"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.
"Beauty affects the rest of us," he said. "You, I think, it concusses."
I eyed him with a wrinkled nose and he laughed.
Together we washed Shame, and the eye-watering smell rising off the waters seemed to ease him. I left Ajan to dry his master and changed the sheets with the spares beneath the bed-table. After that I sent the Guardian to use the remainder of the bath-water for himself and spent the time profitably in untangling Shame's mane and braiding it. He would probably not thank me for it, as I had never seen him with it bound, but better ridiculous than knotted.
"I'm ready," Ajan said, returning shortly after.
"Good," I said. "I will be back when I have put paid to my errands."
And so saying, I went out on the first of those errands... to find the fathrikedi.
There is a small note clipped to the page here that reads:
unil [ oo NEEL ], n.quiet. Particularly, a quiet one cultivates in order to calm the spirit and silence the busy mind and its voices.
The fathrikedi was indeed on the pedestal, and quite a picture she made there; she had been arranged in an arc, on her toes with her arms lifted and her tail completing the curve of her spine. Bells had been hung from it; another bell depended from the delicate handle of the gag she held between her teeth. Such bells were typical in both living statue poses and in Corrections, in order to betray any movement on the part of the individual.
Naturally, none of the bells was so much as shivering. The pose she'd been asked to hold—or had chosen, for all I knew—required great strength, but she made it look effortless. Such is the training of the fathriked: I have noted that aunera have a tendency to think of the Decorations as weak, kept creatures. It would be closer to the truth to think of them as athletes. Their discipline is one of stillness rather than movement, most of the time, but stillness no less than movement demands grace and power in it.
They dance also. We all do. But they, particularly.
The pedestal had been placed in one of the central chambers, a great round room with arteries leading to other parts of the house. The light falling on her from the central skylight was muddy: it was another cloudy day, so dim there was barely a highlight to be found on the curve of those hanging brass bells. It was not a day that would have agreed well with most Ai-Naidar, but her gray pelt seemed to smolder in the storm-light in a way I found uncomfortably arresting. I thought of Ajan's observation about beauty concussing me and wondered, not whether he was right, but how he'd noticed so easily.
When I moved in front of the pedestal to see her face, her eyes flicked to mine. She had not been blinded with the pearl-in-the-eyes drops, as living statues often are. I supposed the lady had wanted her to know she was seen, and to see in return. To communicate her shame and penitence with her gaze.
I doubted the lady had realized that the fathrikedi would use her eyes to communicate her outrage and pride instead.
I sighed and said softly, "Would it not have been better to be more discreet?"
She pulled her lips back from her teeth in a sneer, and there at last I finally saw the gleam of light reflecting off something: in this case, her wet teeth, bearing down so properly on the metal plate of the gag. Such a ferocious creature, to have the ishas of a Decoration! And yet it was hard not to admire her spirit. There was perhaps something compelling in keeping as tame something so obviously wild. Like a feral thing that permits itself to be caged... for as long as its whim so moved it, and not a moment longer. I understood a little better why the lord might have adored her, and wanted no other.
On the pedestal there was a notation: she was to remain there until the dinner hour. I could not imagine holding such an uncomfortable position for so long, but had no doubt she would manage, and that not a whisper of bell-song would sound until the lady came to end her Correction. I looked up at her again and said, "We will make things straight again in Qenain, fathrikedi."
Her lashes lowered, until I could see only a sliver of her bright red eyes beneath it. I accepted that acknowledgement and left her to her durance.
