“Can we draw the diagrams some other time?” Faraj asked wistfully, because the Chamberlain’s head was dangling at an awkward angle too, and he wouldn’t want the poor man to get a crick in his neck atop all the other indignities.
“Oh, fine. I suppose we can drop him in the Archivists’ lounge. I admit floating his limp body out the main door is not the way toavoidbarracks gossip.” With an eye on Ahmed, Najra added, “You two aren’t Archivists, and you aren’t authorized to browse the Archives unaccompanied.”
“You’re banishing us before the rest of the arguing happens?” Esha asked. “Bless your name,ya ustadha. Come on, Ahmed, let’s go arrange some cat toys.”
Ahmed visibly considered his options and decided that pointlessly arranging cat toys in the courtyard was preferable to standing in earshot of the Chamberlain’s next bouts of drama. Faraj really couldn’t blame him. The shadows flaring across the corners of his vision were growing more visibly agitated, and he didn’t even want to glance at a particularly ferocious stormknot around the forthcoming kittens.
In the staff lounge, where the other Archivists had very wisely cleared out and sometimes left half-drunk cups ofsharbatbehind in their haste, Hikmat arranged a pile of floor-pillows to settle the Chamberlain on. Then he hurried to the shelves of bookcrafting supplies to look for something pungent to wave under his nose.
Faraj sat at the Chamberlain’s side and patted his cheeks gently, feeling dreadfully guilty about the tension between his loyal servant’s overwhelming distress and his sweet, soft, delightful little familiar.
“Irfan? Irfan, it’s going to be all right…”
“Lean back,” Najra said.
Faraj leaned back and looked up at her, just in time to realize she’d dashed a glass of cold water into the Chamberlain’s face. He came up sputtering and spluttering.
“Gaaah — what — huh?”
Sahar yowled her indignation at the liberal splashing-about of the water, and the Chamberlain’s face took on a cast of horror.
“Not just a nightmare, then?” he asked, stricken.
“Good to know what you think of me,” Kamil rumbled, with his claws flexing against the handle of Sahar’s basket.
“I — but — no, not at all! You are a natural born creature with a sentient mind, not — not somethingdragged from the underworld and bound into his Highness’s soul by some unknown sorcerer with designs upon his prophetic wisdom!”
Hikmat flinched a little. He hurried back to the shelves of supplies to not draw the distraught Chamberlain’s attention to himself: a very junior archivist-mage who had crafted the charm that let Sahar cross through any of the wards.
Najra caught Faraj’s eyes and rolled hers, and Faraj bit his lip again.
“Your Highness, howcouldyou?” the Chamberlain asked, breathless with his shock and dismay.
“Through a wise guide’s assistance,” Faraj said. “But my tutor was very skilled; I’m certain Sahar is quite properly made! Really, Irfan, I can swear by my foresight that she will not begin, er, decomposing, or whatever else you might imagine. She eats and drinks and naps and purrs, and all the rest of it.”
“And who had theaudacityto snare the God-Emperor’s own brother into such soul-binding?”
“You can’t honestly expect me to name my gentle tutor when your distrust is already so clear,” Faraj told him.
Glaring between Najra and Hikmat’s tense shoulders, the Chamberlain declared, “I have heard horrible things of theaccursed books in the forbidden collection, Archivist Najra, and I had defended you. I had thought surely you respected his Highness’s integrity of soul. You must not have been his tutor, or you could have taught him before this — butstar-charts?Did yousendhim to the sorcerer who bound his soul?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Najra asked. “Did you find the right pot in the window, your Highness?”
He knew what she was really asking, of course. She hadn’t let him give up on his dreams for years now… or the man he’d dreamed of for years. She’d made the unfortunately good point that middle-agedprinceswere still princes, but middle-agedwomenwere effectively invisible. She’d crafted a thoroughly forbidden spell to deceive the gaze of the world by exchanging their appearances for each other until he saw the jasmine blooming in the window of his dreams and stepped through that door. She’d all but pushed him out of the Archives’ freight entrance last night, while he’d still been fretting over the difficulties he foresaw.
Still, he was grateful that the room was lit only by charmlights, so that his blushes might be less noticed. “Yes,” he admitted softly. “Yes, it was …quite a beautiful pot, in the window that I had dreamed of.”
Najra folded her hands together quite decorously and said, “I’m very happy for you, your Highness.” But she was all but quivering, and Faraj suspected that the instant they had a bit of privacy, she was going to hug him until he squeaked.
“This isyourfault, then,” the Chamberlain said wearily. “I had thought better of you, Archivist Najra. I will petition the magistrate to have you removed from your position and returned to your father’sqalat.”
“No!” Faraj cried, shocked. His foresights were always more difficult to discern in dimly lit places where the layers of shadows melded together, but he truly hadn’t foreseen thethreat of his oldest friend losing her position for his sake. “None of this is Najra’s fault — not even the books! I dreamed the visions, I left thehaveli, I summoned Sahar?—”
He realized why a moment later, when the Chamberlain gave him his most sympathetic and understanding smile. Because the threat wasn’t truly meant for Najra. It was meant for him.
“Of course, it is not your Highness’s fault if you have been led astray by unsound advisors and enchanters’ soul-binding charms,” the Chamberlain said. “I know you. You have always been a good and gentle and dutiful man.”
It was kind and supportive and it reminded him of the confines of his role in his brother’s Empire. It reminded him of all the times he had been kept in line with suggestions that his servants would pay for any hint of his misbehavior that escaped their supervision.
