The crust on the pastry was exquisitely light and flaky. I let a forkful melt on my tongue, digging up a bite of the meat below. It was tender and savory beyond belief. I wondered what game House Shahrizai was playing with us. Whatever it was, Bao seemed to be enjoying himself. I watched him banter blithely with Josephine under the matriarch Celestine’s keen gaze.
“You’re suspicious,” Balthasar observed.
I laughed. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Quite.” He grinned. “I promise you, our motives may not be pure, but they’re not bad, either. Enjoy yourself.” He gave another discreet nod. “The gentleman in the blue doublet at the far table? Mercer Trevalion, Comte de Fourcay. Not one you ought to seek to engage. Claire Fourcay was his niece.”
“Duly noted.”
As the night wore on, dish after dish was served to us by attendants in spotless white linen aprons. Each one was truly delicious. There was a rich, dense venison broth, followed by a haunch of venison, ground mustard seed, roasted pheasants, a variety of pates and terrines, fine white bread to sop up the meat juices. There were dishes of bitter winter greens that reminded me of home in their simplicity, and sauces so complex I couldn’t begin to guess what I tasted in them. All of it was washed down with copious amounts of wine.
It was pleasant… and strange. The Shahrizai were at ease with one another, but I felt a prickly quality to their company. They were descendants of Kushiel, and his gift carried sharp edges.
Once, it had made me nervous. Although I wasn’t easy with it, I wasn’t troubled by it anymore, either. But I did wonder what they were after, and what I’d gotten myself into. The other diners were curious, too, most especially, the Marquise de Perigord’s table.
“Everyone is looking at us,” Gamaliel murmured in my ear, leaning in closer than I liked.
“Do you enjoy that?” I inquired.
He chuckled. “I suppose I do.”
“Do you, my lady?” I asked, looking past him at his wife. Mariette Shahrizai flushed, and did not answer.
Gamaliel laid a possessive hand over his wife’s. “She enjoys it for my sake, don’t you, love?”
Her flush deepened. “As you say, my lord.”
I glanced at Bao, who shrugged.
At last, the dessert courses were served: apple tarts spiced with clove, a creamy flan custard, sweet jams, and tart cheeses, accompanied by perry brandy. One by one, the other tables began to depart. The last to leave save ours was that of the Marquise de Perigord. She approached our table, trailing her retinue of suitors.
“Balthasar Shahrizai!” she said in a light, teasing tone. “You’ve been keeping secrets. Do introduce us, will you?”
“But of course, lovely one.” Balthasar rose, bowing to her. “You know my uncle and aunt, of course; my cousin Josephine, and my great-aunt Celestine. I am pleased to present Lady Moirin mac Fainche and Messire Bao.”
All of us rose and exchanged polite greetings.
“How very… interesting,” the Marquise said thoughtfully. “You Shahrizai do like to defy expectations, don’t you?”
“It seems we do,” Balthasar agreed with a lazy smile. “But we always have our reasons for it.”
“And the rest of us can but wonder at them, you gorgeous, secretive creature,” she said in turn, kissing his cheek. “Anon, then!” I watched her sweep out of the supper-club, suitors in tow. Marc de Thibideau cast an uncertain look over his shoulder at me as they went.
It left our table alone in the dining room.
“Mayhap we should depart, too,” I suggested. “The hour must be passing late, and the servants weary.”
The members of House Shahrizai glanced at one another; and then at their matriarch, Celestine.
She gave a decisive nod. “I like them.” She patted Bao’s hand. “Especially this one.”
“So be it,” Balthasar agreed. Fishing in a velvet purse at his waist, he drew forth an ornate iron key, placing it on the damask-covered table before me. “Here. This is for you.”
I stared at the key, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand.”
He took a deep breath. “Not so long ago, we spoke of ancestors, reviled ancestors, did we not? This is the key to the front gates of a modest domicile on the outskirts of the City of Elua that once belonged to our most reviled ancestress.” He glanced around the table, receiving reassuring nods. “We understand that you are in need of suitable lodgings. We would offer this to you as a gift, if you are willing to accept it. For so long as you wish to remain in residence, it is yours.”
