11
A Feast for the Gods
FARAJ
Faraj could scarcely bear to leave Sahar behind for the formal priests’ dinner that evening, but there was no help for it. Six of the forty-two Priests of the Assessors of Maat had arrived earlier than the rest to ensure that the preparations for the Greater Convocation upheld their standards of Order. For years they had made disapproving noises about the sacrilege of Tel-Bastet’s disorderly ways, before every Greater Convocation he had ever attended. Faraj hoped not to let them make drama of his questionable temptations to Chaos when they already thought him suspicious for preferring Tel-Bastet to the more Order-ly palace capitals of his brothers’ choosing.
Irfan made himself an unshakable bulwark of support during the banquet. If he had not been born to a noble Imperial family who wished to place their son in the orbit of the God-Emperor’s brothers, Faraj thought he might have made a formidable priest of Order himself, and an even more formidable minister of Orthodoxy.
And the gathering priests seemed particularly set upon rattling that order this evening. He had warned Irfan and Kamil to expect drama from all corners, particularly the Cobra-Priestess of Meretseger’s need to display both her deadlinessand her mastery. But not all of the difficulties came with envenomed fangs so clearly bared. Beketmeret was refreshingly honest that way, though he sometimes wished she might simply accept that the God-Emperor’sprophetwould never flinch from her. Her respect was a terrifying and sometimes exasperating honor, and she had not yet had the chance to display it to this new Convocation’s priests; and so he’d forewarned as many of the staff as he could.
Even Elder Elias, as gentle as his lambs, would cause difficulties, and Faraj couldn’t forestall them; he couldn’t compel the protective shepherd to be other than himself. Hadil had found Elias a handsomely fitted silken kurta that was a pure and simple white, and he almost looked comfortable in it, except for the precarious care he took not to splash even a drop of rosewater on the sleeves as he washed his hands at the ewer and basin offered by two of the youngerkhadimuna.
The elderly High Priestess of Bastet had curled up napping in the late evening’s last sunbeams, near the flames of the brazier that symbolized the undying light of the God-Emperor’s reign and would sear fresh meat to the diners’ tastes, along with the offerings of delicious smells that would waft to the gods. Pahket’s Priestess kept watch from the shadows for her elder’s safety and dignity, and Sekhmet’s Priestess prowled around the archways and the courtyard for any hint of trouble.
He had assured them that he foresaw no true danger, not even from the Cobra-Priestess of Meretseger’s forthcoming threat-displays, but they knew the limits of his foresights nearly as well as he did: Threats would provoke his visions, but not embarrassment or indignity. And both cats and catfolk were often offended by embarrassment or indignity. So it did no harm to let them prowl to their satisfaction, despite the Priests of the Assessors of Maat’s fussing about orderly seating arrangements.
The High Priestess of Hathor, however— she was in amoodtonight. She was immensely pregnant and delighted by such evidence of her Goddess’s blessing of fertility; she made a lush and sensual show of laving her hands, her face, and her throat, which turned the fine linen of her gown startlingly translucent. Thekhadimholding the basin was squirming, blushing even more than the brazier’s warmth; Hathor’s High Priestess gave the young woman a brilliant smile as she smoothed her damp gown over her body.
“See something you like?”
“Um,”she said, trying not to stare, but also looking rather desperately smitten.
Irfan was busy at the other end of the courtyard trying to corral the High Priest of Menas before he could lewdly proposition the entire Priesthood of the Assessors of Maat at once. Faraj hurried over to the High Priestess of Hathor to spare the servants whatever awkwardness he could.
“Anuket, my dear, I am always delighted to see you, but surely you must be wearied in your extremity,” he told her, offering her his arm.
She accepted with another of those stunning smiles, leaning into his side so that every breath shifted her body against him, along with the wafting fragrance of cypress and temple incense in her hair. If he had ever felt lust for a woman, he was sure Hathor’s High Priestess could have made herself as much of a challenge to his self-control as Menas’s High Priest was.
“How could I resist the invitation to a celebration of faith from the God-Emperor’s sweetest of prophets?” she asked him. “I celebrate my faith with every breath now. Tell me I have two more weeks left, please — I want to carry my child proudly among the Grand Procession!”
“You could carry her in your arms,” Faraj said, “but I would be astonished to see you join us the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, bah,” Anuket sighed, with a rueful pat of her snug round belly. “I’d hoped these were still false pains.”
“Anuket,”Faraj sighed, clinging to her hand with both of his own, in part because neither he nor Irfan could rub their brow at a headache in such a public place when the event had not even fully begun. “Come with me, let’s find you a bed, I’ll send for a physician?—”
“I’mfine,your Royal Fussiness,” she laughed, lifting his hands to kiss the back of each. “If she’s coming tomorrow — and thank you for that, I hadn’t known she will be my daughter! — then I’m sure I have hours left before anything becomes ‘troublesome.’ Let me enjoy myself tonight, before I must wake at all hours for feedings and diapers and all the rest. If your stricthajibhas permitted a moment’s pause in the schedule, I would dance with you in celebration of my last night of liberty.”
“Alas, I’m certain Irfan has the timing of the performances most precisely arranged,” Faraj told her.
“If I were a delight to your eyes, you would have agreed,” Anuket said, pouting. “Have I grown so unlovely now?”
“Your beauty near blinds me. As does the trouble you gather to your bosom with such eager hands,” he said, more honestly than was his custom at an event such as this.
Anuket laughed again, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Next year, when I invite my Goddess’ blessing once more, say to me that you will come and celebrate with me. You would make such a delightful father — gentle, kind, and astoundingly well prepared to avert a toddler’s disasters with that blessed foresight!”
It stung at his heart, as it had every other time she’d made the invitation with sincerity rather than calculation.
“I am truly honored,” he murmured. “Truly I am. But aside from the thousand religious and political reasons I cannotaccept your generosity, I also cannot bear the thought of how intimately I would disappoint you.”
“I’m sure Neferkamin would most eagerly aid in your pleasure, in his devotion to both Menas and your delightful person,” Anuket murmured, though Faraj wouldn’t bet against the cat-priestesses’ keen ears. “How can you resist us both?”
“There yet remain the many other reasons I cannot accept your enticements,” Faraj said. “I am sworn to my brother’s faith, to hold no other god before him, to submit myself to no other god’s rites. Your passion is a joyous offering to your Goddess and your faith. Neither of us could profane the pleasure you take in your worship, and it is unmistakably worship. I am, as ever, deeply honored. And I must, as ever, regretfully decline.”
“So strict, your Highness. No wonder you ban the small cats from this place,” Anuket chuckled. “Those vows of yours must be terribly inconvenient if you don’t know whether it’s a goddess rubbing against your ankles expecting you to bow yourself down to worship her.”
“Of course you know. It is always a goddess rubbing against your ankles expecting you to bow yourself down to worship her,” the High Priestess of Bastet said, without opening her eyes.
