But it was a response to his desire, an instinctive urge toward life as simple and natural as a plant yearning toward the sun.

On the third day, or mayhap the fourth, Aleksei’s voice faltered, and he let the silence stretch.

When it didn’t break, I shifted, turning away from the wall to meet his gaze.

He flushed, and I saw his throat work as he swallowed hard. “Your queen… the babe was a girl. I thought you would want to know.”

Grief caught in my chest. “Is she alive and well?” I whispered. “Jehanne’s daughter?”

Aleksei nodded and looked away from me, fidgeting with the leather-bound book in his hands. “Before… before she died, the queen asked that the babe be called Desirée, so she would always know she was loved and wanted.”

Something within me broke, and for the first time since I’d heard the news, I wept in great, racking sobs-a storm of sorrow, my head bowed against my knees, tears soaking the coarse wool of my dress. Ah, gods! Everything I had told Jehanne was true. She had been a great deal kinder, wiser, and more gracious than she pretended, and for all her fears, she would have been a good mother.

Even in dying, Jehanne had found a way to let her daughter know she was loved.

Aleksei waited awkwardly for my sobs to subside. It was a long while before I got myself under control, rubbing my tear-stained face.

“Thank you,” I said to him. “It was kind of you to tell me.”

He looked away, looked back at me. “I wish you would relent. My uncle feels terrible about telling you thusly.” His color rose again, his fearful gaze skidding away. “He did not know you cared for her so.”

I leaned back against the wall, resting my head on the cool stone. I felt tired and hollow, and weak with hunger. “That’s not true.”

His blue-violet eyes widened. “Of course it is!”

“No.” I moved my head from side to side. “I saw his face, Aleksei. He heard the fear in my voice when I begged him to tell me what he meant by Jehanne’s fate. He knew. He relished the pain it would inflict.”

His flush deepened with anger, his voice dropping to a lower register. “You seek to sow doubt. I do not believe it.”

I shrugged wearily. “Believe what you like.”

Aleksei closed his eyes, his lips moving in a silent prayer. When he opened those glorious blue eyes again, they were luminous with the inner light of his faith. “I will not be swayed,” he said in a firm tone. “You were sent to us as a test and a trial, and I will not fail. God loves you, Moirin, and his son Yeshua gave his life that you might know it. I am trying; we are all trying. Do you but open your heart and listen, and you will hear the call to salvation.”

I studied him, studied the rugged planes of his young face, graced with that unmistakable D’Angeline symmetry. I tried to guess his age. Sixteen, mayhap; seventeen at most.

A year younger than me? Two years? Or mayhap three? Gods, I wasn’t even sure how old I was anymore.

He had only just begun to grow into the newfound strength of his adult frame-broad-shouldered and rangy, with long, loose limbs and oversized feet and hands. I remembered Cillian at that age.

And I remembered Jehanne at Cereus House, where she had first seduced me as a ploy in her ongoing game with Raphael de Mereliot, her fair skin flawless in the sunlight, her blue-grey eyes sparkling like stars as she caressed my face, uttering one of desire’s truths. Do you know how long it’s been since I let myself indulge in the headlong rush of youth’s untutored passion?

No.

She had kissed my lips, a kiss as sweet as a promise. Far, far too long, my gorgeous young savage.

And I had succumbed to her charms-oh so gladly!

The memory hurt. Neither of us could have guessed that that moment would lead us into a far more significant and complicated bond, one that I would never, ever regret. I had loved Jehanne, and I had loved her well. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the pain, and contemplated young Aleksei, a tightly wound knot of desire and denial, sitting hunched on my wooden stool.

He was filled with youth’s untutored passion, taught to consider it a curse. Perhaps Naamah had some purpose for me here after all. One thing was sure; I was in desperate need of an ally.

I loosed my breath. “Read to me,” I said gently to him. “I will listen, I promise.”

Aleksei bowed his head and read to me, his tawny-gold hair falling about his face.

I listened, and began to plot.

TWENTY-FOUR

Seducing Aleksei might well prove to be my best chance at finding an ally to help me escape, but if I had any illusions about how difficult it would be, they were shattered the following day when his uncle the Patriarch returned to bear witness to my confession.

“Can it not wait a bit longer?” I asked him. The prospect of laying my life bare for him repulsed me. “Aleksei’s reading is very instructive, but I am only just beginning to learn to understand what God wants of me.”

“No, child.” Pyotr Rostov gave me a compassionate look. “Let me put it to you in a way you might understand. You have studied the healing arts, have you not?”

“A little.” I knew enough to assist Raphael, and later Master Lo, though not enough to consider myself skilled.

He steepled his fingers, which meant he was in a lecturing mood. “Suppose you had a patient suffering from festering boils. Is it more important to lance the boils, or to serve the patient a nourishing broth?”

“To lance the boils,” I murmured.

“Even so.” The Patriarch nodded. “You are that patient, Moirin. The scripture that Aleksei reads to you is a fine, nourishing broth. But your unconfessed sins are boils festering on your soul. Left untouched, they will poison your soul, heart, and mind. Confession is the needle that will burst them, and repentance will heal the abscesses. Do you understand?”

I nodded reluctantly. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t agree with it, but I understood his meaning.

“Very good.” He had a portable writing desk on his lap. Now he dipped a quill pen in the inkpot. “I will record your confession. I do not expect to succeed all at once. It may be that some boils are more stubborn than others, and must be lanced many times before they are fully drained. This document will be helpful, and I hope my notes will prove useful over the course of history.”

“I’m so very pleased.” I could not keep the bitterness from my tone. “All that was missing in my life was a written catalogue of my every folly.”

The Patriarch’s expression turned stern. “We are not speaking of mere folly, child. We are speaking of beast-worship, witchcraft, unholy fornication, demon-summoning, and blasphemy. These are things that are abominations in the eyes of God.”

“Why?” I asked.

He blinked, startled. “Have you not been listening to the scripture Aleksei reads to you? Did you not just say you were beginning to gain understanding of God’s will?”

“What he wills, aye, but not why he wills it,” I said honestly. “Not always, anyway. Obviously, it is a very bad and foolish idea to summon fallen spirits, and if God wishes to call it a sin, I will not argue. I wish-” It was on the tip of my tongue to say I wished I had never taken part in it, but then I remembered the gift that the spirit Marbas had given me, the charm to reveal hidden things. Had it not been for Marbas’ gift, the dragon’s spirit would have remained trapped in the princess’ mortal being.

Rostov was still staring at me with incomprehension. “Yes? You wish what?”

I took a different tack. “For greater understanding. Why does it matter who I bed, so long as we are both consenting?”

“Naamah’s curse has a strong hold on you indeed,” he murmured. “But do not despair, Moirin. No one comes to understanding without guidance. It is my role to help you understand the word of God and his son Yeshua.”