“Why?” Bao asked succinctly.
“We are not ungrateful,” I added. “But… aye. Why?”
Celestine Shahrizai beckoned impatiently to the hovering servants. “Come, come! Let us have the final course.”
I rubbed my overfull belly. “I am not sure it is necessary, my lady.”
She bent her gimlet gaze on me. “Trust me, child, you will find it worthwhile.”
The white-aproned attendants brought forth silver trays containing goblets and various accoutrements. They poured boiling water into the goblets, frothing the contents with whisks, judiciously adding honey and spices, grating a sprinkling of cinnamon into each cup, and then scraping out the tiny seeds of a long, slender pod I didn’t recognize. One by one, a frothy, foaming goblet was set before each of us.
I tasted mine.
Heaven.
Ah, gods help me! It was heaven in a cup. It sang on my tongue, all at once bitter and sweet. Dark and divine; light and scrumptious and filled with promise. The spices in it warmed my belly, and set Naamah’s gift to stirring within me.
I made an involuntary sound.
“Chocolatl,” Balthasar said. “It’s made from a bean that comes from Terra Nova. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Gods!” Bao uttered in a reverent whisper. “It’s very good!”
“And very, very costly.” Gamaliel steepled his fingers. “We went to considerable lengths to purchase chocolatl beans from Aragonia.”
“But oh, so worthwhile,” Josephine said in a sultry tone. “We Shahrizai do savor life’s rarest pleasures.”
I lifted my goblet to her. “I cannot disagree on this count. But I fail to see what it has to do with giving Bao and me a house.”
“Nothing, really.” Balthasar smiled. “But it was a good excuse to serve chocolatl, and set the stage for sharing our thoughts.” He dismissed the attendants before continuing. “You’re aware that Prince Thierry hopes to establish a direct line of trade between Terra Nova and Terre d’Ange?”
I took another sip. “Yes, of course.”
“And that his majesty was reluctant to allow him to lead the expedition after Jehanne’s death?” His tone was surprisingly gentle. I nodded. “Well, Thierry held his father to his word. While the King eventually agreed to issue a letter of decree authorizing the mission, he refused to fund it from the royal treasury.”
“That, I didn’t know.”
“It was kept quiet,” Gamaliel said. “Neither wanted the realm to know how acrimonious their dispute had become. Thierry was forced to seek funds for the expedition elsewhere—discreetly, of course.”
“House Shahrizai is one of the major backers of the venture,” Balthasar informed me.
“Along with a few lesser investors to spread the blame around should the venture fail,” his uncle added.
I inhaled the aroma of the chocolatl and took another sip, letting it linger on my tongue. “I trust it was more than a love of chocolatl that motivated you.”
“It might be enough,” Bao commented, his nose deep in his goblet.
Balthasar laughed. “Oh, there’s more! More exotic foods and spices; jade, feathers, gold. If Thierry can succeed in breaking the Aragonian monopoly on trade with the Nahuatl Empire, there’s a world of profit to be made.”
“But House Shahrizai is already wealthy,” I said, thinking out loud. “And I still cannot see what this has to do with giving us a house, which is a gesture quite contrary to acquiring profit.”
He shrugged. “As I said, it’s a modest house. It was used for private entertainment.”
“They’re courting the prince’s favor, Moirin,” Bao said, lifting his head from his goblet and glancing around the table. “That’s why you backed the venture in the first place, isn’t it? And you haven’t forgotten that the prince was more than passing fond of Moirin. You think he’s likely to side with his father’s choice of her, and that he will look kindly on you for having supported her.”
Celestine Shahrizai gave him a look of approval. “Now, see? There’s a clever young man.”
“What is it you want from Prince Thierry?” I asked.
“It’s a small matter.” Balthasar made a dismissive gesture. “Merely politics. But for hundreds of years, despite the considerable influence House Shahrizai has wielded, the Duchy de Morbhan has been the sovereign duchy in Kusheth. We would see that changed.”
“Why?” I asked him.
