Page 2 of The Offering of Four

“I see we’re in agreement,” the priestess said. She inclined her head to him and shuffled back toward the doorway. At the threshold, she turned back to him. “One more thing. You’re to dine with the prince this evening.”

“What?” Amenzu said.

Amenzu knewof the prince only what any other common person in Tinmel did. He was considered a great beauty and a clever wit as well; a good rider, a good archer, and skilled at diplomacy. There was talk that his father would abdicate in his favor before long, and in general this plan was looked upon with approval, even though King Ighlaf was widely beloved. Mendas was the future, and better to let him settle into his rule while Ighlaf was still around to advise him in the flesh.

But as to what kind of person Mendas was, his likes and dislikes, his temperament, Amenzu had no inkling.

He was forced to waste that whole day in idleness. A servant brought him a breakfast of flatbread, olives, butter, and mint tea, and he lingered over the meal for as long as he could, and then watched the market traffic through the window and the activities of the guards in the courtyard, which mainly involved playing cards in the shade of the outer wall. He took his usual nap in the heat of afternoon, curled up on the thick rugs layering the floor as the room lacked any furniture, and woke dry-mouthedand disoriented. The light had shifted toward evening. Soon he would meet the prince.

He smoothed out the wrinkles in his robe and patted at his hair, which tended toward curls and dishevelment. There was little he could do about the road dust on his bare feet or the tear near the hem of his robe that he hadn’t found the time to mend. But his appearance would serve him well here in convincing the prince not to choose him. He was a simple priest, the son of farmers, and not at all suited for life in the palace. The prince would see that at once and send him on his way.

At the sound of soft footsteps in the corridor, he drew himself to his full height and lifted his chin even as his blood ran quick in his veins. But it was only a servant come to escort him to the prince’s chambers where they would, apparently, dine alone.

This was all part of the protocol, the priestess had explained to Amenzu with the air of one belaboring basic information to a child. Sending an omega in heat into a room filled with strangers wasn’t civilized. Prince Mendas would meet each of his four before the offering, and Amenzu was the last.

He followed the servant through the corridors of the palace, not empty now but bustling with activity ahead of the evening meal and whatever entertainments the residents of the palace indulged in. Amenzu kept his eyes down as he walked, not precisely ashamed of his appearance but certainly aware of it. If only someone had thought to bring him a better robe.

The prince’s rooms were high in one of the corner towers, four stories above the ground. Amenzu folded his hands as the servant knocked at the door, gripping hard at himself to release some of his tension. He couldn’t summon one plausible notion about what to expect.

The door opened to reveal not a servant but surely the prince himself, dressed in a pale blue robe adorned with golden embroidery. He was shorter than Amenzu, as most people were,with brown skin the color of rich earth. His black hair was a length that made Amenzu think it had been shaved off within the recent past. And he was beautiful, as everyone liked to say.

The prince’s eyes flicked over Amenzu with no apparent interest. To the servant, he said, “The priest?”

The man bowed. “Yes, Highness.”

“Thank you. Send Tadefi in, please.”

The servant bowed again and went away. To Amenzu, the prince said, “Be welcome.” He stepped back and gestured Amenzu inside.

A warm evening breeze blew through the windows and carried a trace of Mendas’s scent to Amenzu’s nose: thick and ripe, promising. The scent filled Amenzu’s mouth and slid down his throat. It coated his tongue.

He broke out in a hot, panicked sweat. He hadn’t expected Mendas to smell so—so?—

“Highness,” Amenzu mumbled.

He had feared being led directly into the prince’s bedchamber, but instead Mendas didn’t take him past the room immediately inside the door, a receiving chamber furnished with a low table and a few cushions scattered around it. A cage that occupied most of one wall held a medium-sized black and yellow parrot that paused in its careful grooming of one foot to eye Amenzu with distaste.

“His name is Prickly Pear,” Mendas said, following Amenzu’s gaze. “He likes no one, including me.”

“Then why do you keep him?”

Mendas grinned, an alarmingly appealing expression. “He’s the only creature in the palace who will put me in my place. Well, let’s eat, I suppose.”

The prince was not what Amenzu had expected. He sat with Mendas and gratefully tucked his dirty feet beneath the table. A painted floral border in green and yellow adorned the walls, andAmenzu traced the curling pattern with his eyes as he waited for the prince to give some indication as to what was meant to happen next.

“You’re dark as they are in the north,” Mendas said. “Are you from the mountains?”

Amenzu wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that as an opening. “Yes. From Imlil, of the third house. My parents farm, and herd sheep.”

“How did you come to Tinmel, then?”

“I have a small talent with calligraphy. My priestess in Imlil sent me here for training, and I never left.”

“Calligraphy,” Mendas said, shaping his mouth around the word as though he had never spoken it before. “And you enjoy it?”

“Very much,” Amenzu said firmly. “I felt called to the temple at an early age. The work is my vocation.”

Mendas lifted his eyebrows. “You would prefer not to marry a prince, then, I imagine.”