My heart ached at the beauty of it.
And I thought of my forced, false baptism in chains in Riva, and how a portion of my life had come around full circle; how one person might truly make a difference in the world. I thought about the parallels between Aleksei and my lovely lady Amrita; and I hoped my sweet boy would prove as courageous and kind as my gentle Rani.
I hoped he would.
I thought he might.
Flowers worked their way loose from hastily strung garlands, floating down the river. We waded dripping out of the river, shivering in the cool air, glad to be met with warm blankets and clean, dry clothing.
Priests kindled the sacred fires and sang.
Everywhere, faces glowed.
Bao wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned gratefully into his embrace once more. “The world has changed a little bit today, huh?” he murmured in my ear.
I nodded. “For the better.”
“I wonder what’s next for us,” he mused. “For there will be a next, Moirin.”
“I know.” I lifted my head to kiss him, my lips lingering on his. “But for now, can we not just be happy?”
Bao smiled at me. “For now, yes.”
EIGHTY-ONE
The months that followed were a time of near-perfect happiness. A sense of benediction hovered over the valley and the celebratory mood lingered.
It was not entirely perfect; here and there, there were folk embittered by the change, folk who refused to have any dealings with the former untouchables or threatened violence against them. The Rani levied a system of steep fines against them, putting the money gathered toward the construction of a new school, and in time even the last holdouts gave way with grudging reluctance.
But for the most part, all was well. Too many people had witnessed the miracle of marigolds bursting forth from the earth and steam rising from the surface of the Bhasa River to doubt the will of the gods.
I was happy, very happy. I had the company of my lovely Rani Amrita and her clever son, who attempted in vain to teach me to play chess. I had the pleasure of spending time with the tulku Laysa and the other women of the harem, watching them blossom in their newfound home, watching their children run and play in the garden, free forever more from the stark tyranny of Kurugiri, watching serious Ravindra abandon his dignity to laugh and play among them.
And I had Bao.
It was a good time for us, the first time since we had been together on the greatship that there was no shadow that lay between us. No dragon’s jealousy, no angry, jilted Tatar princess. No Patriarch to sully our union with his vile thoughts, no conspiracy to separate us by leagues and leagues, no hate-filled Spider Queen in her lair.
And for once, there was no destiny goading us-no princess to rescue, no assassins to thwart, no fortress to invade. Somewhere to the west, further oceans beckoned, but for now, our shared diadh-anam was content to let us rest.
We learned to be together as friends and lovers, learned to live with ordinary happiness as well as the divine spark that joined us.
“He is good with children, that one,” my lady Amrita observed, watching Bao entertain Ravindra and the others, walking upside down on his hands and challenging them to a race. “Will you start a family after you are wed?”
“Someday, yes.” I smiled wistfully. “Not for a while, I think. I fear the gods are not done with us.”
She sighed. “I wish the world were not so very large! I would so like to see your children playing in this very garden.”
I took her hand and squeezed it. “So would I. But our lives will always be the richer for having known you.”
Having lost his absurd race and been toppled ignominiously by a horde of delighted children, Bao came over to console himself with a cool drink.
“Amrita thinks you will be a good father one day,” I informed him.
Bao grinned at me. “I will be an excellent father, O queen of my heart. Our children will deserve nothing less.”
I flushed at the unexpected endearment, the first Bao had ever given me. His grin softened into a lopsided smile, and we gazed foolishly at each other, still learning this business of being in love.
Amrita shook her head at us both. “I would say your wedding day cannot come too soon,” she said fondly. “Except I know my D’Angeline dakini and my bad boy Bao have not bothered to wait for it.”
“Oh, but we are looking forward to it,” Bao assured her. “Very much so!”
“I am glad.” She arranged her fingers in a mudra and took on a serious look. “There is one great favor I would ask of you, my heroes. As much as I do not like to think of your leaving, I know you must go. Will you take Kamadeva’s diamond with you, and restore it to the temple from which it was taken? It is not far from your path, and there is no one else in the world I would rather trust to do it.”
Bao gave me an inquiring glance, and I nodded. With the diamond locked safe in a coffer, I had not been tempted by it. “Of course.” He bowed deeply to the Rani in the Ch’in manner, hand over fist. “It is the least we can do for the trouble we led to your doorstep, highness.”
She smiled at him. “On the balance, you have brought far more joy than sorrow. So I will count it as a kindness, and be grateful.”
One by one, the happy days fled.
A part of me wanted to cling to them, wanted the world to slow in its turning, to stay here in this charmed valley with people I had come to love, and be happy as long as I was allowed. A part of me welcomed it, yearning to return home, longing for just one glimpse of my mother’s face.
I wondered what she would make of Bao.
I had a feeling they would like one another, my taciturn mother and my insolent, irrepressible magpie.
In the Rani Amrita’s capable hands, the plans for our wedding proceeded apace. To be sure, it would be an untraditional affair. Family, that vast, extended web that was a cornerstone of Bhodistani society, would not come into play here. There would be no dowry, no symbolic transfer of power as I moved from my parents’ household to that of my husband.
“Still!” Amrita said in a firm voice. “It will be a very, very splendid celebration, and certain things will be observed.”
Certain things meant petitioning the elephant-headed god Ganesha to remove any obstacles to our union.
Certain things meant another ritual in which a priest smeared a dot of red turmeric powder on my brow and Bao’s.
Certain things meant that I must sit still for hours on end while a special artist applied intricate designs of henna paste to my hands, arms, and feet, rendering me beautiful after the manner of every Bhodistani bride.
It was a good thing I had learned a great deal about patience.
I didn’t mind it, though, not really. There was music and dancing, and it made me glad to hear my lady Amrita and the women of the Falconer’s harem discuss men and their foibles and giggle together, finding brightness in the shadow of sorrow and suffering, weaving the strands of loss and anguish into a fabric of togetherness.
And on the eve of our wedding, certain things meant that Bao and I must spend the night apart.
“I will miss you, Moirin,” he said to me. “Even for just one night.”
I laid one hand on his hard chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my palm. “I will miss you, too.”
Alone in the chamber we had shared, I slept…
… and dreamed of Jehanne again.
In my dream, I opened the door of the bedchamber she had had made for me, my enchanted bower, filled with growing plants. I found Jehanne naked in my bed, her pale blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her arms wrapped around her knees.