My father coughed again, wet and rattling. He rolled onto one side and the woodcutter's daughter was there holding a bowl to his lips, catching the endless flow of thick, ropy greenish yellow sputum that he coughed from his lungs, dispelling the vile infection. On and on it went until at last there was no more. With an effort, he opened his eyes. "Moirin?"

I smiled at him. "Aye."

And then I slid sideways into darkness.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I lived and so did my father, although we were some days recovering. The woodcutter and his wife and daughter were more gracious hosts than anyone could have asked for. They made up a second cot for me near the stove, all three of them retreating to make their bed in the cabin's loft. Later, I learned that the hamlet came together to give lodging to Raphael and his manservant, Brother Ramiel, and the members of the King's Guard who escorted us.

Mostly, I slept.

When I awoke, I was glad. My father was alive.

He was thin and pale, but he had no fever and his lungs were clear, only a dry, hoarse cough remaining. Raphael came twice a day to examine him.

"Eat and sleep," he advised. "Regain your strength." His gaze settled on me, rueful and compassionate. "Both of you."

Slowly, slowly, the dry streambed refilled to a trickle.

The first day I was able to take to my feet, Raphael came to bid us farewell. "Your father's healing well," he said. "There's nothing more I can do for him. I reckon he'll be strong enough to travel in a few days. Your guards have procured a carriage. Just see that he doesn't exert himself and he's kept warm."

"I will," I promised. "Thank you."

Raphael hesitated. "Will you come outside a moment?" I followed him. It felt good to breathe the damp, fertile air. "Moirin….." He took my hand. "I'm sorry things went so badly awry between us."

"So am I," I said softly. "I never meant—"

"I know. I know you didn't. As for your oath….."

Hope flared inside me. "Aye?"

He squeezed my hand. "Take as much time as you need to recover. I won't press you and I'll say naught to the Circle until you're ready. I'll await your word. All right?"

And hope guttered and died. "All right," I said with regret. "I'll send word when I'm ready."

He gave a brisk nod. "My thanks." With that Raphael de Mereliot took his leave. I watched him swing himself astride his horse, weak sunlight picking out the strands of gold in his hair, his long limbs moving with easy grace. He gave me a parting wave, then kneed his mount.

I went back inside, where I found my father awake. "De Mereliot's gone?" he asked.

"Aye," I murmured.

He reached out to pat the adjacent cot. "Come, sit. You're not steady on your feet." His green eyes regarded me, large and vivid in his pale, gaunt face. "Moirin, unless I'm mistaken, I've heard you referred to as the Queen's companion in the last few days. Or are my wits more fever-addled than I know?"

I sighed. "Nooo….."

My father raised his brows. "We are speaking of Jehanne and not some other member of House Courcel?" I nodded. He laughed, then stifled a cough. "Well, that explains the coolness on de Mereliot's part. How in Blessed Elua's name did that come about? When I left, you were fretting over having bedded the Dauphin."

I glanced at the woodcutter's daughter, whose name was Sophie. She was scrubbing dishes in a tub on the other side of the stove, listening with avid fascination. I was reluctant to divulge the whole truth before her and I didn't want to lie. "Ohh….. 'tis a long story. I'll tell you on the journey home."

"Is it true her majesty done had a magic bower built for you, my lady?" Sophie wanted to know. "Where it's always summer?"

I smiled at her eagerness. "True enough."

My father regarded me and shook his head in disbelief. "You're an unpredictable one to be sure, my strange child."

Several days later, we bade farewell to the woodcutter and his family. I thanked them a hundred times over for their generosity and promised to send a purse when I returned to the City. They refused, saying Brother Ramiel had already given them an ample reward on behalf of Naamah's Order.

"We're not greedy folk, my lady," said the woodcutter, Luc. He had a sweet, tired smile. "Was reward enough to see Brother Phanuel restored to life."

Sophie gave me a shy embrace in parting. "Mayhap I'll see you in the City one day, Lady Moirin," she said. "I'm thinking on Brother Ramiel's offer to enter Naamah's Service."

