Raphael turned back to her with a scowl. “What new lie is this?”

“No lie.” She shook her head. “I am not able to lie anymore. The oath Moirin swore to you is in conflict with another. She is Desirée’s oath-sworn protector. While you mean to take my daughter to wife and mold her spirit, Moirin cannot honor both oaths. Her diadh-anam will be extinguished.”

He raised his own brows. “And why, pray tell, would Moirin not tell me such a thing if it were true?”

With unrelenting honesty, Jehanne exposed my plan of last resort. “Because she is willing to make that sacrifice to prevent you from succeeding.”

Ah, gods! I would not have consented to this if I had known it was what she meant to do. I thought of banishing the twilight, but the damage was done.

Peace, Moirin. Jehanne’s voice poured through my thoughts once more. It is not finished.

Raphael frowned in thought. “You came here to sway me from my course, Jehanne. It makes no sense at all for you to warn me of such a pitfall.”

“I came here to offer you the truth,” she said calmly. “It is what I was meant to do. More than that, I cannot know.”

For a long moment, they gazed at one another, and a faint hope flickered in me that somehow, against all odds, Jehanne’s words had reached him. It died when Raphael shook his head. “No,” he said. “I do not trust Moirin to keep her word without her oath; and I do not entirely trust that this is not some trick of hers.”

“In your heart, you know better,” Jehanne murmured.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “There is another way. Desirée, your daughter… what is the nature of the oath Moirin swore?”

“The Montrèvan Oath,” she said. “Moirin mac Fainche is sworn to regard Desirée’s interests as her own, to seek to defend her from every danger, and hold her happiness as a matter of sacred trust.”

“Elua have mercy! How did that come about?” Raphael muttered. “I can’t imagine the realm would approve.”

“Daniel willed it so,” she said. “He saw that Moirin was able to love the spark of my spirit that lived on in our daughter, as he himself was unable to do. Daniel trusted her to care for Desirée’s happiness. And in that, I do believe he chose wisely. Moirin has gone to great lengths in her effort to protect my daughter.”

Raphael bowed his head. Locks of tawny hair touched with silver in the twilight spilled over his brow, obscuring his gaze. “It’s why she came here, isn’t it? Searching for Thierry?”

“Yes.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes were wide and clear. “I will not do as you ask. I will not turn away from my course here, Jehanne. And I will not release Moirin from her oath. But…” His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “I loved you, Jehanne. More than you knew. For the sake of all that has passed between us, I will do my best to love your daughter.” His mouth twisted. “Not as I threatened. Not as a bridegroom, but as one who might have been her father had matters been otherwise.”

Jehanne was silent.

“I will have the power to protect her,” Raphael said softly. “Gifts such as Moirin never dared dream of possessing, political power such as Thierry could never have hoped to wield. I will hold your daughter Desirée’s happiness as a matter of sacred trust. Everything I can do on her behalf, I will. I give you my oath. Does that not suffice to resolve the conflict?”

It did.

Raphael de Mereliot might turn the rest of the world upside down, raze empires in Terra Nova, but so long as he was pledged to protect Desirée’s happiness, my oath to do the same was no longer in conflict with my oath to aid him.

“Yes,” Jehanne whispered. “Ah, gods! Raphael…”

He closed the distance between them in a few swift steps, cupping her face and kissing her, kissing me, with fierce, starved ardor. Jehanne clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she returned his kiss with the same tempestuous passion; and I was caught between them, even as I had been when my lady was alive.

It was Jehanne who pulled away, genuine anguish in her voice. “Raphael, I cannot stay!”

His hands fell to his sides, turning to fists. “You break my heart,” he said in a low tone. “Over and over.”

“We break each other’s hearts,” Jehanne said quietly. “But we mend them, too. And someday, we may all understand Naamah’s blessing. Now I must go.”

“Don’t —”

Now, Moirin. Jehanne’s thoughts spilled through mine, still tinged with anguish. Please!

I released the twilight.

