Ashar had thought a wealthy prince might tell him tales spun from a rich man’s hobbies, or that a clever one would tell him Shahrizad’s tales to keep his own more hidden. Or even that Rahat might fill his ears with the inner workings of the Ministry of Finance—after all, ashahzadawith a gift for true foresight was the best person in the realm to audit all the records in search of false accounts. Ashar had certainly spent enough evenings imitating an avid interest in camel racing or the jewel trade or whatever else a powerful man expected to impress an evening’s hired companion with.
But Rahat was, it seemed, much too self-aware to bore him with paperwork, and too sincere in his desire to offer Ashar a gift of some worthy value. He spoke in poetic language of the inner workings of thehaveli, and of the preparations made and the festivals and formalities planned for the gathering priests who would bring pomp and power to the Greater Convocation. Rahat had disguised the nobles and the priests well enough with false names, but it took little enough cleverness to recognizethem by the roles they played and the gods and powers they served. As far as Ashar could tell, Rahat had told him as much as he could of the truth, and beautifully so.
And so, in turn, Ashar told the prince tales that he’d never realized a princewouldn’tknow. Tales of why the God-Emperor’s distant throne was paid lip service in the Catsprowl, but the three uncrowned queens of the temple, the market, and the mage-tower held the reins of the local powers among them. Tales of a particularshahzada, even, because when else would a commoner have the ability to say such things to the man himself, without a dozen officials in the way?
“In the great palaces and thehaveli, of course, I am certain they tell it differently, because everyone there is much concerned with pride and with appearances,” Ashar said. “But here in the Catsprowl, we pray for the prince’s fabled visions to guide him as deftly as a cat’s eye at midnight, because the cats hear tales that suggest many of those who hold great power are not as pure of soul as his Highness. From all accounts, his Highness is kind, thoughtful, compassionate; he forewarns us all, rich or poor, whenever he may. Yet the highborn and the wealthy who hear his Highness’ prophecies of floods and flame do not hesitate to seize his power for themselves, waging a market-war of coin gambled upon forewarnings, buying up what would not be destroyed to enrich themselves. The God-Emperor is radiant and glorious and very far away, and the Greater Convocation is coming here. The mages feel the looming of danger in such a gathering of the gods. Especially the Archmage, who sharpens blades and claws with every insinuation; she is as proud of her power as the priests are of their gods, and none of us know what she may be planning. Or so the cats whisper among themselves, licking over a shoulder blade to glance around for predators.”
Rahat shivered against his side, and Ashar snuggled closer, drawing a brightly woven blanket around them both.
“The prince needs a clowder, I think.”
“A what now?”
“A clowder. Maybe a pounce? Certainly an intrigue. A group of cats of his own, vigilant and curious and chatty little gossips with noses everywhere in the city.”
“I’ve seen how easily a cat can be bribed with a bit of food,ya majid.”
“Any one cat, certainly. But there are hundreds in the Catsprowl, and herding them all onto the same path is legendarily impossible. With a hundred ears at his service, and a hundred tales to hear, the shape formed in the gossip-fog may come closer to the truth?—”
Ashar stopped short, clutching at Rahat’s hands more tightly than he meant, because a tiny voice yowled its protest in the alleyway and then was silenced.
Something had just ended Nehal’s latest incarnation.
“We should move closer to the heart of the building,” Ashar said, still breathless with the pain-shock. The alleys were hardly safe. Nehal had lost his bodily form before, sometimes to stray dogs, and he often sulked about it before he would agree to Ashar’s invitation to take shape again.
But for something to kill Ashar’s familiar while the God-Emperor’s brother took shelter under his roof?—
“Ya majid, what’s wounded you?”
“No time,” Ashar said, “not if it’s that close—please,sweet one, let’s join the others.”
Another cat yowled imperiously outside the window, and Rahat looked up. “I know that voice,” he said, sounding amused of all things.
“Please. Come away. There’s safety in numbers?—”
“Yes, but I knowthatone,” Rahat said. He stood and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and padded barefoot around the pool. Ashar followed him close as a shadow, but Rahat didn’t hesitate to open the window for a cat to slink its way in.
The moment its tail flicked through, Ashar shut the window with a twist of magic, and latched the iron bars over the inside as well. He hadn’t even turned around, a word of caution still caught on his lips, when the cat loomed huge and claws like scythes flashed in the moonlight.
Ashar threw himself in front of Rahat, because he might be a courtesan wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe, but he was at least alittlebetter suited to fighting than the God-Emperor’s visionary brother.
He shaped a wisp of incense smoke into a mesh of smoke-silver chains that he wrapped around the great tawny catfolk—bindings he’d learned the efficacy of in a far more intimate setting, but effectiveness was more important than decorum in a split second’s desperate casting.
Teeth clenched around the need to hold his concentration, Ashar said, “Rahat,run.”
The catfolk blinked golden eyes, grumbling deep in his throat. It was certainly a tomcat; Ashar knew exactly where he’d looped those mage-chains to be certain he could keep him still. On another day he might even have admired the deadly grace of the tall, lean, sleekly muscled creature that suddenly towered a head over him, even without the sharply upswept desert-lynx ears—but now was really not the moment to be distracted by the striking sand-golden pelt of a hired assassin.
The tomcat flexed his claws against the incense-smoke chains, the grumbling deepening into a snarl that would have pulled desperate apologies from Ashar under nearly any other circumstances.
“Rahat!” Ashar gasped, tightening three particular loops despite a furious yowl. “I can only hold him for a minute! Less than that now—go!”
But Rahat put a gentle hand against Ashar’s trembling shoulder and said, “I told you, I know this one. Kamil, if you wouldpleasestop snarling… What? Oh.”
Blinking at the excruciatingly precise placement of those smoke-wrought chains, Rahat put a hand over his lips, but a half-stifled giggle escaped regardless.
“Yes, if you stop snarling, I’m sure I can persuade my companion to—well, no, Ihaven’tneeded to stop snarling with chain-bindings right there, because I haven’t tried to provoke him!Ya majid,ya sahir, this is my bodyguard, Kamil al-Hafiz. Do please refrain from crippling him. Or endangering his yet-unsired sons.”
“By Bastet’s eyes,”Ashar groaned, and dismissed the smoke-chains in a glimmering gray cloudburst. “I am so very sorry. But—it’s just—I felt my familiar cross the veil, and I thought?—”
