Chapter 11 A Feast for the Gods #3
“No,” he said again, more calmly. The Cobra-Priestess was not human; she did not have her own body-heat to emanate in the growing cool of the evening.
But he didn’t need to feel her presence to know her fangs were poised a bare handspan from his throat.
“Elias, I do appreciate your shepherd’s nurturing protection.
If we were among thieves and miscreants I would treasure your ready defense.
But every one of us gathered here is guarded by a greater power than yours or mine.
The God-Emperor’s peace is the foundation-stone of His Empire, and I am His prophet.
If you lift your staff against a priest of another faith, you proclaim that the God-Emperor’s peace is flawed.
That the Greater Convocation cannot hold its own priests accountable for upholding that peace, together. ”
“Your Tallness,” Elias breathed, shaking. Faraj could see the reflection of the Cobra-Priestess rearing back in the shepherd’s wide black pupils.
“I have faith in my brother’s peace,” Faraj said.
“I have faith in every one of those gathered here. I have faith that her Glory Beketmeret, the handmaiden of Meretseger, will not ignite a war among the gods without provocation. And, Elias, I am utterly determined that none of us will provide that provocation.”
Elias shrieked and dropped to his knees; Faraj felt the lash-swift flash of scales ruffling his hair and the faintest prickle of fangs against the side of his throat.
“Are you enjoying yourself, your Glory?” he asked mildly.
“Oh, immensssssely,” Beketmeret hissed against his throat. The flicker of her tongue was terribly ticklish, but he couldn’t twitch the slightest fraction of an inch. “For a human, you are mosssst amusssing. I will regret the day your foresssight failsss you.”
“But not today,” he replied, not daring to swallow yet. “May I release our young guest from his obeisance before his silk yields to the sharp indignities of the stone?”
“That issss not obeissssance, that issss terror.”
“Nevertheless.”
The fang-prickle eased back from his throat, and her scales slithered over the tiles behind him.
He wasn’t entirely sure whether she was satisfied or disappointed.
Still, Faraj took a careful step forward before he knelt to lift Elias from his crumpled huddle.
He hadn’t been the least surprised by Beketmeret’s display; instead, he was quite surprised by how fiercely Elias clung to him, how he trembled in his arms.
“I’m fine,” he murmured, smoothing Elias’ wild curls gently, wishing he could give Kamil a hug too.
And Irfan, except that neither of them would accept a hug in public.
And even Anuket and Neferkamin, except that those two would have taken too much advantage of a public embrace.
All of them might need a hug, he thought, but only Elias was new enough and unentangled enough to have the excuse.
“I’ve never seen even a glimpse of a world in which she bit me. ”
(And he would not, could not let himself look too deeply into the glimpses in which she’d bitten someone else.
Sometimes he held his brother’s peace together with nothing but his own determination.
But it was close enough to faith; at any rate, no one had called his bluffs yet.
Being known as a true-seeing prophet lent a certain credibility even to his bluffs.)
With a shuddering sigh, Elias said, “I’m not sure I’m fine, your Tallness. How often do you invite venom-priestesses to bite you?”
“With respect, I invite her Glory not to bite me, no matter how clearly she could,” Faraj told him. “And she has always deigned to accept my invitation.”
“In other words,” Elias said, looking at Kamil and Irfan for confirmation, “too often, because she’s making a point and you keep letting her. How can you just stand there and watch?” he asked them.
“I have utmost faith in my God-Emperor’s peace and His prophet’s foresight,” Irfan said, as serene as the fountain and as unshakable as the stone beneath it. Unfortunately, Faraj knew him well enough to know it was just as much a courtly performance of serenity as his own.
“Hrrrrrmph,” Kamil said, and licked his shoulder. Faraj suddenly realized that Kamil’s hand upon the side table of sharbat and honey-wine was not at all casual, because his claws were deeply embedded in the wood, and he looked to be stuck.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Faraj said, heartfelt. “I’m truly sorry I make it so difficult for you. But of the powers gathered here tonight, her Glory has clearly shown us her forbearance. I’m sure we would pay greater penance for offending our cook.”
