“Ididwalk those halls half my life ago, and I found it a stultifying snare,” Shai Vishal said. “I turned my back on it andwalked away. A marble-lined palatial surfeit little suits either of us, Asharan. But here you sit with me, sharing a part of our world that I protect with every power remaining to me. Pray do not deny your dear one his own place out here, beneath my shelter, in the wide world outside that gilded museum-exhibit.”
Ashar reminded himself that Shai Vishal had no reason to think his heart’s treasure was of a rank more exalted than Sami’s claim to a very middling accountancy, for whom a visit to a sunlit Temple in an ordinary day among ordinary folk could be a simple thing. He managed a wan smile. “Thank you, your Reverence.”
“…You have lost your faith in my word.”
“That is no fault of your own, your Reverence.”
“When you say that, I find I do not believe you any more than I believed Sami,” Shai Vishal said, and sighed. He reached over and took a beautifully bound book from his bookshelf. Then he sat on the ledge next to Ashar despite the elderly cat’s grumble, and opened the book to an early page, where a faded breath of mint wafted from a flower-spray and leaves pressed between the pages.
“Do you remember this?”
“I… I’m sorry, your Reverence, should I?”
“I was a newly sworn priest who had just cast my family’s name and wealth aside,” Shai Vishal said, “with no idea how to fill those cauldrons every day through flood or famine or locusts without a coin to my name. You were a child who couldn’t afford milk or eggs or even dal. But you brought me a handful of mint that had grown wild in a crack in a flagstone, because it was beautiful and fragrant, and it was everything you could offer. I remember this blooming mint-sprig much more clearly than the first time you could afford to bring us dal, or pomegranates, or Madhur’s favorite masala for that golden milk. The mint blossoms, and your smile, and your shining faith that therewould always be enough, because you trusted us when we told you that you could always eat with us and be welcome. …Icould notfail you. I could not failanyof you.”
“You never did fail us,” Ashar murmured.
Shai Vishal drew a ragged, unsteady breath. “I must have failed you,” he rasped, “for you to have lost your trust in my word. When I offer you my shelter, and you smile, and you do not believe me. You are wiser than you were as a child, not to trust the priest of a rival god with matters that cross the gates of thehaveli.And yet I am a sentimental old fool, because I find I would sacrifice a great deal to earn the trust of that innocent smile again.”
Feeling the ache of it all through his soul, Ashar said, “I trust that you would offer me any shelter in your power, your Reverence. But I have not been innocent for a very long time, and you told me yourself that some things are beyond the powers of even the gods. Most especially bed-gossip. And we are not gods; we are merely human, you and I.”
The elderly cat made a querulous grumble that was so clearlyspeak for yourselves, I am a goddess,that Ashar couldn’t help a startled laugh.
“I stand corrected, O most velveted of elders. May I pet you? I am told I have skillful hands.”
The cat lifted her head, sniffed at his offered fingertips, and then climbed into his lap to shove her head under his chin, rumbling with a rusty purr. Smiling, Ashar moved careful fingertips over her pelt, feeling for any flinches of discomfort; she kneaded against his chest and snuggled in, and he cradled her with care, calling an extra touch of enchanted warmth into his hands to soothe her aged joints.
“There,” Shai Vishal murmured, and reached for a silverpoint left in a cup. “There I would have your penance, and your devotion.”
“Be still and don’t move?” Ashar murmured, smiling down at the cat’s flicking whiskers as he rubbed gentle fingertips beneath her chin. “Don’t worry, I am certain I am not allowed to move for some time yet.”
It was a good thing that the younger and more athletic cat had already wandered off, Ashar thought, listening to the tempting scratch-scratch-scratch of Shai Vishal’s silverpoint sketching their figures upon his parchment. The cat’s ears flicked toward the sound a few times, but the heat of Ashar’s magically-warmed fingertips won the battle between curiosity and cosseting.
The scratching continued, a soft, soothing rhythm, and then paused. And then a few more scratches floated over the depth of Shai Vishal’s voice.
“I will hold shelter for you,” he murmured. “I cannot walk those marble halls bearing joy in my hands. It is no longer my place, and it has not been for a very, very long time. But you are a man of power in your own right, and you understand what it is to bring joy and comfort with your own hands. If you and the one you hold dear find yourselves in need of shelter when the shining embers in your hearts are buffeted by cruel winds, then let me shelter you.”
Astonished, Ashar nearly lifted his head, before he remembered his penance.
“If you can trust me,” Shai Vishal added, so soft it was near inaudible. “It was not necessarily wise, to trust a priest who has turned aside from the God-Emperor’s faith with such intimate matters.”
“Of course I trust you,” Ashar said, bewildered. “Shai Madhur loves you like a father. Of course I trust you.”
Shai Vishal sighed. “Then I will shelter you from more than you know.”
Ears and whiskers up, boys, you are both delightful,the ancient little cat said quite distinctly.And you-with-the-hands, you keep petting.
“Yes, your Elegance,” Shai Vishal said gravely.
Ashar blinked at the cat snuggled against his chest. “Areyou a goddess?”
She reached up and batted his nose irritably.Of course I am.
“You are holding the High Priestess of Bastet,” Shai Vishal added.
“Oh,”Ashar said, dizzily tryingnotto think of all the things hecouldn’t possibly think aboutwith the High Priestess of Bastet idly pawing through his thoughts.
Don’t be ridiculous, child,the High Priestess of Bastet told him.What do I care whom you want to mate with, so long as you both enjoy it? What I care about is that you have STOPPED PETTING.
