On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [72]
Finally, the day arrived. Kevla and Jashemi had not had a chance to speak since they had come up with their plan, but at that time, they had worked most of it out. Kevla felt certain that if anything had happened to disrupt what they had planned, the resourceful Jashemi would have found a way to contact her. She was wide-awake long before the first summoning blast of the shakaal sounded, already in the kitchens tending the fire with the other servants.
Most of the food would not need to be cooked, because there would be no one to cook it as everyone, including the lowest servants, was required to appear before the khashimu today. While it would satisfy hunger, the feast would be light: breads baked yesterday, fruits, raw vegetables, and stews that could be left to slowly simmer all day long.
For the first time in her life, Kevla was grateful for the fact that she was Bai-sha. She would be among the last to come before Jashemi and pledge loyalty and devotion—which meant that she could remain alone in the kitchen, gaze into the fire and see and hear nearly everyone else who came before her.
She and Jashemi had decided that Yeshi would never take anyone low-caste as a lover. So that meant that the unknown man who shared Yeshi’s bed whenever her husband was away was most likely of high rank, perhaps among the highest in the Clan. Kevla recalled Yeshi’s repeated flirtation with Bahrim, and Jashemi sourly put forth several other likely candidates. Even the fact that the voice seemed familiar did not narrow the list much; Kevla had attended Yeshi at many important functions and had heard nearly every high-ranking uhlal address her lady at one time or another. Kevla desperately hoped that she would recognize him when she saw him. If this plan failed…It did not bear thinking about.
Jashemi had woken several hours ago, and per custom had descended into the caverns alone to bathe. He ducked under the water twenty times, once for each year he had been alive, and rubbed specially consecrated oils into his smooth brown skin until the sweet, spicy fragrance filled his nostrils and his body gleamed in the torchlight. Normally, he would be attended as he prepared for important gatherings, but today he was strictly left alone. The ceremony was centered around Jashemi entering adulthood; no one made such a passage in the company of others.
He was glad of this custom, as his thoughts were racing and time to himself was welcome. He let the oils dry on his skin, going over every step of the ceremony and looking for places where something might go wrong. The only problem would be if Kevla did not recognize the man, or if somehow the fire was extinguished. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind. Fortunately, everyone would expect him to be slightly nervous on this day.
He touched his arms, and found them sufficiently dry. It was time to don the ritual clothing. The garments were waiting for him in a basket, so white that they almost seemed to glow of their own accord.
For a moment, he panicked. What was the order? What were the words? Ah, yes, he remembered.
First the sandals. He slipped them on, taking a moment to feel the softness of the tanned leather against his skin. Closing his eyes, he intoned softly: “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my feet will walk leagues for the Clan of Four Waters.”
Next, the breeches. They were soft as a whisper against his thighs as he donned them. What in the world had the weavers done, to create fabric as strong but seemingly delicate as this? He spoke the ritual words: “I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my kurja will sire many sons for the Clan of Four Waters.”
Now, the rhia, embroidered with golden thread that seemed to twist like a snake in the flickering torchlight. He slipped it over his head, feeling the fabric caress his skin.
“I am a man. If the Dragon wills, my shoulders will carry great burdens for