Esmat led with her shoulder; her arms were full of a tray and a pot and two delicate porcelain cups, with a flutter of papers pinned by her fingertips beneath the tray. She closed the door behind herself with a long-practiced ankle, then blinked the moment she looked at him.
“I’m so sorry, your Eminence, if this is a bad time I can ask about the Convocation banquets later? But no wonder his Highness asked us to send you sustenance.”
He didn’t sigh. He couldn’t sigh. The kitchens were the most concentrated cluster of gossipmongers outside the barracks. He could smile ruefully, and he could ask, “Do I look so dreadful as that?”
“You are always as crisp as new-fallen snow, your Eminence,” Esmat said. “Which means that to seeyouruffled, the situation must be dire. How can I help?”
“Your pastries are a marvel of the five realms,” Irfan said, “and thatzafranichai smells marvelous. Please thank his Highness for his thoughtfulness.”
“But won’t you see him much sooner than I will?”
Irfan froze. Therehadto be something casual and light that he could say to brush her concern aside, but it had already been a heartbeat too long, and then a breath, and then it was too late.
“You’re not angry with each other, are you?” Esmat asked, blinking.
“I am not angry,” Irfan said, and it was almost true. “I am concerned. We are very nearly upon the most precarious diplomatic and religious balancing act for three years in the Greater Convocation, andnowis when his Highness has brought home a cat. To walk upon the tables and scratch the silks and spill the ink and—” His breath was coming too quickly; he couldn’t let anything slip about soul-binding sorcery or concealed spies or assassins; and Esmat looked as though she was trying very hard not to laugh at him.
Laughter wasbetterthan the alternative, he told himself fiercely, even as it stung him to the quick that she thought he had no better reason than fussiness. He couldn’tlether think he had a better reason than fussiness.
“Surely we can keep it distracted with a nice saucer of nibbles in a sunnymashrabiyanook behind a solidly closed door.”
He couldn’t sayI have no idea what sorcerous powers of enchantment or escape may lie within its grasp.Instead, he said, “His Highness’s cat is nearly ready to burst with kittens.”
“Oh, dear,” Esmat said, pouring him a cup of chai so that she could hide her smile behind a bent head and attention tothe cup. “A month from now, they may be quite troublesome indeed. But the Convocation should be nearly completed before they can gettoovery far on their own little paws.”
“I’m sure you’re correct,” Irfan said, from within the shell of his most poised diplomat’s demeanor. “Now, you had a question about the Convocation banquets?”
“One of the apprentices spilled vinegar on the kitchen’s notes from the last Convocation,” Esmat said, “and I’m sure some of the priests’ requirements have changed since the last time anyway, but it would at least be a place to start. Do you know if your scribes kept a copy of the menus from three years ago among the diplomats’ records, or should we inquire with the High Priest of Upaja?”
“I’m quite certain we kept a copy at the time, but I couldn’t guess whether it has been filed among the Archives,” Irfan said. “If you send your apprentice to ask among the Archivists and I write to the High Priest, we can have your answer within a day.”
“I wouldn’t wish to put you to any further trouble, your Eminence.”
“I need to write to his Reverence in any case,” Irfan assured her, curving both hands around the warm cup of chai to keep himself steady.
“You do?” Esmat tilted her head like a curious bird. “You’re not — that is — please forgive me, your Eminence, but — you will be kind, won’t you, even if you are upset about his Highness’s cat?”
“If I were so unkind, I would already have written to the Ministry of Orthodoxy,” Irfan said, and sipped at the cup of chai. It was warm and sweet and fragrant, and he reminded himself that his Highness had sent it with Esmat through care and concern. He should return some gentle gesture, because if his Highness retained enough of himself to care despite thesorcerer’s influence upon his heart, then his Highness would doubtless be fretting.
“About the way his Highness felt for the High Priest? But that was years ago! None of us would ever — and of course it was all nothing but hearsay. We might havesuspected, but none of us ever had proof, none of us would eversayanything to the Ministry?—”
Irfan blinked. “About thecat,Esmat.”
“Why would you write to the Ministry of Orthodoxy about his Highness’s cat?”
“I amnotwriting to the Ministry of Orthodoxy about his Highness’s cat,” Irfan said wearily, resisting the urge to rub his temples again, because the thought of writing to the Ministry had been briefly and terribly tempting. “I am writing to Shai Vishal about his Highness’s cat. Because his Reverence has lived in the Temple of Bastet for years, and I am certain he knows more of the proper management of cats around precious regalia and ancient works of art and faith and literary craftsmanship than I do.”
“Oh, thankgoodness,” Esmat said, making a mudra for the release of fear with both hands. “And, please… you won’t hear any of the household say a word when his Highness keeps losing his jewelry around the Council meetings, after floods or disasters. I truly don’t care why his Highness might have wished to help Upaja’s High Priest feed the hungry of the city. I’m a cook, your Eminence. I don’t care who buys the food so long as the hungry can eat.Pleasedon’t bring the Ministry of Orthodoxy in.”
“I assure you, I will never mention those losses to the Ministry,” Irfan said. “None of the household deserve an inquisition, and if his Highness were so distracted as to misplace a few of his personal belongings, certainly he hadmore grave concerns challenging his foresights in such difficult times.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Exactly like that. You’re so much better at this than I am, your Eminence,” Esmat said. “Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Irfan said. “If I may ask a favor, though, would you be so kind as to ensure that his Highness and Archivist Najra and Kamil are brought something mid-afternoon? She is caught up in her research and has quite swept them along with her, you see. Occasionally we may need to remind them of the need to nourish themselves with something more substantial than catnip tisane and the airy sparkles of the Archivist’s inspiration.”
“If that’s not glory’s own radiant truth,” Esmat chuckled. “While you’re writing to the High Priest, your Eminence, since you’re so good at these things — I don’t suppose you might feel inspired to drop a hint?”
“A hint…?”
