I sniffled. "Shall I leave?"

"No." Raphael picked up the eardrops and pressed them into my hands. "Stay. Wear these tomorrow, and I will escort you with pride. All right?"

I wanted to say no.

I should have said no. I should have left; I should have left before. No matter what else he said, not once had Raphael denied using me in his quarrel with the Queen. Ignorant as I was, I had no business dabbling in Court intrigue. But his hands were warm on mine, setting those ridiculous currents of desire swirling in my blood. His grey eyes were earnest and insistent.

And there was the bedamned pulse of the diadh-anam inside me.

"All right," I murmured. "I'll stay."

"Good." He flashed a relieved grin at me. "You know, if you promise a third time, it means you can never leave."

I wasn't in a mood for teasing. "I'd as soon not have this conversation a third time."

"Of course." Raphael sobered and took his seat. "Why did you never mention Cillian mac Tiernan to me?"

I picked listlessly at my food. "I don't know. Because it hurts, I suppose."

He rested his chin on one hand. "Did you love him?"

"Aye." My throat and chest tightened again. I pushed my plate away. "Not enough, but aye." I took a deep breath, willing the tightness to ease. "Cillian was my first friend and my first lover, the only one I'd known before I came to Terre d'Ange. I'd known him since I was ten years old. He brought a tribute-gift of peaches and tried to spy on my mother and me." I smiled at the memory. "I caught him at it and we quarrelled. I had my bow with me. I shot the peaches."

Raphael laughed softly. "Whatever for?"

"I don't recall," I admitted. "But it seemed appropriate at the time."

"What was he like?" he asked.

"Oh….." I shrugged. "I don't know. He was just himself. I never thought about it. Until Cillian came into my life, it was just my mother and me." I made myself think about it. "Curious. Thoughtful, most of the time. Impatient, sometimes. He was a good teacher, though. He taught me to read. He brought me books to last through the winter. We studied D'Angeline together. It was Cillian who figured out that my father had been a Priest of Naamah….."

Once I'd begun talking, the words poured out of me. Cillian's jealousy, my reluctance to wed him. The unexpected horror of his death, and the awful moment when his mother blamed me for it.

"That's why they put it about that you'd ensorceled him?" Raphael asked in a gentle voice.

I nodded. "His sister Aislinn said it was only grief talking. But it was true in a way. I was selfish. I knew I'd never be the proper wife he wanted me to be, his and his alone. If I'd let him go sooner—"

"It wouldn't have changed a blessed thing," he finished for me.

"Mayhap. But it doesn't feel that way." I wiped away a stray tear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"Oh, I'd say I made a fair job of that myself," Raphael said wryly. "Please, don't apologize. Talk is healing. It's the unexamined wound that festers."

Like yours, I almost said, remembering that he'd never discussed his parents' deaths with anyone. But I bit my tongue on the thought.

Outside the door to my guest-chamber, he gave me a tender, lingering kiss, tasting of wine and apology. When I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder, he held me. His arms felt strong and good around me.

"Moirin?" His breath stirred my hair.

"Hmm?"

"Did you happen to fend off a pair of highwaymen with a bow and arrow on your journey to the City?" he asked. I looked up in surprise. Raphael gazed down at me, his eyes glinting with amusement. "There's a tale a pair of dowagers are spreading about a young woman who shared their coach. A very singular green-eyed young woman of mixed heritage. Denis heard it in a wineshop and thought I might like to know."

"Ah." I smiled at him. "Well, I might have. Actually, I might have shot one in the leg from an, um, unseen perspective. But the good ladies didn't know that part because they had the curtains drawn."

"The good ladies?" he repeated.

"They were kind in their own way," I said. "Florette d'Aubert and Lydia Postel. After tomorrow, I ought to pay them a visit. Do you know them?"

"Most assuredly not." Raphael kissed me again, slow and deliberate. "You're really not what one would expect, are you?"

My head spun. "No?"

"No." He let me go and made a bow. "On the morrow?"

