Naamah's Curse (16 page)

A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “What do you want, witch?”

So much for pleasantries. “I come to offer an apology,” I said in a steady tone. “My actions have caused you pain. I am sorry.”

Erdene’s nostrils flared. “Then undo it! Undo your magic and give me back my husband!”

“I cannot undo it,” I said softly. “And Bao is not mine to give. His choices are his own to make.”

Her mouth hardened. “You lie.”

“No.” I shook my head. “My father once told me that the gods use their chosen hard. I believe it is true. I believe it is also true that the gods are careless of those whose fates are crossed by their chosen.”

In a flash, Erdene rose from the chair and launched herself at me, plucking a dagger from her sash. It was so quick and unexpected, it took me utterly by surprise. She planted the tip of her dagger against my throat, grabbing my hair with her other hand. “I do not want to hear you speak! One more word, and I will cut out your tongue!”

I forced myself to breathe slowly and calmly—the Breath of Ocean’s Rolling Waves, the most soothing of all the Five Styles. The Great Khan’s daughter was a head shorter than me, but there was a great deal of strength in her small, sturdy figure.

Her grip on my hair tightened, the point of the dagger digging into my skin. “Do you understand?” she asked fiercely, her voice trembling. “Do you, o chosen one?”

I gazed at her without speaking. There were angry tears in her wide-set eyes. Gods, she was young! No more than sixteen.

Erdene pressed the dagger harder and I felt a warning pin-prick of pain as the tip pierced my skin.
“Do you?”

“Yes, your highness,” I said quietly, ignoring the trickle of blood at my throat and speaking to the hurt and anger within her. “Better than you know. I am a woman, too. I once loved a man who could not give his heart to me. I persisted in loving him well beyond folly. Bao has been cruel to you in his thoughtlessness, but I do not think he meant to be. This man used me badly on purpose, and I let him.”

The pressure eased.

“I understand the pain, the sense of shame, the anger at the unfairness of it all,” I continued. “But it is not your fault. There is no shame in loving, no shame in honest desire. You did nothing wrong. It is only that the gods have decreed otherwise.”

The Great Khan’s daughter blinked rapidly, her throat working. “It
hurts
!”

“I know,” I whispered, my heart aching for her. “I know it all too well, which is why I am so very sorry.”

She released me abruptly, turning to hurl her dagger across the
ger
. Her attendants flinched.

“Go.” Erdene kept her back turned to me, her shoulders hunched and tight. “I have heard your apology. I do not wish to hear more.”

I bowed, and went.

T
he archery contest was set to take place three days later, and I was to be allowed to compete in it.

All in all, spirits were running high in the campsite. There were exceptions, of course. The Great Khan’s daughter was miserable; the Great Khan himself was disgruntled. His loyal general Arslan was unhappy. I was torn between guilt and hope; and I knew Bao felt much the same.

Everyone else was excited.

It was almost all Tatars, now. Whatever negotiations took place among the northern Bhodistani and the Vralians had been concluded. Most of them had departed, only a few lingering out of a mild curiosity, I supposed. No one but the Tatars truly cared about the contests.

And they cared very much. They were eager to see me humiliated, or at least most of them were.

When I thought about it, I felt sick and scared inside. I was no warrior, raised to take pride in my prowess with a bow. I was just… me. I had only learned to shoot to help provide for my mother and myself. It was a way of life, nothing more.

“That is the best reason of all, Moirin,” Batu said firmly to me. “Survival. Do not worry. Whatever happens, you will not embarrass yourself.”

“No?”

“No.” His kind eyes crinkled. “I am aware of the games that were played in the deep of winter. It has always galled the young men of my tribe that they cannot defeat you in this sport. Do you think that we are so unskilled that we cannot hold our own with the best of the Great Khan’s men?”

“No.” I smiled at him. “Batu, with your kindness and generosity, I am quite sure you
are
the best of the Great Khan’s men.”

He blushed and averted his head, which I found utterly charming. I would have kissed his cheek, except I knew it would scandalize him. “I have asked everyone to cull their arrows to choose those with the straightest shafts and the finest fletching. We will do our best to make sure you have arrows that fly true.”

I was touched. “I will try not to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me, Moirin,” Batu said in a gentle voice. “I wish you well.”

I spent many hours practicing away from the campsite, honing my skill. Alone, I was better able to concentrate, and I found that the discipline that Master Lo had taught me served me well.

On the day before the archery contest, Bao rode out to meet me. Although it was hard to be apart, we had continued to be circumspect. There had been little contact between us since it had been decreed that I would be allowed to compete. My heart and my
diadh-anam
leapt inside me at his approach, and I knew he felt the same.

We found ourselves smiling foolishly at each other, both of us self-consciously aware of it, yet unable to help ourselves.

“So,” I said.

“So,” Bao echoed, dismounting. “It is almost upon us. I will be glad when this is over, Moirin.”

My anxiety returned ten-fold. “So will I, but, Bao, please don’t count on me to win! Truly, I think the odds are very much against it.”

