“Facts are facts,” Mreret said, with a full-body shrug. “It’s not my fault if they’re inconvenient.”
“And love has no defense, of course,” he said, studying the somewhat lopsided bowl in his hands.
“Love is its own defense,” Hoda-auntie told him. “And love makes its own defense. I need to find you a fire-poker.”
“And anyone who plays cruel games with a cat is going to find claws in his face,” Basima-auntie agreed. “Ask your zealot what he would do to one of us if we threaten a vulnerable soul he loves. If he is capable of love.”
“He is,” Sami said softly, stroking Sahar’s round, velvet-warm flank. “I would not pit any of us against him if I had a choice. Is there some way I might fortify her soul against sorcerous intrusions?”
Blinking a bit, Ashar said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“If he fears that her mind and heart might be turned against me, that some great power’s will might override her own?—”
“PFFFFFFFFFT,”Mreret said, and sneezed a burst of whisker-twitching giggles.
“Erm… I’m sorry, I don’t follow…?” Sami ventured.
“Sami,beta,” Hoda-auntie said, with her lips twitching to fight back too broad a grin. “If any sorcery were powerful enough to change acat’sopinion? Well, then we’d all be doomed, because none of the rest of us would have a prayer either.”
Looking down at the roundly purring cat-loaf in his lap who presumably should have been a mile away under attentive guard in the Imperialhaveli, Sami said, “I… er… well, yes, there is that.”
“Has he actually met a cat?” Basima-auntie asked.
“Yes, and I’m afraid that’s part of the problem,” Sami admitted.
“Well, that’s fair,” Hoda-auntie said.
“I don’t understand why you humans keep talking aboutfair,” Mreret said. “Not if you actually want towin.”
“There are some lines I do not wish to cross.”
“If you never cross a line, you never get to sit inside the perfect box,” Mreret said.
“I confess I also do not see the appeal of sitting in boxes,” Sami said.
Ears laid back, Mreret said in a tone of grudging almost-respect, “Youarea heretic, aren’t you.”
“I’m sure the cat-priestesses of a dozen other faiths agree entirely,” Sami said, rubbing the bridge of his nose against a tension-ache. “If you would pardon me, good gentlefolk, I should return in time to persuade my small goddess that her cushion-bedecked shrine is still to be preferred to many less pleasant alternatives.”
“But what about the blackmail? Or the fire-poker?” Basima-auntie said. “How are we going to help?”
“I am sincerely grateful for your care,” Sami assured her. “But in this particular case, neither the blackmail nor the fire-poker would be as helpful as your voices themselves.”
“Oh, we can yowl as loudly as you need,beta,” Hoda-auntie said. “Just point me at him.”
“Her and her fire-poker,” Mreret said. “You don’t have enough claws and fangs between you to yowl the way I would.”
“Truly, thank you. But your voices already have given me a very great gift.”
“You’re too gentle,” Basima-auntie said. “You’re going to say something innocent and sincere about carrying the prayers of the people to the heavens with the smoke of the Temple incense, aren’t you.”
“I am notentirelyinnocent, Basima-auntie.”
“Well, you won’t remain innocent for long if you let that shameless man have his way with you,” Hoda-auntie sniffed. “But if you will not let us yowl in your zealot’s face, and you will not blackmail him, and you have turned down both Mreret’s claws and my fire-poker, then the rest of us need to step in on your poor sweet queen’s behalf.”
“Have you not wailed of your fears that the God-Emperor might not overlook you in the wake of my notable offenses?” Stroking Sahar’s fur with a soothing hand, Sami said, “In matters of gods and heretics and soul-binding sorcery and even tax law, all of you have spoken for cats and kittens and the common folk of the city, here in the Temple of Bastet, where Her protection is well known. May your words carry to Her curious ears. May the zealots of the Ministry of Orthodoxy never note your own particular names and faces. And may we all be relieved by such an arrangement.”
“Tathaastu aur ‘amiin,” Shai Vishal murmured, cupping his hands to his brow in his reverence to Upaja’s generosity, before he stirred his cauldron again.
