Menas’s High Priest and Hathor’s High Priestess were both enthusiastic about their deities’ passions, and they shared the embrace of their faith with any who showed the slightest interest. Faraj had to admit it was one of the more pleasurable forms of proselytizing for one’s religion that he’d encountered. If he were not his brother’s prophet, he would have been very tempted.
In any case, even without his foresight he could quite clearly imagine the sorts of suggestive enjoyment Menas’s High Priest and Hathor’s High Priestess could derive from a pair of soft-cooked eggs, or certain pastries, or a creamy, drippy serving ofzafrani phirni.
“Hard cooked would not be much better, would it,” Faraj admitted, trying not to think too much about the symbolism that could be performed. “The whole array of, well, round or rod-like things —kibbeh,taameya— some of them might drip less but the general, er, insinuation potential does remain? But I do need something to offer tidily from my fingers, for those who accept the offering more personally.”
One of the many political intricacies of these banquets involved the God-Emperor’s worship, reflected through Faraj’s body, serving in His place as His brother, His prophet. Faraj would of course pray over each of the dishes, because that gave him time to foresee whether any purgatives or poisons had been slipped into the ingredients. And even the most defiant of rival priesthoods did admit that the sun was involved in the growing of food, so prayers of gratitude toward the sun and the great river went over reasonably well in mixed-faith company.
For the same reason that Kamil had bristled at Master Asharan’s temerity in offering food to the God-Emperor’s brother from his hands, the God-Emperor’s brother needed to offer food from his own hands to those who attended the banquets, especially those of other faiths. It emphasized thesymbolism: that power and generosity came from the God-Emperor’s hands to all those within the Empire, and they would bow their heads to accept His generous offerings, trusting His prophet to nourish them safely.
(He tried not to let himself think too wistfully of the simplicity of Elder Sister’s cauldron of dal and the scampering children and kittens at play in the little courtyard. But he did miss it, very much.)
“Something distributed on flatbread, perhaps?Kamiliyyahor — well, no, you’d need to juggle the breads and the bowl and the serving.” Irfan rubbed his brow again. “And I don’t believe any of them are life-sworn, but we can’t rule out a late arrival.”
Perhaps because Faraj knew how Irfan’s headaches compounded themselves with tension, Sahar padded over to him and bumped her head against his arm, purring softly and deeply.
Irfan gave her a startled look, then pulled his hands away hastily when she put her paws on his chest and tucked her head under his chin. “I’m so sorry, your Highness, I — you feel what the cat feels? She is quite bold; but if she insists, IswearI don’t intend to — to lay impertinent hands upon your person?—”
“I know,” Faraj assured him, reaching over the table to lift Sahar away from her bemused cuddle-prey with careful hands. “Sahar,habibti, we have both presented Irfan with sufficient headaches already.”
“Have my headaches troubled you, or will they trouble you, or?—”
“I had thought that question was mine to ask,” Faraj said. “I feel rather more personally responsible for your headaches than usual.”
“Our work continues apace whether our assorted headaches approve or not,” Irfan sighed, tapping his reed pen against the paper for a moment. “A cleverly organizedmu’tamidiyyadish,perhaps? Two half-moon egg skillets, one containing chicken and one without, plated pre-cut into bites, and some assortment of sweet almond and savory vegetablesanbusakaround the edge of the plate, for those who cannot abide milk or eggs?”
“That sounds marvelous,” Faraj said, watching Irfan’s deft but unsteady flicks of the reed pen to sketch out the arrangement for the kitchen staff. “Irfan, if you need to rest…”
“I will rest when you have no further need of me, your Highness.”
“I cannot imagine a time when I have no further need of you, Irfan,” Faraj murmured. “And I shall insist that you are to rest sooner than that.”
Irfan glanced up from the menu, and offered a rueful smile. “When you have noimminentneed of me, then.”
Akhadimtapped at the door of the study and called, “Your Highness, your Eminence, a messenger with a timely gift?”
“Show them in,” Faraj said.
The door opened on an embarrassed shepherd with wild dark curls, deeply sun-bronzed skin, a basket over his arm, and a pair of dusty sandals dangling from the crook of his shepherd’s staff, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the velveted carpet-slippers that the guards must have insisted he was to wear in the halls of thehaveli. He spoke the common tongue of the Basteti streets with a northeasterly, coastal accent, and also with a breathless rush.
“I’m sorry, I just meant to bring the basket and the message, I didn’t think — I hadn’t guessed— I’m so sorry, what even am I supposed to call you? That word she said wasn’tshahzada?—”
“You address His Imperial Highness Nur-ul-shuruq Faraj al-Nadhir, prophet of the God-Emperor, may His reign be eternal,” Irfan said, carefully clear with his enunciation of the Imperial titles. But the poor shepherd still looked utterly overwhelmed.
“You can call me Faraj,” Faraj offered, in the Basteti street-tongue. “Orshahzada,if that is more familiar.”
The shepherd seized on that like a lifeline, bowing several times. “Thank you,shahzada.Ya shahzada?I hear Imperial people sayya— oh never mind, I’m sorry, the point is, here, please have this while Shai Rahim’s bread is still warm?” This time when he bowed, he offered the basket, carefully, with only his right hand.
Faraj took it with curiosity; no danger troubled his foresight when he touched the basket, and so he dared to hope for a simple surprise. Rahim was an Imperial name, for all that Shai proclaimed him one of Upaja’s priests. He lifted away the cloth covering the basket and was greeted by a waft of utterly delicious scents, along with an attractively calligraphed page of verses.
The warmth of the memory was as delightful as the warmth of the still-steaming bread. In the Summer Capital, during his childhood, poets and gourmands had taken delight in sharing their creativity with each other, exchanging gift-baskets of delicious treats and beautiful verses as a mark of shared esteem. He’d thought the poetry-baskets must have fallen out of favor in the years since, for fashions changed more swiftly than the winds in any court his brother Ziyad attended. But perhaps Shai Rahim had not stayed current with the latest courtly fashions after he’d made his vows to Upaja.
The bread was the warmest of the delights, but several little pots promised delicious treats to nibble with it: sweet and tart quince jam, honeyed rose petals, dates filled with pistachios and scented with orange blossom water,himmas kassasprinkled with olives and walnuts and a fragrant spice blend. Tucked beneath the bread were an assortment of cheeses and rounds of beautifully rolledbazmawardslices and a row of lemon-brined silver fish that made Sahar’s nose wrinkle between the fascination of the fish and the cat-horror of citrus-squeezings.
“Please come and share this,” Faraj said to the shepherd, patting one of the silken floor-pillows at his side. “To have carried this up from the city so swiftly, smelling it the whole way? Surely you have more than earned a share!”
“Um,” the shepherd said, looking helplessly at the mud-stained sandals dangling from his shepherd’s crook, then tucking it behind his back. “I’d only meant to ask if there is a — an expectation of formal clothing at the priests’ meal this evening. But I don’t think I should even be standing in this room, your, er,shahzada-ness?”
Faraj’s heart twinged at the thought of another handsome common-born man who had so desperately wished not to hear the name behind Rahat spoken, whom Kamil had snarled at for his temerity, when they all felt such distance between the neighborhood bath-house and the grandeur of thehaveli.If he ever dreamed to coax Master Asharan to feel comfortable in his hands, in a place of such pomp and power, then he would surely need more practice in soothing skittish common folk who feared themselves unwelcome in this place.