"On the morrow," I agreed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"Stone and sea!" I breathed in the palace courtyard. "It's just a building like any other," Raphael assured me. "Only larger."

"So you say." I gazed at the storied tiers and spires, the expanse of carved marble and granite looming above us. "Only understand that this architecture is as wondrous to me as any gift I might carry in my blood."

He inclined his head. "Fairly spoken."

Guards in the blue livery of House Courcel ushered us through the massive doors. I couldn't repress a shudder upon entering the overwhelming edifice. I'd grown more accustomed to being indoors, but this was far and beyond any man-made structure I'd ever encountered. When the doors closed behind us, my breath came short.

"Are you all right?" Raphael inquired.

I nodded. "One moment." Raphael's footman Jean-Michel was a step behind us, carrying a gift intended for the King—a rare orchid in a blue and white porcelain pot. He halted with a bemused look when I turned to touch the orchid, stroking its delicate purple petals. I breathed in its faint, sweet scent and felt better. "Let's go. I'll be fine."

"If you're not, tell me." Raphael settled my hand on his arm and gave me a serious look. "A gathering of this sort has overwhelmed more experienced souls, Moirin. And remember, you're still recovering from your injuries."

"Oh, those," I said dismissively.

"Yes, those." He squeezed my fingers. "Promise?"

"Yes, my lord physician." I looked up at him under my lashes. "If I survive the evening, are you prepared to pronounce me quite recovered?"

His unreasonably gorgeous mouth quirked. "We'll see."

We proceeded down wide, gleaming marble halls. Servants and guards gave us curious looks. I could hear a whispering tide of gossip trailing in our wake. There was a queue of peers outside the doors to the great hall where the King's fete was being held. I gazed at a dozen backs clad in velvet and satin and brocade, my nerves strung taut. There was a royal herald announcing each set of guests as they were admitted. All too soon, it was our turn. Raphael presented his invitation, printed on thick, creamy paper.

"My lord de Mereliot." The herald inclined his head, then looked at me. A crease formed between his brows. "And your companion?"

"Lady Moirin mac Fainche," Raphael informed him.

The herald repeated it soundlessly, then cleared his throat and announced us.

Heads turned.

We had a clear path to the dais where the King and Queen were seated and exchanging pleasantries with the elderly couple who had preceded us. My nails dug into Raphael's arm as we approached. I could hear the whispers.

"That's the one!"

"….. found her in the street….."

"….. half-Cruithne, by the look of her."

I wished the elderly couple ahead of us would never leave. I had begun to think this was a very bad idea and wanted very much to be elsewhere. But, of course, they finished their business with their majesties and moved aside, and I was brought face-to-face with King Daniel and Queen Jehanne.

He was a tall, well-built man of middle years with dark hair, blue eyes, and a bemused smile on his face.

She was exquisite.

It was the sort of beauty my mother had described long ago—a fearful symmetry, keen as a blade. And yet it was delicate and ephemeral, too—as delicate as the petals of an orchid. Her hair was pale gold, so pale it was almost silvery. It was piled atop her head in an intricate coronet, a lone lock left loose to curl along the graceful column of her white throat. Her skin was so fair, it was nearly translucent.

Her eyes…..

Jehanne de la Courcel's eyes were a light hue of blue-grey, like periwinkle blossoms. They sparkled unexpectedly as her gaze swept up to meet mine, her chin rising as she took stock of me.

"Oh, my." Her voice was sweet and light and teasing. "Are you a rival or a present?"

I flushed.

"Your majesties." Raphael bowed. "Congratulations to his majesty on the occasion of his natality." He beckoned to Jean-Michel, who came forward to present the potted orchid with a bow. "A small token from a rare strain Master Lo Feng and I have been cultivating."

"Yes, my thanks, very nice, I'm sure." King Daniel waved for a servant to take it away. His bemused gaze rested on me. "And you are….. ? Forgive me, I didn't recognize the name. Mac Fainche? That's Eiran nomenclature, but I fear I don't follow."