“Really, your Tallness?” Elias sounded more tart than Faraj would have expected from him, as he leaned his staff against the table and the wall at an angle that let Kamil brace the heel of his hand against the shaft for prying-support. “When is the last time your cook has taken a life?”
“Almost certainly within the past hour,” he replied.
“Esmat is most particular about the freshness of the fish and fowl to grace our platters. And if our power-squabbles mean that we are not prepared to dine at the precise moment that her exquisite fish are prepared to be dined upon, well… I live here. Esmat knows where to find me, and I dread her displeasure if her judhaba has overbaked because we had a surfeit of political dramas to indulge. Irfan, your timing?”
“Ten minutes, your Highness. I was about to cue the qiyan, but I presumed that her Glory would not have taken it well, for her display to be overshadowed.”
“Oh, most certainly. You to the musicians, then, and I to the Priests of the Assessors? And mercy be upon us both, if the qiyan feel they now have been upstaged.”
When he had taken Anuket to his own place, that left two pillows empty amid the gathering of the Priests of the Assessors, and Pahket’s sleek catfolk Priestess seized the opportunity to sprawl amid the pillows simply to irritate them.
She had, in fact, turned her back on them to watch the Cobra-Priestess of Meretseger and the High Priestess of Bastet bristle at each other about who had the best claim to the warmest spot by the brazier.
The Priests of the Assessors immediately transferred their scowls from the catfolk who was ignoring them to the host of the event who could not afford to.
“Your Highness, if this is how you claim to maintain the order of the Empire, and you cannot command even your own guests to their intended placement—”
“Have you ever tried to command a cat, let alone a cobra?” Pakhet’s Priestess purred, one ear flicking as though gnat-vexed.
“It is the principle of the thing! How can you permit such blatant disrespect?”
“Believe me, I have the greatest respect for her Glory’s fangs,” Faraj said, nodding in Beketmeret’s direction. “And if I did not respect the mastery in her strike, how could I hope for her to respect my own unflinching faith in her precision?”
“If you do not command those beneath you, they cannot obey your design,” the youngest of them said. Faraj had to admit he wasn’t certain of this one’s domain; he would have to ask Irfan later. But in the meantime…
“None of you are beneath me,” Faraj told them, “for I am neither your god nor your God-Emperor. I am, however, your host, and I will do my best to honor your desires… until your desires infringe upon another’s.”
“What a pretty way of saying you hold no power over your own assembly,” the eldest said.
That was the Priest of Ta-retiu who Eats Entrails, who had held his rank since before Faraj had been born.
When Faraj had been younger, he’d feared the man’s glowers and sharp-tongued scoldings.
He couldn’t say he had fully outgrown that fear.
“None of you are beneath me,” Faraj said again, steadying his voice with his music teacher’s techniques of breath-support.
“But none of you are above any other priest gathered at this celebration. Judge me by the measure of those who are my own to guide. And in return I will not judge you by the measure of those who are not any of ours to command.”
“That is not orderly,” the Priest of Ta-retiu said. “That is how you bow your head to a venom-worshipper and pretend it to be virtue.”
“Ballsy, though,” Pakhet’s Priestess said, examining her claws by the warm golden flicker of the brazier.
The Cobra-Priestess and the High Priestess of Bastet had settled into wary curves arched around opposite sides of it, Elias had chosen to sit at the catfolk’s side with his staff a bare inch from his fingertips, and Pakhet’s Priestess had not looked away for a single instant, as much as she liked to pretend she was utterly bored.
“I’d like to see any of the rest of you not flinch from those fangs at your throat. ”
“And when the jackal-priests of Chaos arrive?”
“They are not here yet,” Faraj replied, and held back may all the mercies be praised.
“I would expect a prophet to have more care for portents,” the youngest said.
“I have learned not to borrow too many troubles from the future, because the present’s troubles are often more than sufficient,” Faraj sighed.
Irfan must have read something in his expression or his posture; it had not been ten minutes, but the qiyan began playing one of the more structured melodies on oud and drum, one that could repeat as many times as it was needed.
“And speaking of order among those who are mine, I perceive my cue. May you find pleasure in the music and delectation in your meal.”