The Moon and the Sun

“The truth,” Count Lucien said. “Passionate love—sexual love—is the greatest pleasure one can experience. It dispels sadness. It banishes pain. It’s like the finest wine, like the morning of a day of perfect weather, like the most beautiful music, like riding free forever. And it’s like none of those things.”

Count Lucien’s voice—could it only be his voice?—made her pulse race with the excitement of danger and forbidden sins. Her arm throbbed, but at the same time a mysterious string of ecstasy tightened, its note rising toward the music of the spheres. Marie-Josèphe caught her breath.

“Enough, please.” Her voice shook. Her body trembled with the same pleasure that had awakened her to the sea woman’s song.

“As you prefer.”

Riding in the cool forest shade, she regained her composure. “Count Lucien, if M. de Lorraine loves men—what does he want with me?”

“M. de Lorraine does not so much love men, or women, as himself and his own interest.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me? Warn me?”

“Perhaps because you didn’t ask.”

“I always asked questions, when I was a child.” She met his transparent grey gaze. “I delighted in asking.”

“You may ask me whatever you like, Mlle de la Croix, and if I know the answer I will tell you.”

Zachi snorted. Undergrowth crackled nearby.

“There she is, our lost Mlle de la Croix!”

Lorraine, Chartres, and Berwick burst out of the forest, whipping their lathered horses. Chartres forced his mount ahead of the others.

“I thought you’d been eaten by a bear!” Chartres cried. He aimed for Marie-Josèphe, but found himself separated from her by Zelis and Count Lucien. His horse tossed its head. Bloody foam flew from the bit.

“Bears are shy,” Marie-Josèphe said. “They’ll never harm you, unless you provoke them. Unlike other predators.”

“The provocation is so delightful,” Chartres said. “I may die of a broken heart.”

Berwick and Lorraine spurred their powerful, exhausted horses up close behind Zachi and Zelis.

“Mind her heels,” Count Lucien said, for Zelis laid her ears flat back in irritation. Lorraine and Berwick forced their stallions to lag a step or two.

“What an animal!” Berwick exclaimed. “I’ve never seen such speed as this bay possesses. Mlle de la Croix, you must sell the creature to me.”

“I must not, sir, as Zachi isn’t mine.”

“Is it the King’s horse? He’ll give it to me, I’m his cousin.”

The relationship was more intricate, but Marie-Josèphe could not remember exactly what it was; it was, as well, complicated by Berwick’s bastardy.

“Berwick,” Chartres said with condescension, “these petit horses all belong to Chrétien.”

Lorraine guffawed. “Who else would they belong to?”

“It may be too small, but it’s marvellously swift. Monarch will cover her. Their issue will win every race—”

“That’s impossible, M. de Berwick,” Count Lucien said. “You may send a mare to my stud in Finisterre, if you covet a foal with some qualities of the desert Arabian.”

“No, no, that won’t do, your stud on my mare? Absurd.”

“Somehow,” Lorraine said, “he would manage.”

“M. de Lorraine, M. de Berwick,” Chartres said severely, “you are in the presence of a lady.”

Marie-Josèphe almost burst out laughing at Chartres’ hypocrisy, but she feared the men would take her for an hysteric. This time, they would not be so far wrong.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” Berwick said offhand, mixing his languages, never taking his attention from Count Lucien. “Chrétien, you must sell me this bay mare!”

“Must I?”

“I’ll give you ten thousand louis!”

“Do you mistake me, sir, for a horse-trader?”

The French aristocracy did not engage in trade. Count Lucien’s voice contained no anger, but from that moment Marie-Josèphe never doubted he was a dangerous man.

“Not at all, not at all!” Berwick strove to retract the insult. “But an arrangement between noblemen, an exchange—”

“I do not part with these horses. They were a gift. Were Zachi to bear a foal from any sire but her own desert breed, her bloodline would never be pure again.”

“Ridiculous!”

“The sheik believed it. I choose to respect his beliefs. I will not part with the mares: I gave my word.”

“Your word!” Berwick exclaimed. “You gave your word to a Mahometan? No Christian need keep such a promise!”

Even Chartres and Lorraine flinched. Marie-Josèphe stared at Berwick in shock.

“No doubt that’s true,” Count Lucien said coldly. “But I am not a Christian.”

Berwick laughed. No one joined in his hilarity. He retreated into an uncomfortable silence.

“Let us return to the hunt.” Count Lucien impelled Zelis forward with sudden urgency.

Marie-Josèphe spoke to Zachi, freeing her to run. The two Arabians galloped together, outdistancing the three stallions that Zachi had raced to exhaustion.