"Raphael is having a jest," the Queen said lightly. "Haven't you heard? His carriage struck down some poor lass in the street a week ago and he's taken her into his household to make amends." She snapped open a fan and fluttered it. "Isn't that so?"

"It is," Raphael agreed in a smug tone, deliberately drawing out the moment of revelation. I had a strong urge to kick him in the shins.

"As always, your solicitude is to be commended." Jehanne's fan fluttered. "But it's quite unfair of you to misrepresent the child—and quite inappropriate at a royal fete." She laughed. "Lady Moirin? You do the poor girl an unkindness. Not everyone recognizes your sense of humor, my lord."

"Nor when it is absent." Raphael bowed again. "This is no jest. Surely, your majesties would wish me to extend every kindness to a descendant of House Courcel itself."

A gasp ran through the room.

The King glanced at me in inquiry.

"Daughter of Fainche, daughter of Eithne, daughter of Brianna, daughter of Alais," I said to him, executing a passable curtsy. "Of the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn. Well met, your majesty."

He stared.

No one spoke.

It was Jehanne who broke the silence with laughter. It was a bright, infectious sound. "Tell me it's true!" she said to Raphael. Something unspoken passed between them. She shook her head, diamond eardrops scattering myriad points of light. "A bear-witch? Only you would dare!"

"Oh, it's true." Raphael rocked back on his heels a little, clearly enjoying himself. "Moirin has a signet ring passed down for generations, and a letter of introduction from Bryony Associates authenticating it."

"Moirin can speak for herself," I said with irritation.

"She's here searching for her father," he continued. "It seems he was a Priest of Naamah."

Queen Jehanne arched one perfect brow. "Oh, my."

The news went around the great hall in a whispering susurrus. I felt hot and conspicuous. For a mercy, the King raised one hand, and silence followed.

"Well met, Lady Moirin," he said firmly. "For generations, the existence of descendants of House Courcel among your people has been but a distant rumor. We are pleased and honored by your presence in our Court today."

Relieved, I curtsied again. "Thank you, your majesty. The honor is mine."

"But not the pleasure?" the Queen inquired. Her lovely face was perfectly composed, but there was a note of subtle malice in her voice.

"Jehanne," her husband murmured.

She glanced sidelong at him. Whatever was between them, it was deeper and more complicated than it appeared on the surface. "She seeks to learn the ways of the Court. Shall we not do her the courtesy of hearing her reply?" Without waiting for his answer, she looked back at me with those sparkling eyes. "Well?"

"Pleasure," I echoed. "As to that, it is yet to be determined, your majesty."

Her laughter rang out again. "Well said!" The fluttering fan gestured.

"Go forth and see if you might manage to enjoy yourself." She inclined her head at Raphael, the edge returning to her voice. "I trust that's your purview, my lord."

He smiled at her, showing his teeth. "I'll do my best."

I was grateful to be dismissed. Raphael steered me to an unoccupied corner of the hall near a balcony window.

"You acquitted yourself very well," he said in a low voice. "Wait here. I'll fetch you a glass of wine."

I leaned against the archway onto the balcony. Across the hall, I could see the Queen leaning forward to greet the next set of guests. She had been an adept in the Service of Naamah. Even if the good ladies hadn't told me, I would have known it. Naamah's gift lay over her like a glittering cloak. "Was it everything you'd hoped?"

Raphael followed my gaze. "Yes."

I closed my eyes. "Good."

A few moments passed, not a long time. I let the cool wind from the balcony play over my skin. It felt good.

"My lady….. Moirin?" an unfamiliar voice said.

I opened my eyes. A young man near my own age stood before me. He had dark, waving hair caught back in a ribbon and deep blue eyes. Aye?

He grinned. "You look like you'd rather be well away from this crush. I'm told you're distant kin. Would you care to see the Hall of Portraits? Meet your ancestors, as it were?"