

His lean-muscled shoulders rose and fell. “You didn’t need to.”

She was silent a moment. “I think it sets a dangerous precedent,” she admitted at length. “But mayhap a necessary one. I will be glad when Prince Thierry returns from Terra Nova to help his father bear the burden of rule.”

“Thought so,” Bao confirmed, helping himself to another honey-cake. “At least this Duc has the sense to seek out Moirin’s father’s counsel. So that’s good, huh?”

Noémie sighed. “It is.”

Intrigue.

Politics.

To be sure, I had returned to Terre d’Ange. I sighed too, already feeling weary. “My lady,” I said to Noémie. “Might I visit the temple proper, and pay my respects to the goddess and my ancestress?”

She stood with alacrity. “Of course, child!”

It was a powerful thing to see the image of my great-great-grandmother posing for the likeness of Naamah. The first time I had beheld it was the first time I’d felt myself truly connected to the rich history of Terre d’Ange. Her head was tilted to one side, regarding the pair of doves held nestled in her cupped hands. She looked so very, very serene.

I sank to my knees, gazing at her.

Bao sat cross-legged beside me. “So she’s your ancestress, huh?”

“Aye.” I smiled a little. “Well, it was my great-great-grandmother who posed for the effigy. She was a priestess of Naamah, and the first royal companion.”

He cocked his head, contemplating the image. “Something in her face reminds me of the tulku Laysa. Not a likeness, but a calmness.”

My smile turned rueful. “I suppose I’m not at all like her, am I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bao said, surprising me. “You can be. You’re different with women than you are with men.”

“I am?”

“You hadn’t noticed?” He looked amused. “Yes, Moirin. I heard the stories when you were with your Queen Jehanne. You soothed her temper. And although it was a different matter, I saw how you were with the princess in Ch’in. You were always patient and kind.” Bao shrugged, and made an eloquent gesture with one hand. “With women, you are like water, flowing and yielding. With men…” He grinned, banging his fists together. “Sparks.”

“Hmm.” Thinking on it, I realized there was a measure of truth to Bao’s words. “I don’t intend it.”

“It’s not good or bad,” Bao said philosophically. “It’s who you are.” He nudged me with one knee. “Anyway, I like sparks.”

“Lucky for us both.” When I leaned over to give him a fleeting kiss, he uncoiled smoothly and pulled me down atop him, startling a laugh from me. “You’re becoming more D’Angeline than D’Angelines,” I said breathlessly.