Thekhadimunaof the wardrobe were waiting anxiously for the chance to do their work; Faraj set Sahar’s basket on the corner of his desk despite the Chamberlain’s wince, so that he could hurry to slip out of his night-clothes and let thekhadimunaquickly dress him and wrap his turban and line his eyes with kohl and fasten his shoes and his jewelry. They were even more attuned to the Chamberlain’s moods than Faraj himself; they were done in half the usual time, and at a slight nod, they all but fled.
Faraj wondered if it would be too unforgivable if he fled with them. But he couldn’t begin to address the inequities in the wider world if he began by flinching from his own Chamberlain’s strictly-controlled temper.
“I assume I should know what I have done badly?”
The Chamberlain breathed an almost silent sigh. “I assume you should know what you have done would have been very clever, if this dispute were to be judged in the court of common opinion.”
“Oh,” Faraj breathed, because at the mention ofcommon opinion, a translucent flutter of white cotton suddenly settled into place among his visions, and on the other side he saw treasured jade-green eyes and a familiar, radiant smile. The Chamberlain looked at him sharply, and he scrambled for a cover. “Because cats are more charming than I am, and because the kitchen staff will talk? I confess I had only thought that she was hungry.”
“You thought that, or the summoned creature bonded to your soulsuggestedthat to you?”
Faraj sighed as well. He had always been a terrible liar, and his Chamberlain knew him far too well. “I am told that perfectly ordinary cats can also make their humans well aware that they must be fed immediately or the world will end.”
“And you yourself are more charming than you realize, not merely the cat,” Irfan told him, with a quirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But no one is charming enough for six Priests of the Assessors of Maat to pardon disorderly lateness.”
“That is most certainly true,” Faraj admitted. “Will you clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon, if I promise to return in time to dress properly for the formal dinner with the priests? And see whether there can be garments discreetly found in my size which are made of cotton, not saffron silk.”
“What will you do if I say I cannot, your Highness? Your hearing is the day after, and surely you wish to prepare.”
“I am certain you have already guessed what I would do,” Faraj said. “That alternative would be even less ideal, would it not? And I will prepare in my own way.”
“As you say, your Highness.” The Chamberlain bowed, rigidly and formally correct, and opened the door to the inner courtyard balcony where Shahin waited to take them to the priests.
“Thank you,” Faraj told him, and meant it sincerely. Because the Chamberlain had given him a great gift when he had mentioned the court of common opinion, whether or not he had intended it.
He knew that his brother’s holy scriptures held no defense for him. But the people and the catfolk of Tel-Bastet deserved for their voices to be heard as well. Until two days ago, he had never dared so openly defy the traditions, the layers of protections and restrictions, the Way Things Were Done.
No matter what Shai Vishal had to decide, Faraj could at the least bear his own witness to the court of common opinion, to the thoughts of those whose voices were rarely heard in the Imperialhaveli.
There had to be some better way to elevate the voices of common opinion than by getting himself judged for soul-bonded heresy, Faraj thought. But he was very new to the idea of pointed disobedience, and he hoped he could be forgiven a few stumbles as he learned the art of it from his cat.
13
What You Can Afford to Know
ASHAR
The trouble with living in the city of the cats, Ashar thought, was that the humans had picked up entirely too many ideas about mischief and about sneaking up on unsuspecting prey. When Geeta-auntie had shown up on his doorstep like a soggy kitten with big soft woeful eyes and a hopeful grip on her bath-brush, Ashar had crumbled like a flaky bite offeteer meshaltet, and he’d led her into the Lotus Room to wash while Hira was curled up napping in the Pillow Room.
In retrospect, that had been a mistake. Hira would have suspected the vintage-grade auntie-mischief Geeta-auntie was capable of, and even if she hadn’t, she held her grudges much more vigorously than Ashar did.
Ashar had plenty of time to reflect on the fallibility of human compassion. Within the first five minutes of scrubbing her back and washing her hair, Geeta-auntie had begun commenting unsubtle things about how many of Upaja’s priests had been seen patronizing his business of late, and which of them did or did not resemble the other rumors bandied about the neighborhood.
He’d taken refuge in “I won’t answer that, Geeta-auntie” on perpetual repeat even before combing her hair and drying itand re-braiding it with rose and jasmine blossoms. And then she’d wanted henna to celebrate her newest granddaughter’s something or other. By that point he’d fallen back to entirely non-committalhmmsounds as he concentrated on drawing the patterns on her hands.
She’d eventually gotten tired of his non-answers and flipped over to filling his ears with all the latest gossip from everywhere north of thehaveliand east of the river. (A bit guiltily, Ashar had to admit there were some valuable morsels of knowledge in there if he could get discreet confirmation from a more reliable source.)
He’d finally bundled her up with her hands wrapped to protect the patterns, a lidded jar of chai tucked into the corner of her wash-basket, and several sweets wrapped up in a square of parchment. He’d smiled and bowed and told her several more times, “I won’t answer that, Geeta-auntie,” and eventually she’d given up and trundled out the door again.
Ashar closed the door behind her, slid down the inside of the door to land on the tiles with a thump, and said to the empty air, “I have to find a bribe Mistress Salimat will take to teach me illusion-work.”
From under the tea-table in the Pillow Room, Hira said,“Hssst.”She’d folded herself down into her smaller shape to lurk in the shadows, and Ashar blinked, because that was rare for her.
“If you have any better ideas, I would love to hear them.” Without cat-claws to climb the courtyard walls, he couldn’t think of another way to make his own well-known face and figure less noticeable walking in and out of the House of Jasmines. He lacked an Upaja-priest’s generous curves, and that meant the priest-wrap’s disguise that had worked for Rahat would only attract skeptical attention and curiosity to himself. His hoodeddjellabawas indigo blue and vividly patternedwith white jasmines, because ordinarily he intended to make himself a walking advertisement for his services. He could have enchanted his shoes, but flying was evenmorenoticeable. He couldn’t send Nehal to thehaveli.And surely Sahar’s kittens had to be due at any moment.
He wanted to know she was well. He wanted to know his sweet, delightful prince was well. And he, a minor enchanter of a Catsprowl back-alley bath-house, had no possible excuse to seek out the God-Emperor’s brother of his own accord.
“Rrrrrrrrrr,”Hira said, slinking out into the waiting room with a lashing tail, and Ashar didn’t mistake it for a purr.
