"You forgot to put it away," Ajan said, smiling one of the first real smiles I'd seen out of him since Shame's flight. "I won't tell, then. Did the Emperor give them to you?"

"Yes," I said, surprised. "How did you guess?"

"He's the only one with the authority to do so," Ajan said, reaching for a roll filled with fish and spring greens. "Other than my master, and I know he didn't."

"I think he wanted me to know something of how Correction proceeds," I said, hesitant.

"You don't have to explain," the Guardian said. "Before I attached to the temple I knew nothing of it either. How much work it needs, and what it's like, and how different people are, their needs. If the Emperor wanted you to read it, you needed to understand too." He glanced at me. "It's helped, hasn't it?"

"I think so," I said, and added, "It has been somewhat intimidating."

Ajan chuckled, his voice low. "Yes. For us too, even though we're involved in it. There is a madness in my master's genius."

"He'll wake, you know," I said quietly.

"I know," Ajan said. "He would not leave those who love him bereft." He glanced up. "Will you rest?"

"In a little bit," I said. "It has been an agitating day."

"Eat, then," he said. "And have the tea. Then lie down, whether you're tired or not." He grinned faintly. "I seem to recall this advice being used on me."

I snorted. But I did finish the food and tea, and I did lie down, and I did sleep.

Several of you by now have mentioned seeing the hand of the Emperor in the goings-on in Qenain; indeed, you have recognized the subtleties of His intent in a way I did not at the time. It was only much later that I realized how many strands He was holding in his hand as He wove, and the delicacy and care with which He was doing so. O God of Civilization! How deft your hand! And yet we are not as simple as strands of silk thread, nor always as predictable.

The next morning, the physician arrived with a breakfast tray. As I received him, surprised, he said, "The Decoration is on a pedestal."

My ears flicked back. Behind me, Ajan looked up from his vigil, eyes narrowed. I accepted the tray, saying, "The display pedestal or..."

"She is being Corrected," he said, sitting without preamble on one of the chairs around the small table. To Ajan he called, "Any change?"

"No, Physician," Ajan answered.

The physician nodded and said to me, "Eat."

"What did she do to merit Correction?" I asked, taking up the bowl of consommé. Grasping for words past my surprise, I said, "It has only been half a day since the lady's arrival!"

"Less than that, I judge," the physician said with a sigh. "As to what she did... I have no idea, for it has not been shared with us. But no doubt it was some matter of speech, for she has been gagged."

I paused over my bowl, frowning. Fathriked did not speak, of course; ordinarily one would not bother to Correct a Decoration with a gag for that reason. I looked up at the physician, still wearing that frown.

"Yes, I know," the physician said with another sigh.

"I suppose her acts were somewhat irregular," I murmured.

"Her acts were irregular at our request," the physician said, "and because the lord's acts were irregular first. From him all this... irregularity... was proceeding. It galls me to see her Corrected."

"Because it is wrong?" I asked.

"Because it treats the symptom, and not the disease," the physician answered, irritated. I poured him a cup of tea and he drank from it, without even realizing he had it in his hand, I thought. "The cruelty or justice of it is immaterial in comparison to its effectiveness. Above all, Correction should be effective."

"So Shame would say were he awake," I murmured.

"And he is not, so we labor on without him," the physician said. "I came partially to see how he is getting on. But mostly because..." He trailed off.

"Because you felt alone in the knowing," I said. "I understand. Does Seraeda know of the Correction?"

"I am not certain," he said. "She has not yet resurfaced from her investigation in the lab."

"Gods grant her some clue as to our mystery," I said. Leaning back, I called through the door, "Ajan, come eat while the physician checks on Shame."

Ajan joined me at the small table while the physician made his evaluation. The youth ate slowly, I noted: like someone who is aware of his own hunger and does not want to sicken himself with overmuch eagerness. I admired this fresh evidence of the discipline imposed on the Guardians. I had never been in such proximity to one so trained for so long, and found myself enjoying the experience in a way I would never have expected: me, with so little understanding and familiarity with violence? To find comfort among Guardians!

The physician rejoined us. "He is fighting it well. Bathe him, it will help."

"It won't give him a chill?" I asked, surprised.

"I didn't say dunk him in cold water," the physician said, voice dry. "Use two spoons of the salts in the blue satchel and keep the water lukewarm. I don't want the fever sweat clogging his pores, his skin needs to breathe."

"We'll do it," Ajan said.

"Good," the physician said, rising. "I will go back to my own patients."

"I'll see Seraeda later," I said.

"Very good," he answered, and left us there.

Ajan finished up a last skewer of fish and said, "If you will start the water, osulkedi, I'll bring Shame."

I thought to object to him carrying the other Ai-Naidari alone, but it was not as if I would be of much help. So I left him to it and went to the bath to find the blue satchel—on a shelf, it turned out, alongside four more satchels of scented bath salts—and add the required spoons to the water as it ran into the basin. The smell that rose on the steam cleared my nose and mouth and seemed to reach even behind my eyes... drawing in a deep breath, I bent to adjust the temperature and had just decided it was perfect when Ajan arrived, carrying his master. The muscles in his arms and shoulders stood in sharp relief against his skin; I was transfixed by the power implied in them, and the tenderness of the Guardian's hands.

Shame, though... Gods and ancestors! I helped Ajan lower him into the water, one hand under his skull, cushioned by his dark mane, the other on his arm.

"Ienul," Ajan commented at the look on my face: "puts on bulk," that is, not a characteristic typical of us. Our world holds us lightly, so we grow high and thin, like rainflowers; to grow dense is rare. Shame was all muscle under dark and white pelage, in a way even his Guardian could not approach.

I have since seen many images of you, aunera, and know that even our densest Ai-Naidari is slender in compare. But such as Shame is rarely seen among us, and I was struck by his nudity: by the breadth of his wrists, by the hatchmark patterns of muscle woven through ribcage at his sides, and by the unlikeliness of his powerful torso.

"He must be an amazing dancer," I found myself saying.

"You have not seen the like," Ajan agreed with a smile. Glancing at me as he reached for a sponge, he said, "You have a look on your face, Calligrapher."

"A look," I repeated.

"As if someone has given you a blow," he said with a chuckle.

"Beauty affects me," I murmured.