Chapter 12 Devotion
Devotion
FARAJ
When the recitation of verses and the formal farewells were complete, when the khadimuna had extinguished the oil lamps and escorted the priests to palanquins or guest rooms, when the Chamberlain closed the banquet hall’s doors behind the last pair of them so that they finally stood alone in an empty, quiet room filled only by moonlight slanting through the intricate stone latticework of the courtyard jali, Faraj finally let himself sigh his relief.
The corner of Irfan’s mouth quirked.
“I hope I was up to your standards,” Faraj said. “I do try.”
“You were magnificent, your Highness,” Irfan told him, stepping close enough to brush an imaginary speck of dust from Faraj’s gold-woven collar.
Irfan had always needed an excuse to touch, to share the comfort of touch, even so briefly.
His smile was unexpectedly unsteady. “If I didn’t know better,” he murmured, “I would never have guessed that you have been bewitched.”
Faraj tried not to sigh again, because he couldn’t say that he hadn’t been. “Ask Archivist Najra what her spellbooks say about the theology of cat-familiars.”
Irfan’s posture snapped straight and tense, and he took his hands away. “Your pardon, your Highness, I cannot possibly have heard you correctly. You would not have suggested that I should ask a notoriously heretical book-witch about matters of theology.”
“I would appreciate it greatly if you would consider her my beloved and eccentric friend, more than a heretical book-witch.”
“She sent you to be ensorcelled!”
“She encouraged me to follow my visions.”
“Your Highness,” Irfan said, in torment, “you are the God-Emperor’s nadhir. Your visions have only ever presented you with disaster.”
Faraj sighed again, because he really couldn’t say that Irfan was wrong. “On occasion it is more troublesome mischief than utter disaster? I do love Tel-Bastet for its mischief.”
“I know you do, your Highness. I know.” He brushed another imaginary speck from the saffron silk of Faraj’s jama, daring to let his hand linger for just a moment against Faraj’s chest. “My heart nearly stopped with the fear that anyone could see into the open courtyard, that anyone could prick the cat when the Cobra-Priestess struck, and you would flinch, and then…”
“I promise that would never have happened,” Faraj told him gently.
“Whether or not Sahar was vexed at that particular moment. I was certain that Beketmeret would not strike me tonight, that it would not happen because it already could not have happened — oh, I don’t know how to explain the tangling of the time-threads.
But I am truly very sorry for your distress, and for Kamil’s. ”
“I have faith in your prophecy, your Highness. But I also know how difficult it is for you to foresee in the dark. Watching her strike at you tonight, lit by only a scattering of lamp-flame… if you had needed me to stop her, I… couldn’t have.
” Irfan gave a shuddering sigh. “How else have I failed to serve you? How have I failed to see what drove you into the night, into the grasp of a sorcerer’s enchantments, because we had not — I had not—”
Faraj put his hand over Irfan’s, and held it to his heart.
“None of this is your fault,” he said.
“If I had served your every need, you would not have dreamed of that night’s bewitchment for half your life.”
“Irfan,” Faraj said, “it was never your duty to serve my every need.”
“That is exactly my duty! It always has been! By the God-Emperor’s grace, it will be for the rest of my life. Unless I am too deeply flawed, my faith too inadequate—”
“Irfan.” Sometimes Faraj wished he was taller, because the Chamberlain’s slender height made it awkward to try to meet his eyes when he looked away from what he could not bear. Gently, firmly, he insisted, “None of this is your fault.”
“You trusted a heretic, and she sent you into the grasp of witchery that bound a sorcerer’s spy into your living heart, because you could not trust me the same way. Because you knew I would have stopped you.”
“Yes,” Faraj admitted.
“How did she do it? How did you elude even Kamil?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Because you’ll use it again, to meet with the sorcerer who has such a grasp on your soul.
” In a breaking voice, he rasped, “I have only ever denied you in one way, because you have never asked it of me. If you will turn aside from this path, your Highness, then anything you might desire of me is yours.”
“Oh, Irfan. No.”
“Tell me what else you need and I will give it to you! I can think of nothing else in my power that I have withheld—”
“I know that, Irfan.” Faraj reached up to curve a hand to his cheek, aching to see unshed tears bright in his devoted servant’s eyes. “I will never ask you for such service.”