It was Celestine who answered, steel in her voice. “Because Kushiel’s line throws truer in House Shahrizai than any other! The right of sovereignty in Kusheth province should be ours.”
The air seemed to shiver at her words. I toyed with the iron key. “You do not even know for a surety that Thierry will side with his father’s choice. And I cannot promise to advance your cause if he does. I know far, far too little of the politics involved.”
“Nor are we asking you to do so, Moirin.” Balthasar smiled at me. “This is a gamble, nothing more.”
“You set no conditions on your gift?” Bao inquired.
“None.” Balthasar shook his head.
“There is, of course, the risk involved with accepting the support of the notorious House Shahrizai,” Josephine added in a silken voice. “But as my cousin notes, you come from notorious stock yourself. And…” She gestured idly around the empty dining room. “As you have seen tonight, we are not without our admirers.”
I ignored the latter comment. “Your infamous kinswoman Melisande Shahrizai’s blood runs in the veins of House Courcel, does it not?”
“It does indeed,” Balthasar agreed. “But while they are quick to claim her son Imriel de la Courcel as an ancestor, they are not so eager to acknowledge his maternal parentage.” His expression was serious. “History casts a shadow over the Shahrizai name as surely as it does the Maghuin Dhonn. But I know Thierry de la Courcel well, and loyalty counts for a great deal with him.”
“Bao?” I asked.
“Hmm?” His head came up; I’d lost him to the chocolatl again. He wiped froth from his upper lip. “I think they are being honest, and it is a gamble. Do what you think best, Moirin.”
“What do you think, my lady?” I asked Gamaliel’s wife.
“Me?” Mariette Shahrizai looked startled.
I nodded. “You.”
Once again, she flushed; but she held my gaze without flinching. “I am not entirely sure what you are asking me, Lady Moirin,” she said slowly. “But I will tell you what I know of House Shahrizai. They are Kushiel’s faithful scions, and they serve him with honor and integrity. That may mean nothing to one such as you, touched only by Naamah’s bright grace. But it means the world to me.” She hesitated. “Will that answer serve, my lady?”
I didn’t understand; not wholly. But I felt a sense of rightness. “I do believe it will.”
“Then you will accept our gift?” Celestine demanded, sitting very straight and upright in her chair.
I smiled at the matriarch of House Shahrizai. “Aye, it does. I will accept it with thanks, my lady.”
This time, I won a look of approval from her. “A wise choice.”
I took another deep drink of chocolatl, and hoped it was true.
EIGHTEEN
The house was perfect.
As Balthasar had said, it was situated on the outskirts of the City of Elua—a modest dwelling surrounded by trees, many of them evergreens. I strolled the grounds, inhaling deeply.
Bao regarded me fondly. “Have you been missing your wilderness?”
“I have,” I admitted, resting one hand on the rough bark of a graceful cypress tree. “But this helps.”
Once inside, I was surprised to find that the house came equipped with elegant furnishings, as well as a staff that was modest by D’Angeline standards, but extravagant by mine—a steward, a cook, two maidservants, a footman, and a groom.
“We are here to serve at a moment’s notice should any of the House wish to entertain here.” The steward, Guillaume Norbert, was a grave fellow with silver-grey hair tied back in a severe braid, but he unbent enough to offer a faint smile. “Now we are here to serve at your pleasure, madame.”
I hoped I had sufficient funds to pay their wages.
As though reading my mind, the steward gave a discreet cough. “Of course, Lady Celestine has ordered all relevant details of our service to be directed to her factor.”
“That’s… very generous,” I said.
There was quiet pride in his face, in the faces of all the household staff. “I am pleased that you think so.”
“Moirin?” Bao’s voice came from another room. He sounded strange.
“Aye?”
“Come see.”
Guillaume Norbert arched his brows. “I believe messire has found the seraglio.”
I found Bao in a sumptuous room beyond the far doors of the dining hall, covered with Akkadian carpets, strewn with cushions, and outfitted with many of the accoutrements of violent love-play the Shahrizai favored, including a tall, glass-fronted case that displayed an array of whips and paddles, and a tall wooden wheel equipped with four leather manacles.