Jacqueline Carey - Naamah's Curse

It seemed the games had already begun. Outside the perimeter of the vast campsite, I caught glimpses of boys racing on horseback. Within the camp, I passed men wrestling, stripped to the waist and grappling with one another.

I heard the sound of staves clattering.

My diadh-anam flared inside me.

Even at a distance, I picked Bao out of the fighters. Although his back was turned to me, there was no mistaking his acrobat’s agility, his quickness and grace, coupled with the sense of unbridled glee with which he fought, toying with his opponents. The air felt thick and dense around me, and I struggled to draw breath. Forcing myself to breathe the Breath of Wind’s Sigh, I approached slowly. Some yards from the makeshift fighting ring, I drew rein to watch.

Bao froze, his head tilted.

He knew I was there. Although he did not turn around, he knew it. I saw it in the tension of his strong, lean shoulders, the taut cords at the back of his neck.

The two husky Tatars he was fighting shouted and converged on him, staves whistling through the air.

In the blink of an eye, Bao went from utter stillness into blurred motion, spinning and vaulting. No longer toying, he dispatched his opponents with ruthless efficiency. One went down with a hard blow to the back of his skull, sprawling to measure his length on the trampled grass. The other, Bao tripped and laid flat in a move too quick for the eye to see. Seeing the butt of a staff poised to crush his throat, the man called out an urgent surrender.

Bao took a step backward, whipping his bamboo staff upright. He planted it in the dirt, standing with his head bowed.

I swallowed hard and dismounted, my heart thundering in my breast.

With his head lowered, his unruly black hair hung over his brow, obscuring his eyes. Absurdly, I thought how much it had grown since I had seen him last. I’d shaved it myself when Bao and Master Lo Feng and the others had taken on the guise of travelling monks sworn to the Path of Dharma.

He was clad in felted trousers and thick Tatar boots, bare-chested save for a woolen vest with ornate embroidery. His chest rose and fell swiftly, and sweat glistened on his sleek brown skin.

His knuckles were pale where they gripped his bamboo staff. I knew that staff well, bound with metal, carved with characters. It had been broken in two during the battle for White Jade Mountain.

I had made it whole.

I did not know how to do the same for us.

There were onlookers idly cheering Bao’s victory. Sensing the rising tension in the air, their cheers faltered and fell silent. Without looking at me, Bao gestured to his second opponent. Nodding, the man helped his fallen fellow to his feet, slinging one arm over his brawny shoulders. Together they limped away. Everyone else kept a safe distance.

Bao lifted his head and for the first time, met my eyes. “Moirin.”

“Aye,” I whispered.

His dark eyes glittered-whether with anger or something else, I could not say. I could not read his expression. His body was still and rigid, but I thought mayhap there was a reluctant tenderness lurking in the corners of his lips. His throat worked as he searched for words, his eyes searching mine. “You could not wait for me to choose?”

“No.” I took a sharp breath. “ No! Gods bedamned, Bao! You speak as though you were the only one to have a choice in this matter. Well, you’re not. You asked me to wait, and I did. I got tired of it. I chose to wait no longer.”

He looked away. “I see.”

Frustration rose in me. “Can you not at least face me, you infernally stubborn peasant-boy? Gods! If you weren’t willing to do that much at least, you should have run away. You had to know I was coming!”

Bao’s hand slid down his staff. “I knew,” he murmured, his head averted. “I chose to stay.”

“Why?” To my chagrin, I was crying. If his diadh-anam was burning half as brightly as mine, yearning to close the distance between us, I couldn’t imagine how he was resisting its call. It was taking every ounce of pride I possessed not to go to him, but I was damned if I would take those last few steps. “Why did you stay?”

“Where is your Imperial entourage, Moirin?” Bao asked, not answering my question. He frowned toward the horizon. “You took me by surprise. I knew you were close, but I thought you would enter with fanfare. Did Ten Tigers Dai come with you? I would be pleased to see him.”

“There is no entourage,” I muttered, wiping at my tears. “No Imperial entourage.”

“What?” Bao stared at me as though my words made no sense.

“There is no Imperial entourage,” I repeated with irritation. “Forgive me, I did not know you were missing Ten Tigers Dai so badly. I came on my own. Well, that is not entirely true,” I added. “I came with representatives of Batu’s tribe, who gave me hospitality during the long winter. They have been very kind to me. But it is not exactly an entourage.”

“Moirin…” The blood drained from Bao’s face, leaving him ashen. He continued to stare at me in horrified disbelief. “Are you saying you set out in pursuit of me alone? Across the Tatar steppe? In winter?”

“Yes, Bao,” I said with precision. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”

The blood rushed back into his face, flushing his high, wide cheekbones. He began shouting at me. “Oh, you stupid, stupid girl, in the name of all that is holy-”

I overrode him, my voice rising as I shouted in reply. “What else was I to do, Bao? You needed me to find a way to prove myself to you. How else was I to do it? Was I to wait forever in Shuntian like some poor besotted fool jilted by her suitor, praying for his return? You said yourself you didn’t know if you would come back! This was the only thing I could think to do! And if you don’t-”

Without a word, he crossed the distance between us.

I felt his arms come around me, and I clung to him, shameless, my tirade forgotten. The twinned flames of our diadh-anams surged, and I thought the blaze must be visible to onlookers. I could feel people staring, could hear shocked whispers, but I didn’t care; and it appeared that Bao didn’t, either. Both of us were silent for a time. It seemed a moment too vast for words. At last, Bao pressed his cheek against my hair and spoke in a low voice. “Moirin, do you not understand that what I feel for you is so strong it terrifies me? It’s unnatural. I needed time to try and make sense of it.”

“Yes,” I whispered against his bare shoulder. He smelled of clean sweat and his own underlying scent, like heated metal. “Believe me, I know. I feel it, too. But hiding from it will not make it go away.”

He sighed. “No. I know.”

I stole a glance at him. That was definitely tenderness lurking in the corners of his mouth, the hint of a reluctant smile. I lifted one hand to stroke the hard, chiseled line of his jaw. “Stupid boy.”

“Stupid girl.” Bao lowered his head and kissed me.

Higher and higher, the blaze within me climbed. Ah, gods! It was terrible and glorious all at once.

I sank both hands into his hair, returning his kiss with ardor. The desire that had begun to rise with the coming of spring burst its last shackle. Naamah’s gift unfurled within me like an endless ribbon of gold, infusing every part of me. When Bao broke the kiss, I was dizzy and breathless with a need beyond longing.

“Is there someplace-” I began to ask.

Bao nodded, his eyes glittering. “Come with me.”

He took my hand and I followed in his wake, half stumbling with the insistency of desire. I was vaguely aware of him ordering some fellow to secure my horse Ember, vaguely aware that the man obeyed with deference.