“Ask me, your Highness. Anything you desire, anything you need—”
“Can you look me in the eyes and say my name?”
The Chamberlain’s breath caught short. He swallowed hard, and took an unsteady breath.
“It’s all right,” Faraj said, gently cradling the hand that still trembled against his heart. “It’s not a demand. It’s an illumination. Can you see why it would be cruel and unworthy for me to demand any more intimate service from you, when my rank has stolen even my own name from your lips?”
“If you do not demand,” he whispered, “if you do not press, but I offer…”
“Many years ago, I tried to make myself believe that I could love Najra in that way as well,” Faraj murmured.
“Because she was worthy of love, if only I could be determined enough to correct my desires. If only I could submit my desires to the service of the greater needs of the Empire. Fortunately, she was wiser than I, and she taught me to believe that if we love each other in nearly every way, then the ways we do love each other are enough.”
Stiffly, the Chamberlain said, “I find myself presently disinclined to think well of Archivist Najra’s advice, your Highness.”
“I have never questioned that she loves me in every way but one,” Faraj said. “Just as I have never questioned that you love me in every way but one. You are both brilliant at your work, both devoted to the perfection of your craft, both treasures it is my privilege to hold.”
“Save that you trust a heretic with the sanctity of your soul, as you could not trust me.”
“I trust you to guard the sanctity of my soul, Irfan, for you value it more highly than I do,” Faraj sighed.
“I trust Archivist Najra to guard my hope of joy, for she values it more highly than I do as well. Is it so utterly unimaginable that the enchanter who taught me the summoning of a small, soft, purring cat might simply have wished for my happiness as well?”
“Your Highness, you know better than that,” Irfan said wearily.
“You have known better than that for as long as you have known your power. Even if your sorcerer were some naive child, the moment that their name became bound to yours among the court, among the priests, even among the gutter-witches—”
“I know,” Faraj said, passing a hand over his eyes to try to lose sight of some of the shadows. “Believe me, I know.”
“Oh,” Irfan said, and sighed as well. “Oh, of course. You have always been too kind, and too vulnerable to kindness. Let me send guardians.”
“No. For exactly the reasons you have just given me.”
“So that none of us will know when your naive and innocent kitten-sorcerer has been forced into some greater power’s service? Not until the coming disaster is great enough to crowd into your prophecies?”
My sorcerer is not so very naive and innocent, Faraj thought, biting his lip against the amusement that Master Asharan would feel to hear himself described that way; and yet in contrast with the powers of the God-Emperor’s court, the Chamberlain was not entirely wrong, either.
Irfan tucked a stray curl back behind Faraj’s ear and said, “If you were so very determined to entangle your heart with soul-bonded sorcery, your Highness, why did you not ask Archivist Najra to instruct you? She is at least a known power, with her own formidable defenses.”
That was a terribly good question that Faraj had not anticipated, because he truly hadn’t gone to the House of Jasmines hoping to bring home a cat-familiar.
But he was also not about to explain what else he had hoped for to his fretful Chamberlain, because that would only reopen the questions of pressures and snares and undue influence.
Instead, he said, “Irfan, I don’t exactly know what Najra keeps in those spellbooks of hers, but I am absolutely certain I do not wish to find out.
Because she would not have taught me to summon a small round housecat imminently full of kittens.
She would have taught me giant eagles, or hippogriffs, or some terror of the fathomless deep, or—”
“Oh, five hells,” the Chamberlain said, leaning hard upon the closed doors to steady himself. “Yes. I am forced to admit I could very nearly thank your naive sorcerer for his restraint.”
Faraj bit his lip again, because he couldn’t possibly let any hint of I did thank my sorcerer for his restraints, his restraints were marvelous cross his expression. It took considerable effort to straighten his face enough to say, “I will thank him on your behalf the next time I see him.”
“You will not,” Irfan said. “If he is as kind and harmless as you have suggested, you are still too vulnerable to threats against innocents. And if he is not as kind and harmless as that, then you are too vulnerable in other ways. When one of us must be unkind, your Highness, then I will be unkind, because you would never be.”
“Neither of us must be unkind, Irfan.”
“Ask Kamil whether he agrees with that, your Highness.”