"You would do her honor," I assured her.

She blushed prettily, eyes aglow. "Aye?"

"Aye, indeed," I said wryly.

Despite the lingering sense of weariness that plagued me, the return journey was far, far more pleasant than the outbound one had been. I told my father the true story of how I had come to be Jehanne's companion, leaving out only those parts that concerned the Circle of Shalomon. He listened and understood in a way no one else could have.

"When we do a kindness for another, we grow in ways we cannot fathom," he murmured when I had finished. "I suspect that may be true for her majesty. And I suspect in turn that it is true for you as well, Moirin. You gave Jehanne a gift she didn't know she badly needed."

"Well." I smiled. "The role isn't without its rewards."

"Doubtless." My father regarded me gravely. "Your tale confirms my fears. You shouldn't have put yourself at such risk to save me."

"How could I not try?" I asked simply.

"How could I live with myself if you'd perished in the effort?" he countered. "Promise me you'll not do it again."

I shook my head. "That's not a promise I can make. Can you promise me you'll not take ill again?"

His generous mouth quirked. "I'll do my best."

We reached the City without incident, arriving in the early evening. I tried to convince my father to take lodgings at the Palace, where I was sure he would be welcome, but he refused, insisting that the peace and calm of the temple would do him good. In turn, he invited me to stay at the temple, an offer I declined.

"Jehanne will be missing me," I said. "She may even admit to it. How could I pass up such an opportunity?"

My father laughed and kissed my brow. "Go, then. Come see me on the morrow."

At the Palace, I was received with a certain measure of relief. A servant was dispatched to notify her majesty of my return. I retreated to my enchanted bower and sent for a bath to be drawn. My quarters had been kept warm in my absence, not quite warm enough for the likes of the tropical plants and too warm for the evergreens. I listened to their voiceless songs while I waited, promising to tend to them when I felt stronger.

When my bath was ready, I luxuriated in it, my first proper bath since I'd left the City. A year ago, I'd have been content with a quick wash in a cold stream. A year ago, Cillian had been alive and nagging me to wed him. I thought about the strange course my life had taken between then and now. From cave to palace, from the unsuitable would-be bride of the Lord of the Dalriada's son to the Queen of Terre d'Ange's valued companion.

Strange, indeed.

Following my drifting thoughts, I drifted asleep in the warm water. When the maid returned with a freshly heated bucket and plucked the sponge from my limp hand, I didn't protest, lingering in the darkness behind my closed eyes. She began bathing the back of my neck with uncommon tenderness, warm water cascading over my shoulders.

I opened my eyes and smiled at Jehanne. She was sitting on the stool beside the tub, dressed in state regalia, sponge in hand.

"You're back." Her eyes sparkled at me. "I had to see for myself that you were more or less intact."

"More or less," I agreed, delighting in the incongruous sight of her playing the maidservant.

"Your father?"

"He's recovering at the temple," I said. "The babe?"

Jehanne splayed her free hand over her belly, which evinced a very slight hint of roundness. "Progressing well, I'm told." She flashed an impish smile at me. "Would you like to examine the progress for yourself, or shall I leave you in peace to recuperate?"

The bright tendrils of her gift, Naamah's gift, encompassed me, embracing and strengthening me. The blood beat harder in my veins. I sat upright in the bath, water sloshing. "Stay," I said, reaching for her. "Please, stay."

It was nice, so nice.

And best of all, Jehanne didn't leave afterward. We lay naked and entangled in bedsheets damp with bathwater and smelling of lavender and love-making. I was tired and drained, but in a good way, languid and happy, gladly undone by her immeasurable arts and charms. When I asked if I should summon a maid to help her dress, Jehanne shook her head sleepily.

"I told Daniel I meant to pass the night here if you were willing," she said in a drowsy tone. "I've missed you."

I tightened my arms around her. "That's nice to hear."

"Mmm." She planted a gentle kiss beneath my right ear. "And it cost me nothing to say it. Imagine that."

