Page 3 of The Offering of Four

“I’m pleased to honor the outcome of the offering.”

“Ah, such diplomacy! You would make a good consort in that no one would ever get anything useful out of you.” Mendas’s smile soothed the sting of his words. “Not to worry. I’ll be careful not to choose you, and you can return to your calligraphy as you desire. Tonight we’ll enjoy our meal and you can tell me about Imlil. I’ve never been.”

Amenzu’s initial stiff terror had faded. Mendas didn’t seem the type to take offense if Amenzu made some error in formal address. The door opened and a woman came in bearing a tray with warm, damp cloths that smelled of lavender. Amenzu cleaned his hands and wiped his face, as was proper, and accepted the cup of tea she offered him.

“I hope you’ve got something delicious to serve us,” Mendas said to her.

“No, not at all,” she said with a laugh. “Only kitchen scraps for our prince. But for your guest I have stewed peaches, picked ripe this very afternoon.”

“Ah! I’ll have to enjoy the smell and long for some peaches of my own.” Mendas smiled at her. “Thank you, Tadefi. I’m ready for my kitchen scraps whenever you deem me worthy.”

She went out. Amenzu regarded the prince from across the table. No, he wasn’t what Amenzu had expected at all.

The food was not in fact kitchen scraps but instead a flavorful stew of chicken and olives. As they ate, Mendas asked a series of questions that had Amenzu talking about Imlil more than he had meant to. He described the way the sky turned orange behind the mountains at sunset, and the warm wind that sometimes blew south from the dry steppe and the dune sea beyond. Those memories came back to him as if they had happened only days ago instead of years, and he went on at some length until he stopped short, seeing something in Mendas’s smile that gave him pause.

“Please forgive me,” Amenzu said. “I’m sure you aren’t so interested in the weather at Imlil.”

“I find it fascinating, actually, but I can see that you don’t believe me, so we’ll talk about other things. Tell me, is that priest still at your temple, the one who clears his throat four times every sentence?”

Mendas was easy to talk to, and their conversation flowed from one subject to the next. Amenzu was surprised when Tadefi came back in with fresh cloths and began to put the dishes onto a tray. Had it been so long? Yes: the sky was dark through the windows, without so much as a hint of daylight. The time had come for Amenzu to leave.

Mendas walked with him to the door. He stood at a respectable distance and looked up at Amenzu. His eyes were bright in the lantern light. “I enjoyed our conversation.”

“I as well,” Amenzu said. He was painfully aware of Tadefi clearing the table behind them. He offered his hand to Mendas, palm up, and Mendas laid his hand on top. His skin was warm and dry. Without meaning to, Amenzu curled his fingers to clasp Mendas’s hand in his own.

Their gazes locked and held. Amenzu could hardly breathe.

“Light fare you well,” Mendas said. He didn’t pull his hand from Amenzu’s or look away until Tadefi dropped a silver drinking cup on the floor and they both startled at the sudden clatter and stepped away.

Tadefi escorted Amenzu back to the same room where he had passed his day. A mattress had been set out for him on the floor, and after Tadefi left he lay down for a few minutes, even though it was early for sleep, and tried to quiet his yammering thoughts.

For all their talk, Amenzu knew little more about the prince than he had before the meal. Mendas had so expertly guided the conversation that Amenzu realized only now that Mendas had revealed nothing about himself. But he had revealed enough through his easy smiles and his playful talk with Tadefi that Amenzu thought he had a good idea of what sort of man the prince was. He knew enough.

Mendas’s scent still lingered at the back of his throat.

On Amenzu’sthird afternoon in the palace, a servant came in bearing a metal washbasin, and three others followed with ewers of water. Amenzu watched from his seat by the window as each ewer in turn was emptied into the washbasin. Then the servants all left. When the first returned with a clean robe draped over his arm, Amenzu said, “Please, can you tell me if the offering of four is today?”

The man shrugged. “No one’s told me. Give him a bath, they said, and new clothes. But between you and me, I think it’s a good bet.”

“Thank you,” Amenzu said, and the man bowed and went out.

Amenzu gave himself as thorough a scrubbing as he could manage. The lukewarm water was refreshing in the heat of the afternoon. He washed his feet last, and was gratified to see the water turning gray as the dirt came off. At least he would be clean when he was offered to the prince like a prize ram.

He pulled the robe over his head, a priest’s robe of undyed cotton, and patted the water from his hair with a dry cloth. He fully expected to be back in the temple in time for dusk prayers, but a strange, restless anxiety pricked at him nonetheless. He wasn’t left waiting long, at least: almost as soon as he dressed, yet another servant came into the room and asked Amenzu to follow him.

After only a few turns through the corridors of the palace, Amenzu realized they were heading toward the prince’s rooms. His heart began to pound out of his chest. The Morning Star would shine its light on him in this as in all things, but he couldn’t imagine what that light would reveal.

Two guards stood outside Mendas’s door. They seemed to recognize Amenzu’s escort as they stood aside without remark to let the servant pass, and Amenzu with him. Amenzu pressed his damp palms to his robe as he came into the same chamber where he had dined with Mendas only a few nights before. Mendas wasn’t there now, and three unfamiliar men sat on cushions lined up on the floor, with the farthest one empty, waiting for Amenzu.

Inside its cage, the baleful parrot lifted its wings in a menacing gesture. Amenzu ignored it and claimed his place. His eyes skimmed over his competition: nobleman, tradesman,farmer, all readily identifiable by their manner of dress. Who would Mendas choose? The nobleman, surely, handsome in his white robe embroidered in bands of crimson; or perhaps the farmer, sturdy and steadfast. Amenzu didn’t like the looks of the tradesman; he had a sour tilt to his mouth that wouldn’t suit Mendas’s warmth of spirit.

A door in one wall opened. A woman came out, the same elderly priestess who had spoken with Amenzu when he first arrived at the citadel. She was smiling. “Chosen, be ready,” she said. “Great Aghilas brought you here, and Prince Mendas will send three of you home. Remain seated while the prince decides. Once his choice is clear, the others will be escorted out.”

The guards who had followed her into the room arranged themselves along the wall. The message was clear; the priestess was giving a command, not a suggestion. No one was to touch Mendas without his invitation. Not that any of them would dare to.

Movement in the doorway caught Amenzu’s attention. Behind the priestess, Mendas came across the threshold, and brought with him the overpowering scent of an omega in heat. Amenzu had never smelled such a thing before, yet he knew with absolute certainty what it was. Mendas wore a thin robe that did nothing to hide his state of arousal, and Amenzu looked away, down at his hands clasped in his lap, before his gaze swung inexorably back toward Mendas.

Mendas was looking at him. His eyes were bright and his lips were parted. As Amenzu watched, his tongue touched the corner of his mouth, a flash of pink.