Chapter 11 A Feast for the Gods #4
He kept his steps measured and his hands still until he was certain he’d crossed out of view of the gathering, and then braced both hands on the cool marble for a moment’s respite.
Hadil was quietly directing a flurry of khadimuna with hand-signs and near-silent murmurs; she’d laid a scarlet ribbon across the preparation table to delineate which of the bowls Faraj was to pray over, but she stepped back to allow him room to touch each bowl and platter in turn, to ensure that any particular mischief or meddling would call to his foresight.
The soup cauldron was hot enough to sting his fingertips; he pressed his hand against the cool marble again, looking around, because nothing here spoke of danger, and yet someone was distinctly troubled.
Hadil flicked her fingertips in the corner of his vision; when he glanced over, she crooked her arm to mimic the shape of the hall, and tapped just past her elbow. He peered around the corner, and saw a small white-robed figure huddled on the floor, shoulders hitching.
Faraj couldn’t move with Kamil’s utter silence, but he softened his footsteps as he crept down the hall.
He cleared his throat gently. A young khadim looked up at him with a tear-streaked face, and then squeaked and prostrated herself at Faraj’s feet, her jasmine-twined braid tumbling forward to huddle in its own apologetic droop.
Although the hall was shadowed, he thought he recognized the same one who had admired Anuket’s generously-shared attributes.
Lifting her by the shoulders, Faraj asked softly, “What troubles you, little blossom?”
It was difficult to make out some of the words between her hushed whispers and her hiccuping tears, but the difficulty seemed to have something to do with trading positions with a peer, who now would not trade back now that the Cobra-Priestess had taken up residence by the brazier.
Sniffling, she managed, “I… I wanted to serve the cat-priestesses, not… not… —She could have eaten you, your Highness!”
“Oh, I would make too large a mouthful even for a cobra-priestess,” Faraj assured her. “Would you do me the great favor of serving those at my seat, in my stead? I confess I am far too easily moved by Hathor’s High Priestess and her allies, you see.”
“The High Priest of Menas is shameless, isn’t he,” she agreed, rubbing her cheeks.
“Quite so. And in the inverse, I am not the least tempted to sin by the fear of envenoming. Far safer all round if we trade.”
“Safer?” she asked, just as tartly as Elias had.
With a faint sigh, he confessed, “I would like to ease your fears, little blossom. And many of these august dignitaries do take pleasure in toying with their prey, Anuket and Neferkamin not least among them. They simply toy with us more charmingly.”
“But…” She wavered for a moment, then asked, “You don’t mind? His Eminence won’t mind?”
“All of us will be happier with your smile and your confident step,” Faraj assured her. “Save perhaps the Cobra-Priestess, whose hopes to frighten us I do intend to disappoint.”
“As you say, your Highness,” she replied, squaring her shoulders as she followed him back to Hadil’s preparation table.
When Irfan leaned far enough to glance around the corner to see whether the musicians needed to repeat another refrain, Hadil flashed him an all-clear gesture.
Each of the khadim lifted a bowl or platter on cue; Faraj took the carefully arranged platter of mu’tamidiyya and sanbusak, softly humming the key changes he’d need to make to the prayers to allow the qiyan to harmonize in their own ranges.
While the servants walked softly across the carpets to set bowls of soups and platters of bread and olives and barida among the groups of priests, Faraj bowed to the flame in the brazier that symbolized the God-Emperor’s eternal sun-flame even once the sun itself had set.
He sang his prepared prayers of gratitude to the life-giving sun, the blessing of the great river, and the fertility of the earth; then he offered the first bite from his hand to the High Priestess of Bastet, because it was unquestionably her due here in Bastet’s city.
The moment he’d taken the next piece into his hand, the Cobra-Priestess struck swiftly enough to pluck it from between his fingers; he nodded to her politely, then stepped toward the Priestess of Sekhmet and Elias, each of whom kept a protectively wary eye on the Cobra-Priestess while the other accepted a bite.
The qiyan shifted their tune while he circled the room, preparing for a quartet as he offered a bite of mu’tamidiyya or a sanbusak to each of the priests in turn.
Mercifully, none of the others tried to bite him.
He paced his steps to the rhythm of the drums, and arrived at his own seat just in time for the singers to take the melody.
Surely the order-priests cannot complain of our precision there, he thought.