I laughed. "I missed you, too, my lady."

"So I noticed." Jehanne squirmed out of my embrace and propped herself on one arm, studying me. "This healing took quite a toll, didn't it?"

"Aye," I murmured. "It did."

She kissed my lips, soft and lingering. "I'll not speak against it, my witchling. I bade you go, and I envy you your affection for your father. He seems a kind and lovely man. So far as I know, all the world loves Brother Phanuel." Jehanne settled back to twine herself around me once more, her limbs warm and soft, her head coming to rest on my shoulder. "I'm just glad you're safely home. And I'm so very glad Raphael agreed to give his aid unstinting," she added in a low, sleep-rich voice. "It pleases me to be able to think better of him."

My heart ached.

"I'm glad, too," I whispered, wishing it were true.

The days that followed should have been pleasant ones. My father was home and healing. My strength continued to return. Spring was bursting across the land. Jehanne continued to be sweet-tempered, which put everyone around her in good spirits. I resumed my lessons with Master Lo Feng, who praised me for my sense of filial duty rather than chiding me. While his snowdrop bulbs had sunk into dormancy, there was a spark of life in them I continued to nurture.

But my oath to Raphael cast a pall over everything.

I wished, very badly, that there were someone I could speak to about it—but I couldn't. I'd sworn not to speak of it. I'd sworn by stone and sea and sky, and on my diadh-anam itself. If I broke my oath, I broke faith with the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. My diadh-anam would gutter and die inside me, my gifts would fade. And I would never know what destiny She had intended for me.

So I kept my silence.

I practiced the Five Styles of Breathing, learning to better focus my energies. As I grew more adept, Master Lo Feng gave me verses to contemplate as I breathed. I began to develop the first tenuous inklings of a grasp on the discipline he called the Way, which allowed one to live in harmony with spirit and nature. I was grateful for his wisdom and teaching, grateful for my progress. And all too aware that each day brought me closer to the day I would have to fulfill my oath to Raphael.

A part of me yearned to delay it as long as possible, but a greater part wanted it over and done with. At the end of a month's time, I reckoned I was as fit as I'd been before my father's illness. I went to Raphael's townhouse to speak with him.

This time, he received me graciously, serving me tea and pastries in the parlor. It felt passing strange to be a guest in the house where I'd lived as his consort. I wished for the thousandth time that my diadh-anam didn't flicker in his presence, that the sight of him didn't quicken my blood. Raphael dismissed his servants and closed the parlor doors.

"You look well, Moirin," he said to me. "Are you up to the task at hand?"

I took a deep breath. "Raphael….. I've come to beg you to release me from my oath. Please, don't do this thing. Nothing good will come of it."

He set down his teacup. "You're frightened."

"I am," I said honestly. "Frightened for myself and frightened for you. It's unwise to seek to force the world into the shape of your desires. It's unhealthy to harbor such terrible ambition."

Raphael looked away. "You've had a surfeit of Master Lo Feng's philosophy."

I tried a different tack. "Jehanne believes you aided me out of the goodness of your heart," I told him. "It pleased her so much to think so. You could make it true."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Does it please her so greatly that she will forsake Daniel for me? I think not. She's bearing his child. She's made her choice. Why should I care what Jehanne de la Courcel thinks of me?"

"Because you do," I said.

He gave a short, harsh laugh, running his hands over his face. "Elua help me, it's true. But not enough, Moirin. Not when she feeds me crumbs and spreads a feast for others. Once, I would have done anything for her. Not now."

Sensing the depth of his misery, I was silent. I'd been thrust between them from the beginning, first on one's side, then the other's. I'd let Raphael use me as a pawn in their game, knowing that he loved her. And I remembered all too well how Jehanne had come to my quarters, lost and shivering, and asked me to hold her after Raphael had bade her go rather than stay the night. She loved him. But she had made her choice between the anchor and the storm—and I'd helped her. I had a seat at her banquet table.