“Yes,” he said, with a hint of the amusement that I had not heard often enough lately.
“You are incorrigible,” I said with a sigh.
“Yes,” he agreed, and weathered my mock-glare rather well. Then, he added, “Will you destroy them now that you know where they are hidden?”
“No,” I said, slowly. “No, the art is yours. I will not retract a gift, no matter how poorly I gave it.”
“So you don’t believe, yet, that they are worth keeping,” he said.
To that, I said nothing, and of course my silence spoke more than eloquently enough for Kherishdar’s Shame.
“What you did,” he said, voice soft, and I knew he was no longer speaking of the art. “That was generous, Farren.”
I stared at the stack of hidden paintings, slowly brushing my thumb against the paint-stiffened surface of the topmost: agathe, that was. The light spilled down the bright scarlet letters as my touch shifted the parchment. "You approve, then."
“Of the situation? I can’t begin to say,” he answered. “But of you? Wholeheartedly.”
I looked over my shoulder at him in surprise.
“I didn’t think you would be capable of it,” he admitted.
Now I did look at him, fully, turning to do so. “Is Shame admitting to having been wrong about an Ai-Naidari’s probable actions?”
“Yes,” he said, with an ease I found remarkable. “I did not think you would be able to encompass both their difference… and their personhood. I thought you still too bound in your own mind; I thought it would be possible for you to eventually come to a new opinion, but that it would take longer. And I was wrong.”
“You almost weren’t,” I said, turning to put the paintings away again. “I still am not entirely sure of my reasons, and I am deeply discomfited by what I have done.”
“But you did it,” Kor said, joining me. He took me by the shoulders and turned me gently around. “You did do it. For that you are to be commended.”
“For changing in response to taint?” I said, meeting his eyes, wanting to know the answer.
“For being the tree that bends before the wind that would otherwise uproot it,” Kor said. “When the wind has passed, it remains whole.”
“But changed,” I murmured.
“A little, perhaps,” Kor said. “But the wind is brief, and trees live a very long time. And that is Kherishdar, Farren. Don’t doubt it.”
I murmured, “I could never doubt Civilization.”
“Then don’t doubt yourself,” he answered, gentle. “For you are Civilization also.”
I considered that for several heartbeats, then looked at him directly and said, “And now I know my association with you is changing me.”
He laughed. “How is that?”
“Because my first thought was not to thank you, nor to be relieved or thoughtful,” I said. “But to hear your voice in my head, as if it was my own.”
“And what did my voice say?” he asked, smiling.
“I am Civilization,” I said. “…but so was the lord of Qenain.”
He mmmed. “Then it is for me to play your part?”
“Yes,” I said gravely, for I very much wanted to know.
“Then,” he said, “I suppose I would paint.”
“Very good,” I said and went for my brushes.
“Wait, wait!” Kor said, laughing. “I was extrapolating!”
“Then make good on your extrapolations,” I said, and handed him my box of tools. “Tonight, you will be making the dareleni’s painting.”
“I am not the artist,” he said.
“And I am not Shame,” I said. “But a little of Kherishdar’s Shame is in every Ai-Naidar who ever transgresses... and a little art is in every Ai-Naidari who lives and admires beauty. So, osulkedi...” I tapped the box. “Paint.”
He looked in the box in my hands, then took it into his own, saying, "Very well. But if I do this, I will do it in my own way."
"I expect nothing else," I said. "In fact, I look forward to it."
I expected to help him with the set-up, but he waved me aside, and truth be known I was not sad to sit down... and also to observe. What I observed foremost was how closely I had been observed. For while Kor's movements had the slight hesitations of someone who is doing something for the first time, he was never at a loss for the next step. He went into my box and withdrew the knife; he found the paper block and looked in approximately the right place for the section lacking glue, and slipped the knife into it to cut the paper free. He brought it to the table and set it down with the proper side up, and then considered the tools available before choosing a pen and a jar of ink and setting them alongside. Remembering the towel to blot with, I might add, and the plate one sets the ink jar on.
Indeed, so fascinated was I by the minutia of his movements and how clearly they demonstrated his expert memory that I didn't see until too late that he had lifted the knife and set it to his wrist—
"KOR!" I cried, and did not realize how far I'd lunged until I stopped. The slice was seeping, only, not running. "What in the name of all the gods and ancestors are you doing?" I said when I found my tongue.
