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“It
wasn’t
.”
    Gently, inexorably, he raised me to my feet. “It was.” The King’s arms enfolded me, and I clung to him. “Against all odds, you were one of the better things in her life. It was enough.”
    His words, and the tenderness with which he held me, broke open a dam of grief and guilt inside me. Only the King, who had loved Jehanne more than anyone, had the right to absolve me. I accepted it and wept unabashedly, my tears dampening the front of his velvet doublet.
    When at last Daniel released me, there were tears on his cheeks, too. A soft sigh ran through the salon, and I could feel the mood of the D’Angeline people shift toward me. In one compassionate stroke, the King’s absolution had changed me from a figure of suspicion to one of tragic romance.
    A discreet attendant handed Daniel a silk kerchief. He blotted his tears, summoning the ghost of a weary smile. “A poor greeting, I fear. Come, cousin, introduce me to this husband you have brought from afar.”
    Stepping beside me, Bao bowed deeply in the Ch’in manner. “We have met, your majesty,” he said. “Years ago. I served as Master Lo Feng’s apprentice.”
    “Ah, yes.” The King nodded. “A very wise man, your master. Does he prosper?” His tired smile turned wistful. “Did the Camaeline snowdrop bulbs I gave him survive the long journey?”
    Bao hesitated. “I fear Master Lo is no longer with us.”
    King Daniel’s faint smile vanished, the weight of grief returning to his features. “I am sorry to hear it.”
    “Your gift survived the journey, my lord,” I said softly. “I kept them alive. And on the slope of White Jade Mountain, where no mortal foot had trod before, I planted three snowdrop bulbs. It is a sacred place. There, I have been promised that the snowdrops will thrive, until mayhap one day they will play a role in someone else’s story.”
    The King’s deep gaze settled on me. “Then you found the destiny your gods ordained for you?”
    I nodded. “I did.”
    He exhaled a long breath. “Was it worth the cost?”
    I thought of the future I had glimpsed on the battlefield where the bronze cannons of the Divine Thunder boomed, a future written in blood and fire, where there were no bear-witches or dragons. I thought of the thousands upon thousands more men who would have died had the dragon not called the rain and lightning, drowning the dreadful cannons.
    I thought of Jehanne, too.
    “How can one measure such a thing, my lord?” I asked. “All I can tell you is that if I had to make the choice over, knowing what would come to pass, in sorrow and grief, I would choose as I did.”
    Wordlessly, the King bent to kiss my brow, then straightened. “Would it please you to meet her?” he asked. “Jehanne’s daughter?”
    “Aye, my lord. Very much so.”
    The King’s gaze drifted onto the distance. “I do not see her as often as I ought,” he murmured, half to himself. “I should. But it is… painful.” I waited in silence, not knowing what to say, until his gaze returned, and he beckoned to the royal steward. “Messire Lambert will escort you to the nursery. It is what Jehanne would have wished. Later, mayhap, we will talk.”
    I curtsied in the D’Angeline manner. “My thanks, my lord.”
    “Moirin.” After I thought myself dismissed and had turned to follow the steward, the King’s deep voice called me back. With considerable effort, he summoned another weary smile. “I am glad you are here.”
    My eyes stung, and my
diadh-anam
gave an unexpected flicker of agreement hinting at the presence of destiny’s call. “So am I.”

SIX

    W hat do you suppose it means?” Bao asked as we followed Messire Lambert, the royal steward.
    I didn’t have to ask what he meant; Bao had felt the spark of our shared
diadh-anam
quicken as surely as I had. “I don’t know.”
    “Do you ever?” he asked.
    “Seldom precisely.” I smiled ruefully. “The Maghuin Dhonn Herself may guide us in certain