I turned and held his eyes at that, but he did not back down, and it was my turn to let the comment go. Instead, I asked, quiet, "What did the lord of Qenain say to you?"

"He said he was in love," Shame answered, and did not look away. "That it was glorious and full of pain, and there was no course he could find that did not cause grief to someone, but that he could not turn his back on it either. That he did not have the wisdom to love so deeply, and did not know what to do."

Oh, that silence. Tense with the words that he was waiting for me to speak. His eyes seemed to be pulling them out of me, demanding. He had begun the confession, and now he waited for me to make plain to us both what it implied. And I, I was unable to resist. The precipice before me was too vertiginous.

"Do you have a lover?" I asked, my mouth dry.

"No," Shame answered.

"Ajan said there is a Decoration in your shrine," I said. "Do you make use of him?"

"No," Shame said.

The enormity of it overwhelmed me. I sat abruptly on my bed because I could no longer hold myself up. "Oh... Kor."

He closed his eyes, his smile a tender thing touched with self-mockery. Gods and ancestors, such a man! In the dim light of the room I perceived him as I would paint him: dark planes and latent strength, all ink and contrasts, and deep hollows now in his abdomen, beneath the ribcage and above where his low pants pooled in shadow. Such a man would have to work to keep others apart from him, for he drew them just by being. And so I said the inevitable, and the true.

"You cannot," I said.

"You know, then, what I love," he said without opening his eyes. "You see."

"Of course," I said. "You love us. You love all of us. But you are not Thirukedi, Kor. You are but a man, and a man cannot hold such a love in the frail shell of his body. You will not live thousands of years, to learn to contain such a thing."

"I know," Kor said, voice rough. "But I cannot help it, Farren. I love past wisdom's counsel. What do I do? To stop hurts us all. To continue hurts us all." He looked at me then with those fierce, uncanny eyes, and the pale irises hemmed by the black ring seemed to burn like the coronal fire they were named for. "As you can imagine, I have nothing but sympathy for the lord of Qenain. Nothing but sympathy, because I can give him nothing else."

I resumed undressing in preparation for bed, if only to free my mind to its thoughts while occupying my body in something familiar. As I drew off my over-robe, I said, "What surprises me, at the last, is that you didn't see it. That was why you fled, yes? The shock of it."

"Yes," Kor said, behind me. I could hear that self-deprecating smile without looking at his face. "We all have our blind spots."

"Yes," I said. "Which is why we are not supposed to push away those around us, who serve to compensate for them with their love and attention. Your penokedi would die for you, as no doubt would the others he mentioned serve you in the temple. You have a fathrikedi of your own. Why, Kor? Why do you hold them apart?"

His silence this time was long enough for me to complete my preparations, and it was in my sleeping robe that I sat again, facing him. Now he looked merely tired, an unlikely vessel for the magnitude of the passions to which he had confessed. "You don't know the history of my priesthood, Farren... no, I wouldn't expect it. It's not something we share. But the office of Shame is relatively new, as the empire counts such things. And not all its priests were created equal."

I tilted my head, curious.

He continued, "We can only perform those Corrections we have endured in our trials. If we have not borne them, we can advise others on their use, but we cannot ourselves enact them. And for most of the history of our office, the priests of Shame have had incomplete arsenals of tools. More of us have been... consultants... than actors."

"I see," I said slowly. "So you are unusual. Because you can be involved."

"Yes," he said. Did I imagine he found relief in how I met his eyes?

I rested my hands on my knees. "And I will guess that the priests of Shame who were not so involved had normal relationships with others."

"Spouses. Children. Some of them even lived in their family homes," Kor agreed.

"And you... you were free to fall in love with Kherishdar," I said. "Because nothing held you back from being entirely involved in the hearts of those who needed your Correction."

He smiled a little. "You see one reason now I called you counterpart."

"That I see such things?"

"That you are enough like our master to see beyond the obvious and immediate, yes," Kor said.

I shook my head. "I could not approach Thirukedi's soul, even in imitation." His lack of reply suggested, irritatingly, that he felt the conclusion too foregone to need argument, so I continued, "There was another reason?"

He looked up at me and his voice was hushed. "You called me Kor when you thanked me for your Correction."

Startled, I thought back to the bath and realized he was right. At some point in my heart, Kor and Shame had become whole: one being, an Ai-Naidari, someone I could know, someone I could encompass in my heart, in my mind. A person, not a virtue to be worshipped. I looked at him. "You cannot continue as you are."

"I know," he said. "I will deliver myself to Thirukedi's wisdom when we return to the capital."

"Yes," I said. "That would be best..." And trailed off.

Of course, Shame should return to Thirukedi to be mended...

To be mended.

It took my breath from my mouth. How had He known? And what would He have me do, now that I knew what afflicted Shame, now that I was here? For He had sent me, and that meant His hand was in this room, as surely as if He Himself had stretched it nigh.

"Farren?" Kor said, concern sharpening his voice, as surely it must. My expression... ancestors alone knew what was reflected on my face. I shook myself and turned my gaze on my companion. He had begun the mending, I thought; he had called me shinje, and that is not a casual thing. He was willing. And we had touched, though the passion of the moment had dictated that permission.

An Ai-Naidari accustomed to holding himself apart. Like the fractured pot, coming apart at its crack. Very well, then... someone must draw him back together. And we know, very well, how that is accomplished.

Before I lost the boldness of my revelation, I offered my crossed wrists, palm up, and said, "I would allow freedom-of-touch."

From his expression, I had at last shocked Shame. Some of you know ajzelin, aunera...

This is how one makes the offer to become them.

"Is this wise?" he asked.

I met his gaze and said, "Love is the foundation of society."

"Foundations crack," he said.

"Shall we cease to build, then?" I said.

He reached, rested his hands on my, palm to palm. I breathed out...

...and then he yanked me from my feet and into his arms, and the suddenness of it cramped the breath I tried to take. I made a noise against his hair and dug my hands into his naked back, shoving the fur aside until I found skin, until I could feel the hard plates of his shoulder-blades resisting my fingertips. He had a hand on my skull, under the weight of my hair, knotted, and he was shaking. I thought: gods, is he...

And then he spoke against my shoulder. "An aphorism, Farren? Really?"

"Of course," I answered. "What else?"

It burst free of him then: he was laughing, and then I was too, and we were laughing so hard it hurt as much as our embrace, and it went on and on until my ribs burned beneath my skin and a white ache built in my diaphragm. I sat abruptly on his bed and he sat next to me, hip to hip, and we panted through the last of our chuckles.

"Kor," I said, when I could talk again. "Kor, you need a lover."