"And He knew mine," Kor agreed. "Yours was the body, Farren. His was the Correction. So we are all made His instruments, if we are willing, and our hearts can stand the glory."
"Which," I said slowly, "is what this was about for you, wasn't it. You wanted to be Shame to be His instrument. And it wouldn't do but for you to be the strongest and most versatile instrument possible."
"Because He needs all that we can give Him, and because His people deserve no less than everything that can be given to them," Kor agreed, his voice gentle. "Do you understand, then? The trials?"
"And your ambition?" I said, daring to tease him a little in return on a subject that was, frankly, so vast and so intimate that I could barely look at it.
"And my ambition," he agreed.
"A little more," I said. "But I think I shall still call you a masochist."
He mmmed. "Only if doing so involves you petting me all over again."
"Without the Correction," I said, rueful.
"Without the Correction," he agreed.
He looked so contented there, with his hand resting on my upper arm and his head pillowed next to mine. I could hardly imagine the emotional resilience needed to return from what I'd done to him so quickly. "Kor?"
"Mm?"
"You are sure you're not offended?"
"Offended!" Kor said, opening his eyes. "Why would I be?"
"That I hid this from you. That I am... proof of a sorts that you were in need. That you were weak."
He blew out a breath and shook me lightly by the shoulder. "We're all weak, Farren. That's why we need one another." Resting a hand on my chest, he said, "I'm not offended at all. I'm grateful. My master, the god of Civilization, has extended me a gift. I will cherish it as He intended."
"I do think I love you," I said, my voice hoarse.
"I know that I love you," Kor said, smiling, and pulled me closer, and this time I did not feel the tackiness at his hips as a brand.
It was a fine moment for Ajan to knock—that is not sarcasm, aunera, for I shudder to think of him opening the door on me forcing a sexual release out of his beloved master—so I felt relief when Kor said, "Come."
To his credit, Ajan's pause at the sight of us entwined was so infinitesimal I would have needed one of Seraeda's instruments to measure it. He came smartly to the bed's edge and said, "Qenain's master scheduler has set up an interview for us with the Serapis aunerai in the morning, an hour after breakfast."
"Well done," Kor said, sitting up to stretch.
"Tomorrow?" I said, stifling my dismay. "I was hoping to put paid to this errand as quickly as possible, and now we will have to tarry here for an entire night?"
"I think I can find something to do with an entire night," Kor said, and touched his fingertips to Ajan's chin, startling the youth. "What do you think, menuredi?"
Now this pause made the first one look positively leisurely. The eagerness and hope that energized the youth was palpable, though his bearing and speech were punctiliously correct. "I might have some notions, masuredi, if you are so inclined."
"I think it is past time for me to be so inclined," Kor said, and to my delight allowed me to witness his first lover's kiss with his penokedi. It was a sweet, brief thing that looked, on the surface, much like the chaste kisses he gave me... and left all of us with our fur on end.
"I believe I shall see to the fathrikedi, and perhaps arrange our dinner," I said, sliding off the bed. I accepted with concealed amusement the robe Ajan found for me with such alacrity it seemed magical. "I'll knock if anything significant needs your attention, my peer."
"Thank you, ajzelin," Kor said, and there was a depth in his voice that made it clear what he was thanking me for.
I left them to one another, then. And when I had closed the door, I am not at all ashamed to admit, aunera... that I perhaps did a little dance-in-place for sheer glee.
"You seem happy," the fathrikedi said from the door to the bathing chamber.
"Tell me, fathrikedi," I said, moving carefully to a seat in one of the chairs by the window. "What is your favorite version of the parable of the broken pot?"
She snorted. "I hate them all. So much fuss over a stupid pot! Fix it, get a new one, do without, but for the sake of love, move on already and stop talking so much about it." She joined me, dropping to her knees at my foot. "So, they finally decided to consummate their unrequited body-love."
I glanced down at her. She was shrouded in the blanket from the massage table and looked somewhat more together than she had earlier. "You noticed?"
She sighed at my apparent naiveté. "Osulkedi, anyone who glanced at them even once would notice."
I laughed. "I am a sad specimen, it seems."
"You are an artist," she said. "It is a characteristic of artists."
"To be daft?" I said, too pleased to be much distressed over her critique.
"To be consumed in their own worlds," she said. "There is an inevitable travel time required for an artist to move from his world into ours sufficiently to communicate with us."
I eyed the top of her head. "You are teasing me, fathrikedi."
She met my eyes and grinned; this close I could see the hints of her distress, though she had done admirable work minimizing the swollen skin around her eyes. Their rims remained raw, though, like a hint of cosmetics gone wrong. I felt it like a color I could mix on a palette, a broken-open flesh color, like a fruit bruised to spilling...
"You see," she said. "You're doing it now."
"I am observing that your eyes have cried, though you have hidden it well!" I objected.
