Naamah's Blessing by Jacqueline Carey

welcome.” Daniel wiped the seal with a clean cloth. “I fear… I fear my grief has been an anchor weighing down the entire realm. It is good to be reminded that there is cause for joy in the world.”
    Reaching across the desk, I laid my hand over his. “I know.”
    He squeezed my hand in reply. “I daresay you do.”
    Dismissed from the King’s presence, I made my way through the Palace to the nursery, where Bao was concluding his second lesson with the young princess. I made it a point to meet the gaze of everyone I passed, smiling pleasantly and inclining my head in greeting. Some smiled broadly and openly in response—most notably the vast array of Palace servants and guards.
    The response from peers was mixed.
    Some smiled with mask-like politeness; some did not. A few offered genuine smiles.
    Some looked away, snubbing me pointedly.
    It had taken only a day for the news to spread throughout the City of Elua and for the City to become divided over it. A part of me yearned to flee from the scrutiny, back to the Alban wilderness of my childhood, or even the wide-open expanses of the Tatar steppe. To the valley kingdom of Bhaktipur, where my golden lady, the Rani Amrita, ruled with a gentle hand, presiding over an adoring populace.
    None of these things were possible; and there was a child’s happiness at stake.
    Jehanne’s daughter.
    In the nursery, I greeted her brightly. “So, dear heart! Did you and Bao study well today?”
    “Moirin!” Desirée flung herself toward me, and I scooped her into my arms, hoisting her onto one hip. “Yes, we did.”
    “They did,” her tutor agreed.
    The senior nursemaid Nathalie Simon gave a huff of disapproval.
    I ignored her, inhaling the scent of the child’s hair. She smelled of lavender soap and innocence. “Well done.”
    Bao rose from his cross-legged pose. “Did his majesty approve?”
    I nodded. “He did.”
    “We should ask her highness before we proceed,” he said gravely. “My lady Desirée, you understand that Moirin will take a sacred oath to protect you?”
    “Yes, Bao.” She squirmed impatiently in my arms, and I set her down. “That means you will, too. Doesn’t it?”
    “It does.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Would you like to have tumblers at the ceremony?” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he turned a flip. “Performing tricks?”
    Her blue-grey eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes!”
    “It will be a very serious occasion,” Bao cautioned her. “Mayhap a bit frightening. Tell me, highness. Do you fear loud noises? Thunder?”
    Desirée looked indignant. “I am not a baby!”
    “Do you fear… dragons?” Dropping to a squat and hunkering on his thighs, Bao glared at her and uttered a menacing roar. “There may be dragons there.”
    She let loose a peal of screaming laughter, the sound high and piercing enough that I winced. The tutor Aimée Girard glanced at me in sympathy as Bao and the young princess roared at one another.
    “Fly me, Bao!” Desirée extended her arms to him. “Fly me like a dragon!”
    He obliged, plucking her up under the arms and tossing her skyward, catching her effortlessly.
    I daresay her shrieks of delight rattled the rafters of the Palace. “Bao…”
    “Enough.” The word fell like a hammer. The senior nursemaid drew herself up with dignity. “It is clear to me that his majesty is deranged with grief, to allow such persons to attend his daughter,” she said grimly. “For that, I am sorry. But I will not be party to it. As of this moment, I resign my post.” Her gimlet gaze settled on me. “I daresay my days were numbered anyway.”
    I made no reply, letting her sweep out of the chamber.
    In the silence, Bao lowered the princess to her feet.
    Aimée Girard sighed.
    “Who will take care of me if Nurse is gone?” Desirée asked in a plaintive voice, promptly bursting into wailing tears of abandonment.
    Bao shot me a helpless look.
    “Hush, dear heart.” I sank to the floor on my