“They are,” he observed. “Almost no one is wagering on you. And yes, I know it is unlikely. It is only that it is our best chance of seeing the matter resolved peaceably.”

I was relieved that he wasn’t putting unreasonable expectations on me. “What happens if I
do
lose? Other than the gloating.”

“I don’t know,” Bao admitted. “Erdene tells me that her father has promised to hunt me down like a dog and slit my throat if I leave without his permission.”

That didn’t do much to alleviate my anxiety. “I see.”

“At least she is speaking to me, which is an improvement. Whatever you said to her, it helped.” He gave me a curious glance. “What
did
you say to her?”

“I told her I understood how she felt,” I murmured. “I told her I had once loved a man who could not give his heart to me.”

Bao’s eyes widened with indignation. “You compared me to that stupid ass Lord Lion Mane?”

“Aye, I did.” I raised my brows at him. “I know you didn’t intend to hurt Erdene. Nonetheless, you did.”

“I know, I know!” He sighed. “And I am sorry for it.”

“I know.” I steered the conversation back to more pressing matters. “Bao, I’m serious. If I lose, what will we do?”

He smiled ruefully. “If the Great Khan’s threat is sincere, I think there is only one way we can evade his pursuit. We can’t outrace a Tatar hunting party. Have you seen them ride?”

“Aye.” I nodded. “You mean for me to call the twilight.”

“Yes.” Bao’s smile faded. “And I know you are concerned about your ability to shield both of us within it long enough. I am, too. I remember how difficult it was for you with the princess when we climbed toward White Jade Mountain. Believe me, I do not like to ask. It is a piece of irony, Moirin. Before… before I died, when I had decided I would offer to leave Master Lo’s service, it was because I meant to protect you.”

“Only that?” I asked.

“No, of course not.” His eyes softened. “Also because of your noble instincts and generous heart, and yes, your beauty, and the way you revel in pleasure, and many other things large and small. But you’re impulsive, too, and all these things combined make you a danger to yourself.”

“I’m not impulsive,” I muttered. “I have an inconvenient destiny, that’s all.”

“
And
you are impulsive,” Bao repeated, ignoring my disclaimer. “Anyway… it is a piece of irony that I can do nothing to protect you here, but must rely on your skills and gifts to save us both from a dangerous situation I created.” He looked unhappy. “I am not making a very good start as a heroic protector like the ones in your tales.”

“Close your eyes,” I said to him.

“Why?”

I blew out my breath. “Just do it!”

He obeyed, and I summoned the twilight, folding it around us both. Bao opened his eyes to a world gone silvery, dim, and lovely.

I touched his face. “I do not recall asking for a protector, my stubborn magpie. And before you take the entire blame for our troubles, I will remind you that I created the problem by coming after you.”

Bao smiled. “Impulsively, yes.”

“Oh, fine.” I slid my hand around to the back of his neck, tugging his head down so I could kiss him.

Naamah’s gift sang within me as he kissed me back, one arm around my waist. His other hand pressed against my back, claiming me firmly.

We made love on the twilit steppe, and it was gentle and magical.

Never before had I been able to surrender to pleasure without losing my grasp on the twilight. It was different with Bao. He carried the missing half of my divided soul within him, and I could hold us both in the twilight as easily as I could myself—as easily and naturally as breathing.

“Moirin.” He whispered my name against my throat, his hand parting my thighs. “It is so beautiful here.”

“Yes,” I whispered in reply, my back arching as his fingers teased my slick cleft.

Bao lifted his head, his gaze intent on mine. “Is it like this beyond the stone doorway?”

Ripples of pleasure ran through me. “Even more so.” I gazed back at him, seeing the flickering penumbra of his aura. “It is everything bright and dark all at once, everything in the world.”

“Everything?” He moved over me.

I spread my thighs wider to welcome him, feeling the bonfire of the spirit as our
diadh-anams
joined in full. “Everything.”

All through our lovemaking and beyond, I held on to the twilight, not losing it even in the throes of climax—not mine nor his. In the aftermath of love, I lay with my head on Bao’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat and watching the silvery grasses move slowly in the breeze. Everything seemed to move more slowly in the twilight.

Time passed differently in the spirit world, I remembered. When I had gone through the stone doorway, days had passed without my knowledge.

Bao’s warm breath stirred my hair, and his arms were warm around me, strong with corded muscle.

It felt good.

I didn’t want it to end.

“Moirin,” he said at last, his voice reluctant. “We should go.”

“I know.” I forced myself to sit upright. After we donned our clothing, I took one last, deep breath of the twilight, and then let it out, releasing the magic.

The world returned in a rush. It was late—later than I had reckoned. The setting sun hovered over the horizon like a great orange orb, staining the grasslands with ruddy light, throwing our long, stark shadows before us.

For the first time in days, I felt calm.

“I can do this,” I said to Bao. “If I fail on the morrow, we can escape into the twilight. I can hold it long enough.”

He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. “Yes, you can.”