Just like that, Jehanne’s presence was gone, extinguished like a candle. I dropped to one knee at the suddenness of it, drawing a ragged breath, my head hanging low. My lungs were my own again. My hands, splayed on the floor of Raphael’s bedchamber, were mine—shapely enough, but scratched and callused with the ordeals of travel, my skin golden-brown once more.

“Moirin.”

I looked up at Raphael.

His face was stony, and I knew without another word spoken that he hated me more than ever for having borne witness to this encounter.

“I will keep my oath,” he said. “As I expect you to keep yours. Will you be in the Temple of the Ancestors at dawn on the morrow?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

SEVENTY-ONE

Outside the palace, it was later than I had reckoned. Time moved differently in the spirit world, and it seemed the presence of Jehanne’s spirit had altered the flow of time in the twilight, too.

I returned to the temple of the Maidens of the Sun, thinking to take a moment to collect my thoughts before the sacred fire. A lone figure knelt before the firepit, tending to the coals. She glanced up at my approach.

“Machasu,” I said in greeting. “You do not sleep?”

She shook her head. “I was thinking of Cusi. I, too, wanted to spend the night in prayer.” In a graceful, reverent gesture, she stirred the coals. Low flames flickered. “I did not think you were coming here tonight, lady.”

I knelt beside her. “Nor did I.”

“Is all well?” she asked.

My diadh-anam burned steadily in my breast, calling to Bao’s in the distance, no longer in danger of being extinguished on the morrow. Jehanne had kept her promise. She had found a way to free me from my conflicting oaths. Whatever else happened come dawn, I would not be cast out of the presence of the Maghuin Dhonn Herself for eternity because I honored one oath, and broke another. Bao would not die because there was no way out of the oaths that bound me.

For that, I was grateful.

And yet it did not remove the burden of choice from me. It only altered it. Now I could obey Raphael without losing my diadh-anam.

But I could still refuse him and be forsworn if it were the only way to keep him from attaining his goal.

“Lady?” Machasu prompted me.

“I do not know,” I said honestly. “But before I went to see Lord Pachacuti, Cusi told me all was well. She is closer to the matter than anyone. If anyone would know, it is her.”

“I think so, too.” Machasu stirred the coals again, then fed them a few sticks of firewood. “Do you think she is frightened?”

“A little, maybe,” I said. “But she has great faith.”

“Do you think it will hurt?” she asked.

I clenched my hand on the newly reopened wound. It hurt, but it had hurt a great deal more when Cusi had cut me with the dull-edged bronze dagger. And although I wanted to utter a soothing lie, it felt like blasphemy in this holy place. “Yes,” I said quietly. “I think it will hurt.”

“I think so, too,” Machasu repeated. “But it will be swift. And then the ancestors will welcome her into the highest heaven.”

I nodded. “So we pray.”

“Yes.”

My handmaiden fell silent, tending the fire. I gazed into the shifting embers and breathed the Five Styles, praying to the Maghuin Dhonn Herself to guide me. The great magician Berlik had broken his oath and been forgiven in the end, finding atonement in the distant Vralian wilderness.

But in the end, Berlik had given his life in penance. It was part of the bargain. What penance had I to give if I broke my oath? It was not the same, not at all. There would be no one to claim my life as a right of justice.

Trust me.

The words echoed throughout the temple, spoken in a voice as deep as oceans and as vast as mountains. I jerked my head upright, my chin having sunk to my chest. The sacred fire flared and crackled as Machasu fed it an especially dry branch, throwing a massive shadow on the wall—a shadow with an imposing silhouette filled with bulk and grace that I’d seen but once in my life, but would never forget. A bear, but a bear far, far greater than any mortal bear. As the flames danced it appeared to move, pacing with profound and solemn grandeur, and then shrank and dwindled as the fire subsided from its first eager blaze.

“Did you hear that?” I asked, my voice trembling. I pointed at the wall. “Did you see it?”

Machasu gave me an odd look. “Lady, you slept for a time. I did not wake you, for I thought you must need it.”

My ears still rang with the words. Trust me. Jehanne had spoken the same words to me.

Mayhap it was why I had dreamed of them.

