Lord in grumpy spirits, but he never shirks the attention. Cook complained about him at first, but soon she was saying things like, 'That cat's prettier than a man,' and 'I'd eat my own toenails before I'd cook that one up.'
Day 131
I love My Lord the cat! I love him, I love him. He sleeps again in the curve of my belly, he purrs when I wake in the night for wondering about the war and her khan and the lie I must tell. His rumbling song soothes me back to sleep. He is even better than windows.
Day 133
Last night as I lay down by the kitchen hearth, My Lord loped in from somewhere and took his place against my side. Snores already surrounded us. As I settled in, I noticed that my lady was awake, watching me. Watching us.
She whispered, 'Why is he your cat? Didn't Khan Tegus give him to me?'
'Well, he gave him to me --'
'After you told him you were Lady Saren.'
I didn't answer. My heart felt like a furnace spitting fire.
'I think he should be mine.' She reached out and grabbed him from my arms and pulled him to her own side.
He writhed free and came back. Again she grabbed him, and this time in the struggle he clawed her arm and made an angry 'rawr!' that provoked Gal to snort in her sleep.
'I'm sorry, my lady,' I said, though I wasn't. I liked very much that My Lord preferred me. I rather felt like clawing her myself.
I hadn't even realized until that moment how over these past weeks, I'd begun to bubble with dark things, and my heart was boiled hard like tough mutton. I don't think I've ever truly hated a thing in my life like I hated Saren then. Hated everything about her--the whine her voice took as though she thought herself a child of six, her perfect face and shiny black hair, her honored father, her smell, her shaking hands when she stood under the sky. Her cowardice, her slowness. Her everything. I hated her.
I curled back up with My Lord alongside my body and pretended to be asleep. After a time, I heard sniffling.
There's nothing more aggravating in the world than the midnight sniffling of the person you've decided to hate.
Finally I sat up, and My Lord the cat, annoyed with all the talking and wiggling, sprang away to the door and set to cleaning his paws.
'What's wrong now, my lady?' I asked, and not very nicely.
She started to cry. Of course. 'I order you to do one more thing for me.'
She wants the cat, I thought. Let her try and take him.
'I want,' she said, sniffling and sobbing, 'I want you to kill me.'
My lady never plays games with words. She means everything fully, she drinks down the world whole and spits nothing out. I knew she meant what she said, and it set me spinning.
'No,' I whispered, my throat dry as salt meat.
'I order you to --'
'Order until you're out of breath,' I said, glancing at Gal and Qacha, who were still dead asleep. 'If I did such a thing, there d be no place for me in the Ancestors' Realm, nor for you either. We'd wander in the gray beyond the borders forever, with nowhere to sit and no milk to drink, and I'd never see my mama again. Punishment for disobeying your order can't be worse than that.'
Saren turned on her side, her back to me, and set to sobbing so violently I thought she'd vomit.
'I don't want to live anymore,' she said, the words almost lost with each wet sob. 'Every night I think the sun's gone forever, but when it rises in the morning anyway I wish it wouldn't. Because then I spend all day scrubbing. And my chest hurts like it's stuffed with rocks. And everyone's dead in my father's city. Because of me. All those bodies, because of me. Because I wouldn't marry Khasar. It's my fault and it's too much and I can't carry it anymore. And Khasar s still coming for me anyway. He'll find the tower empty and come looking. And Khan Tegus will never love me because I'm not clever and I smell like dirty pots and I want to die, Dashti. Please, I can't do it myself, I've tried.
I'm too afraid and I'll do it wrong. You have to do it for me. Please, Dashti.'
I didn't move all the while she pleaded. I felt buried by her sobs and words.
I turned toward My Lord and very quietly sang the cat song, the slow, sliding song that goes, 'Twitch and itch, the world is meat, the world is mine.' He put his nose out as if he could smell the song, then he padded to me and pressed his head against mine. I felt a jab in my heart as though someone had just told me that he was dead after all and never coming home.
Then I sat behind my lady, sang the cat song, wrapped my arms around her shoulders, and placed the cat onto her lap.
'Now you sing,' I said.
At first she was timid and still sobbing too hard for the cat to hear any tune, but she calmed and her voice found the song.
'Temple to tail, purr zipping through.' Her voice was softer than mine, but sweeter too. Whereas my singing's a hot, hearty meal, hers is a drink of sugared milk.
I didn't know if My Lord would accept her song or if he'd scorn her still--it's always the hearer's choice to heed a calling song, and cats are more stubborn than most. But he is a friendly cat, a happy soul. He curled up inside
