“Are you not shameless?”
“I’dthoughtI wasn’t,” he admitted, laughing a bit helplessly. “What an illuminating day. And speaking of which: my penance? When should I… I mean, unless that was just to make the point? Do you truly wish for me to pose for you…?”
“You also have no need of false modesty.”
“What? No, I… I mean… would there not be concerns? If I were recognized. The books that you illuminate are holy.”
“Yes,” Shai Vishal said. “And so are you. And so are all who choose generous compassion. Of course, the High Priest of a war-god would say differently. But in my sight, your heart inclines you to Upaja’s faith whether or not you are ordained to it. Are you not here seeking penance for the gifts you gave before your thoughts caught up with your generosity?”
Asharan cupped his hands at his brow to honor the gift of Upaja’s blessing. “Thank you, your Reverence.”
“Thankyou, child of faith,” Shai Vishal said. “For more than you know.”
Technically, he should have reckoned the knowledge to influence the future of the Empire most highly on that list of unwitting gifts. But somewhere between the simple comfort of an unquestioning embrace, little pouches of gossip-ful treats sweetened with the notion that Upaja’s priests deserved to beloved without a hint of mockery, and a penance paid in beauty offered unto a work of holy art intended for centuries hence…
Somewhere amid all that, a lever to influence the path of the Empire seemed the least of the gifts he had received.
When his shift ended after the sunset and he discovered that al-Sadiq had sent two more missives while Vishal stirred the cauldrons, that lever to influence the path of the Empire began to look less like a gift and more like a curse.
Thehajibhad apparently found some poor scribe with a clear hand and tasked that unfortunate soul with copying out all the holy writs and priestly commentaries that could be used to support his own position on… whatever this astonishing debate would prove to be about. The third missive was substantial. At least sixty pages of notes — Shai Vishal flipped through, and amended his thoughts: At least sixty pages ofannotatednotes. Someone had found a pot of vermilion paint to underscore and outline the salient points with.
False gods, false worship, necromancy, demons, compulsions, more falsity… what had any of this to do with either a bath-house courtesan or a cat…? And why were so many words not just underlined in red, but also overlined or boxed or dotted…
Ah, five hells, Shai Vishal thought.Al-Sadiq sent me a cypher.
Without sending a key, because that would have been too convenient.
I don’t know whether I should be flattered by his estimate of my intellect or outraged that he thinks I have nothing more valuable to do with my time. There are barely two weeksbefore the Greater Convocation of every faith in the Empire, but of course a quibble of specifically Imperial theology is the most critical matter in anyone’s world.
Rubbing his temples, Shai Vishal set the stack aside and took theshahzada’ssimple note out of the drawer. His Highness hadn’t signed it, of course, but he hadn’t needed to; Shai Vishal was nearly as familiar with theshahzada’shandwriting as his own, after so many years mediating the Council of the Divines and the Greater Convocations.
The phrasing echoed young Asharan’s concerns eerily well, but of course his Highness had always been a touch uncanny that way, even if Vishal hadn’t already guessed their connection.
Your Reverence,
I’m so sorry I couldn’t warn you.
I am almost entirely sure I owe penance, and yet I cannot regret a single moment of it.
…Well. I do regret how very many pages of thundering scripture Irfan is about to send you. I would lighten that burden for you if I could, but it would be improper of me to intervene, would it not? He has the right to make his case, as I have the right to make my sweet Sahar’s case.
She is a soft, warm, velveted, purring delight, one of several delights I had never dared to dream I might have for my own. I have found my dreams more daring of late, and I am truly very sorry for the trouble, but I will not regret the joy that brought her to my hands.
(And after speaking to Asharan, suddenly the second layer behind those words leapt out at Shai Vishalmuchmore clearly.)
I would not presume to defend my own actions. I would submit myself willingly to any penance you consider meet; I trust your judgment without reserve.
Although I will not defend my own actions, I do beg your compassion and mercy for Sahar’s own sake, and for herkittens. They are blameless in all this, and vulnerable to the powers of the realms, and I pray your god’s generous and compassionate hand can shelter them from the storms of power that swirl around my name.
I am sure Irfan will call upon the name you once held, to fit an aged key back into the lock of propriety. I call upon the name you hold now, Upaja’s High Priest in Bastet’s own Temple, here in the city of the cats.
If you judge that punishment is necessary, let me take it upon myself.
His Highness had often been given to flights of poetry, but something about the analogy of the key and the lock had Vishal blinking in belated realization.
His family had not named him Vishal when he was born to an Imperial noble family near the God-Emperor’s Summer Capital. But Irfan bir Enayat al-Sadiq, thehajibof theshahzadaNur-ul-Shuruq Faraj al-Nadhir, knew the name Vishal had been born to, and…
Damn it. Yes.