Or mayhap I had not dreamed. The scent that lingered in my nostrils was not Jehanne’s perfume, but somewhat older and more savage—earthen and musky, tinged with the scent of wild berries.

Trust me.

I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. “I don’t know what that means!” I cried aloud. “Trust, and keep my oath? Or break it, and trust to Your forgiveness?”

There was no answer.

My diadh-anam gave no guidance.

“Lady?” Sounding worried, Machasu tugged at my arms. “I am sorry your dreams were troubled, but dawn is near. I should have awakened you sooner. It is time to go and make ready.”

I lowered my hands, summoning a reassuring smile. “You’re right. Forgive me. It is as you said, I am short on sleep. Let us go.”

A short time later, we assembled in the Temple of the Ancestors.

The first light of dawn gilded the snow-capped peaks of the mountains that lay west of Qusqu.

Streams of ants scuttled throughout the streets of the city, accompanying us in an informal manner. I walked in procession with the high priestess Iniquill, Ocllo, and a half-dozen Maidens of the Sun including Machasu, all of us clad in garments of fine-combed vicuña wool. Theirs were dyed a saffron hue while mine was blue, trimmed with red and saffron embroidery.

The temple was already crowded, filled with Prince Manco’s Quechua warriors in D’Angeline armor, and other Quechua of high standing. I recognized the Sapa Inca’s elder sons among the latter. Everywhere, ants crawled.

The ancestors in their gallery watched silently, blank, sunken faces wrapped in cerements, their laps filled with flowers.

Raphael de Mereliot stood behind the altar. He wore a long robe of scarlet wool, belted with gold, a great emerald-studded collar around his neck. His head was bare, awaiting the crown, and his face was stern and beautiful. Last night had been his final crossroads, and he had made his choice. There was no trace of the tormented mortal man who had loved so deeply and endured such a bitter loss. Somewhere in the small hours of the night, he had put the past behind him. Raphael was ready for the mantle of godhood.

At a gesture from him, his knights made way for me. Temilotzin caught my eye as I passed and gave an infinitesimal nod, his expression more grave than I’d ever seen it.

It should have reassured me, but it didn’t. All he knew was that Cusi and the men had been safely delivered to the temple last night. My stomach was in knots, and I felt ill. Ah gods! I’d taken so much on trust. Now it seemed the gods asked me to take a further leap of faith, and I didn’t even know in which direction.

“Moirin.” Raphael acknowledged me in a flat tone. “Are you prepared?”

“Aye, my lord,” I murmured, wishing it were true.

He gazed at the sea of copper-colored faces regarding him with superstitious awe, at the impassive figures of the ancestors, at the winding lines of ants. “Today will be a glorious day,” he said, more to himself than to me, drinking it all in. “Today will be a day that lives forever in history.”

I said nothing.

Raphael glanced at me. “You should be honored to witness it, Moirin. You should be honored that the gods have chosen you for this. But you have never, ever valued the gifts you have been given.”

I met his gaze. “And you have never, ever understood them, my lord. I was not put on this earth to serve your ambition.”

“You are mistaken,” he said simply. “Your presence here is proof.”

And then we spoke no more, for somewhere in the hidden chambers beyond the stairs at the rear of the temple, a drum began to beat. Silence settled over the Temple of the Ancestors. Even the restless ants stilled. The Quechua watched Raphael with fascination, awaiting the coronation of this second Lord Pachacuti the Earth-Shaker who had overturned the order of the world. Raphael fixed his own gaze at the apex of the stairs, awaiting the arrival of the head priest and the willing victim who was to be sacrificed on the altar before him, the terrible, worshipful offering he believed would give him the power to contain the fallen spirit Focalor.

Atop the stairs, Cusi appeared.

She stood alone for a moment, clad in a long shift of unadorned white wool, her black hair loose and gleaming over her shoulders, and ah, stone and sea, she looked so young! She gave a faint, tremulous smile, one cheek dimpling, and I knew that despite everything, she had to be afraid. Raphael stared hungrily at her, his breathing quickening.