Prince Thierry’s expedition came home.
I wrote that I loved her.
No matter how far I went, mother mine, I never ceased to think of you and miss you. I hope you are well, and Oengus and Mabon and all our kin, too .
I wept a bit.
Bao looked over my shoulder. “Did you tell her about me?”
“I did.” I traced a line of text with my finger, reading the words aloud. “It may surprise you to learn I have wed. I will bring my husband, Bao, when I come. He is exceedingly insolent, boastful, and arrogant, and I love him very much. I think you will like him.”
He pursed his lips. “You think so?”
I laughed through my tears. “I do.”
I folded my letter carefully, placing it in a vellum envelope. I addressed it to my mother in care of the Lady of Clunderry, as she had bade me so very, very long ago. I lit a taper, and sealed it with a careful blot of wax, pressing the signet ring my mother had given me into the hot wax.
A young, obliging priest offered to carry it to the Palace for me.
Off it went.
Bao cocked his head at me, waiting.
“Oh, fine,” I said. “Let’s try it.”
EIGHT
T he Wheel-Barrow was a vigorous position, requiring a certain athleticism on the part of both participants. I wasn’t sure if I cared to repeat it, but it was an interesting experiment, and it tired me enough so that I slept soundly and late.
I awoke to find that the King’s absolution of me had further repercussions. Noémie d’Etoile presented Bao and me with a stack of engraved cards printed on thick, expensive paper.
“What are these?” I asked in bewilderment.
“Calling cards,” Noémie said. “It’s become quite the fashion in the past few years. These were left by all the people who came to pay you a visit this morning.”
I flipped through the cards, glancing at the names engraved on them. “But I don’t even know these people!”
She smiled. “Well, it seems they wish to make your acquaintance.”
“Do I have to meet all of them?” I asked in dismay.
“ ’Tis your choice,” Noémie said. “No doubt most of them seek to curry favor since the King’s embraced you and your father has a certain amount of influence with the Lord Minister. Are there none you would call a friend from your time here in the City before?”
“Prince Thierry was the closest thing to a friend I had here,” I said absently. “And he’s on the far side of the world.”
“Didn’t you bed him?” Bao commented.
“Only the once! And we made our peace with it. There’s no one—” I turned over another card. “Oh.”
“Someone you know?”
“Aye.” I gazed at Lianne Tremaine’s name, surrounded by a printed wreath of delicate blossoms. “She was the King’s Poet once—the youngest ever appointed. And she was a member of the Circle of Shalomon.”
“The demon-summoners?” Bao asked.
I nodded, glancing at Noémie. “You must have known.”
“I did.” Her expression remained serene. “People make mistakes, Moirin. Sometimes they learn from them. I believe Lianne Tremaine has done so. She’s fallen far from her days of glory.” Leaning over, she tapped the card. “Those are eglantine blossoms. Since the King dismissed her from her post, she’s taken a position at Eglantine House.”
It surprised me. “As a Servant of Naamah?”
“No, no.” Noémie shook her head. “As a tutor to their young poets, although it’s also true that many patrons commission her to write poems on their behalf. Whatever else may be true, her talent is undeniable.”
Bao examined the card. “You should see her, Moirin.”
“Why?” My memories of Lianne Tremaine weren’t particularly fond ones.
He gave me one of his shrewd looks. “You and she, you made the same mistake.”
“I didn’t want to!” I protested.
Bao shrugged. “But you did it. Maybe you can learn from each other. Maybe she knows something about that idiot Lord Raphael that can help you figure out what unfinished business you have
I wrote that I loved her.
No matter how far I went, mother mine, I never ceased to think of you and miss you. I hope you are well, and Oengus and Mabon and all our kin, too .
I wept a bit.
Bao looked over my shoulder. “Did you tell her about me?”
“I did.” I traced a line of text with my finger, reading the words aloud. “It may surprise you to learn I have wed. I will bring my husband, Bao, when I come. He is exceedingly insolent, boastful, and arrogant, and I love him very much. I think you will like him.”
He pursed his lips. “You think so?”
I laughed through my tears. “I do.”
I folded my letter carefully, placing it in a vellum envelope. I addressed it to my mother in care of the Lady of Clunderry, as she had bade me so very, very long ago. I lit a taper, and sealed it with a careful blot of wax, pressing the signet ring my mother had given me into the hot wax.
A young, obliging priest offered to carry it to the Palace for me.
Off it went.
Bao cocked his head at me, waiting.
“Oh, fine,” I said. “Let’s try it.”
EIGHT
T he Wheel-Barrow was a vigorous position, requiring a certain athleticism on the part of both participants. I wasn’t sure if I cared to repeat it, but it was an interesting experiment, and it tired me enough so that I slept soundly and late.
I awoke to find that the King’s absolution of me had further repercussions. Noémie d’Etoile presented Bao and me with a stack of engraved cards printed on thick, expensive paper.
“What are these?” I asked in bewilderment.
“Calling cards,” Noémie said. “It’s become quite the fashion in the past few years. These were left by all the people who came to pay you a visit this morning.”
I flipped through the cards, glancing at the names engraved on them. “But I don’t even know these people!”
She smiled. “Well, it seems they wish to make your acquaintance.”
“Do I have to meet all of them?” I asked in dismay.
“ ’Tis your choice,” Noémie said. “No doubt most of them seek to curry favor since the King’s embraced you and your father has a certain amount of influence with the Lord Minister. Are there none you would call a friend from your time here in the City before?”
“Prince Thierry was the closest thing to a friend I had here,” I said absently. “And he’s on the far side of the world.”
“Didn’t you bed him?” Bao commented.
“Only the once! And we made our peace with it. There’s no one—” I turned over another card. “Oh.”
“Someone you know?”
“Aye.” I gazed at Lianne Tremaine’s name, surrounded by a printed wreath of delicate blossoms. “She was the King’s Poet once—the youngest ever appointed. And she was a member of the Circle of Shalomon.”
“The demon-summoners?” Bao asked.
I nodded, glancing at Noémie. “You must have known.”
“I did.” Her expression remained serene. “People make mistakes, Moirin. Sometimes they learn from them. I believe Lianne Tremaine has done so. She’s fallen far from her days of glory.” Leaning over, she tapped the card. “Those are eglantine blossoms. Since the King dismissed her from her post, she’s taken a position at Eglantine House.”
It surprised me. “As a Servant of Naamah?”
“No, no.” Noémie shook her head. “As a tutor to their young poets, although it’s also true that many patrons commission her to write poems on their behalf. Whatever else may be true, her talent is undeniable.”
Bao examined the card. “You should see her, Moirin.”
“Why?” My memories of Lianne Tremaine weren’t particularly fond ones.
He gave me one of his shrewd looks. “You and she, you made the same mistake.”
“I didn’t want to!” I protested.
Bao shrugged. “But you did it. Maybe you can learn from each other. Maybe she knows something about that idiot Lord Raphael that can help you figure out what unfinished business you have
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