“That,li rahat, is what magic is for.”
“Ya rahat,”he murmured. “Or…ya rahati, if he is your particular comfort.”
“Are you?” Ashar asked, smiling. “Would you like to be?”
“Yes.” Rahat swallowed hard, and said, “Yes, very much.”
A bit of concentration drifted the tray over to the poolside, and Ashar cradled the pot in both hands, warming both his heart and his hands with memories of the blaze of leaping flames until steam wafted from the spout. Another thought floated a pair of cups across the water so he could pour for them both.
“O most glorious of enchanters,” Rahat said, and sipped at his cup with downcast eyes.
“What pleasure-spark might a humble body-servant illumine, to chase such shadows from your gaze…?”
“What payment do you wish?”
“Ah, no, no, I told you: on the house.” Theshahzada’slips pursed in distress, and Ashar couldn’t resist the urge to kiss the soft dimple of his cheek. “The pleasure of your company is gift enough.”
Rahat gave a small, unhappy laugh. “Please don’t lie to me,ya majid. I am not so unworldly as to know that little of how these arrangements are made, between a man of some wealth and a man who serves as you serve.”
“Well, yes. But that’s precisely why. Isn’t that the gift you would treasure most? Sharing simple pleasure with someone who requires nothing at all of you, and expects nothing? There is bliss in ignorance, my sweet one. I hold it dear as any other fragile gem.”
“But what does it gain you?”
“Relief,” Ashar said, rueful. “The relief that you find my hands worthy of your trust, without a hidden price to fear. And the relief ofnotknowing what cares crease your brow when you leave this place. This is respite’s place, a place to lay aside burdens, and I dare suppose that you carry enough of those to stagger me. Leave me a small shining gem of innocence, leave no name spoken between us but Rahat, and I will delight in your company for its own sake. And you will know that for truth freely given, unbought and unpaid.”
Shuddering with a sigh, Rahat said, “Ya majid,ya akram,ya aziz.Ya hasan.”
Ashar cupped warm water in his palm and tipped it over the curve of Rahat’s cheek, following it with a caress. “I haven’t the knowledge to speak poet-names in your court’s tongue, but my lips can sing of your sweetness in other ways,” he murmured. “Lie back, let yourself float; let my hands cradle you and my voice soothe your heart. You need only be,ya rahati. You need only drift, a blossom amid the rose-petals.”
Rahat was so willing, so sweetly suggestible, that it gave Ashar a moment’s pause to think of what he might have been able to do with a word of suggestion spoken in the ear of one of the greatest powers in the city. But then, this was precisely why he’d brought him in: Ashar knew himself well enough to recognize which forms of temptation he found as irresistible as catnip, and which tempted him not in the least. He trusted his own hands more than most in the Catsprowl, to resist the temptation to seek power or influence from the brother of the God-Emperor.
Honestly, the court was an unhealthy place for any who wished their cups unpoisoned and their backs unstabbed; if anything, the greatest temptation was to invite Rahat to stay longer than the one night, for his safety. But then, the House of Jasmines wouldn’t be able to preserve its own safety for long, not if it became known that the God-Emperor’s third brother patronized Ashar’s services. Still—the thought of offering shelter was much more tempting to Ashar than the thought of courtly power.
He sank deeper into the water, nestled Rahat’s head against the crook of his shoulder, and let years of experience with the arts of massage guide his hands through seeking out lingering tensions to release as they floated in the pool.
Ashar took it as one of the highest compliments of his life when he realized a prince of the realm had drifted off to sleep in his arms.
One of Ashar’s favorite charms drew warmth from the neighborhood buildings’ sun-baked stone into the baths, to keep the water warm and comfortable as long as he wished. Butwhen both their fingers were water-shriveled, Ashar shifted just enough to kiss Rahat’s cheek again, to coax him back to waking. Rahat’s instinct upon waking in an unfamiliar place was to freeze rather than struggle; it helped, even as it worried Ashar to wonder why he’d learned that instinct. Another soft kiss had Rahat blinking in sleepy pleasure, splashing a little as he found his footing again.
Bundling up in soft towels and bathrobes, more chai to sip, and more rose-scentedrahat al-hulqumto nibble helped revive him. Ashar snuggled against him blissfully, because Rahat’s soft, round, human warmth was an indulgence worth savoring, too.
“Stay the night with me?” Ashar asked, with every human charm he could apply. He couldn’t let himself put the force of true power behind those words, but he could offer a brilliant smile and a teasing glance through lowered lashes, his silk robe slipping free of his shoulder as he held out an inviting hand.
Rahat bit his lip and looked down, then looked away. “I would love to, but — your time is valuable, and have I not taken more than my share?”
“My time is my own, to spend as I wish, and I have scarcely touched the surface of the treasures I find in you,” Ashar said. “Kindness is a treasure in this world. Tenderness. Comfort, and a need to share it.” Daring perhaps more than he ought, he added, “A vulnerability that I would protect in whatever way I may. This is the Catsprowl, after all, and cats are charming, but cats are predators with excellent night vision for hunting tender morsels. Stay here in the lamplight and the warmth, and seek your home upon the sunlit morrow, when the night-hunters have settled into their own rest.”
“And are you not my wild leopard pouncing upon any tender morsel left unprotected by a chai pot?”
Smiling, Ashar said, “Precisely. You aremytender morsel to devour, and I can be selfish with such treats. But distract me with tales of your distant travels, like the princess Shahrizad, and perhaps you may survive the night unmolested.”
Rahat turned a deep shade of rose under the mahogany-bronze of his skin.
Ashar chuckled. “Not further molested, then?”
“No, I, um. I…” Rubbing his fingertips together, Rahat said in a tiny voice, “I don’t mind. At all. More the opposite.”
“Well, then. Tell me your tales, O wandering talespinner, and if you tell them beautifully, perhaps I’ll molest you further.”