He wished he dared to call for charmlights to brighten the gathering, if it were not that the Priest of Ta-retiu would take great offense at the workings of magic among an assembly of faith.
Even with the oil lamps, it was growing dim enough that he couldn’t distinguish clearly between leaping flame-shadows and leering premonitions.
He hoped that the Cobra-Priestess had satisfied herself for the evening.
“You will be relieved to know that I withdraw my offer,” Anuket said to him.
She was holding Neferkamin’s hand between her own, but it seemed more for his comfort than for hers.
“As tempting as the thought of a child of prophecy might be, it is far more likely a child of yours would be utterly fearless and reckless enough to terrify my hair white. When did you lose your wits?”
“I did explain what was coming,” Faraj reminded her, mildly.
“It’s one thing to hear your confidence in prophecy, and another entirely to watch,” Anuket said, with a shudder.
“Says the woman who will not permit us to help her to her childbed, because she is so very determined to watch,” Faraj pointed out, selecting a sanbusak filled with sweet cheese and almonds to offer her. “Have you changed your mind?”
She nibbled at the sanbusak with a sigh of appreciation for the warm, sweet treat, but chewed vigorously to be able to scold him again.
“…You cannot possibly be so devious as to have prearranged that spectacle with Beketmeret simply to scare us off,” she said.
“Neferkamin has promised you a night’s chaste support.
Surely you must appreciate such a sacrifice. ”
“And I remain profoundly grateful,” Faraj replied, debating among the platter’s offerings.
Neferkamin appreciated spice in every way, and so he chose to offer him a piece of the warm, egg-rich mu’tamidiyya that had been liberally sprinkled with olives and sumac and long pepper.
“We must impress both order-priests and mischief-priestesses without too many calls to the physician along the way. A breath of respite is a treasure, truly.”
Neferkamin accepted the bite with downcast eyes, and without even a whisper of innuendo. Concerned, Faraj brought one of the oil lamps closer in order to illuminate his face.
“Are you well, O beloved of Menas?”
“I should be,” Neferkamin murmured. “You are well, and Anuket is determined to be well, and so should I be. But I find I am sick to the heart with how fiercely I would grieve the loss of either of you, and tonight this ‘celebration’ has seen fit to surfeit me with both of those terrors.”
“Oh, sweetest.” Anuket put her arms around him and kissed him; he clung to her as though he were drowning, as though her lips held his only hope of air. And then he broke away, shaking.
“I had promised not to indulge, for your own sake, and at scarcely a nudge I fall. Your Highness, I do apologize.”
“Extraordinary circumstances,” Anuket said, rubbing his huddled shoulders with a tender hand.
“And if you could ever resist me, I would have to surrender my priesthood. I promise you, honey-love, that we are both well as can be.” With a mirthful glance at Faraj, she added, “In return for your suffering and your sacrifice this evening, O most passionately devoted, I swear I shall dedicate my greatest efforts to reward you both with a night in each other’s arms.”
It would be beyond cruel to protest at this particular moment, but Faraj hoped the heat of his glare conveyed itself to Anuket over Neferkamin’s bowed head.
She simply chuckled, and pressed a kiss into Neferkamin’s soft dark hair. “Come, your Highness, I know your kind heart. Do you not ache to comfort this man’s distress? This strikingly attractive and eagerly passionate man…?”
“Had you not sworn yourself to have mercy for this one night?” Faraj asked wearily.
“No, that was him,” Anuket reminded him, grinning like a jackal. “I know you have always been much too pure, devoted, and faithful to indulge in heresy, but heresy is pleasurable.”
Faraj bit his tongue before he could say I have not found the accusations pleasurable at all. For as disarmingly delightful as they both could be, Anuket was not above taking any advantage she could.
“Reinforcements,” Neferkamin sighed, and kissed the back of Faraj’s hand in a tender gesture not entirely like fealty.
“For mercy’s sake, your Highness, go and charm the room with your smiles before I pour out truly dreadful poetry at your feet.
But for mercy’s sake, warn me when I must look away the next time, ere the strike that spares your throat lands its fangs in my stricken heart.
I am not nadhir; I had not dreamed how desperately I would mourn you until I saw the shadow of it flash against the stone.
” His eyes were near as dark as the night, but a hint of tears glimmered like starlight in the wavering lamps.
“Is this what you must always foresee? How can you bear it?”