The summons woke us the following morning. Still in my sleeping robe, I opened my studio door for the Emperor's courier. I signed and returned his envelope before accepting the smaller note within. The courier and I exchanged bows and then he was gone, leaving me to open the message as Kor arrived, tying on one of my extra robes. He lifted his brows and I handed it to him.

Come to me, my own.

Kor drew in a long breath through his nose, eyes closed and ears sagging; watching him, I thought that his relationship with our master was different from mine; more intimate, perhaps, in a way I might never understand, not having undergone the trials. I thought it beautiful and appropriate: a priest of Shame's significance should be passionately devoted to Civilization. It made me want to paint him just as he looked then, wearing my too-long robe in all the wrong colors, warm browns and honeyed golds that only made his black and white pelage all the more startling, with his long hair tousled from the bed. I thought such a painting would have made even Ereseya, author of such famed erotic poetry, look twice. Perhaps several times.

"Breakfast," I said. "And proper livery."

He nodded, looking more settled within himself. "I will return to the temple. Shall we meet at the gates?"

"Two hours," I said, and could not resist drawing him to me. I felt the tremor in his skin, anticipation made manifest.

"You adore Him," I murmured.

"Yes," he said with another sigh. "You don't?"

I laughed softly against his hair. "I wouldn't dare."

He laughed too, and we parted to see to our preparations.

Two hours later we met before the gates, where we were expected. A Servant of impeccable courtesy led us up the stairs and into the seat of Civilization, and together we advanced through wide and gracious halls. I remembered the awe and terror of being escorted to the room where I took tea with the Emperor so seemingly long ago, on my lowered seat at His table... but we were not brought there. Nor were we taken to the formal presentation chambers, with their careful observation of the distance between the Public Servant caste, highest below the Wall of Birth but nowhere near Thirukedi's rarified heights, and the Emperor Himself.

No, the Servant led us to a yuvrini: a small chamber to which one withdraws for private company or to be alone with one's thoughts in meditation. Such chambers usually have a vauni haale, an object upon which one fixes one's mind in order to calm it. This particular yuvrini was round and tall, pierced with windows in a star-shaped pattern at its domed apex, faced in blond panels that smelled fragrantly of hardwood and the light oil used to polish it. There was no carpet, for it had a philosophy floor: someone had inscribed countless virtues on its surface in sepia ink, starting at the room's edges and spiraling toward the center. I admired the calligraphy for its grace and confidence... and recognized the hand, with all the inevitability of my beating heart.

"Yes," said He. "I wrote it."

There was a curved bench along the wall, and it was before this that the Emperor was awaiting us, hands folded in His sleeves and all the weight of His heavy robes falling in perfect lines from shoulder to floor: willow green, watered gold, midnight blue, scintillant and so, so close...! It was like turning and finding the vastness of the sun in arm's reach. We fell to our knees, and then further, hands outstretched before us and faces touching the smooth wooden floor. Beneath my nose I saw the word ashil, "beauty," the kind of beauty that wells up from the spirit and transforms its shell.

"That was long ago," Thirukedi continued, His voice thoughtful. "In one of my first incarnations. When I was younger, and more inclined to bend my spine for hours at a time."

Humor? From a god! I dared not look up, but this was an openness I never expected.

"Come, my servants," He said, and I heard the rustle of a cushion as He sat on the bench. "I have had pillows set out for you. Sit up, that I might see your faces."

There were indeed pillows—gods and ancestors!—two on either side of His feet, one gold and the other black. I knelt on the former, and this act brought me so close to His leg that I brushed the silk before I could stop myself. When I gasped in, He touched me, and I thought I would faint. He knew, somehow, and left His hand on my head until I could compose myself again.

On the other side of Him, Kor had come to kneel without my reticence, and bore the touch of that hand with nothing more than closed eyes and an expression of sublime gladness.

"My good servants," Thirukedi said, "I grieve that the journey was so difficult, but you have acquitted yourselves in every particular."

I swayed at the generosity of this praise, my heart racing for the joy of it. To have served Civilization... to have served well!

Surely He felt my tremor, for the Emperor said, "You may rest against my leg, Calligrapher."

"Thirukedi!" I whispered. "I would not presume...!"

"You would not presume to lean on Civilization?" He asked, gentle. "Is that not what Civilization is for?" His fingers guided my head until my cheek came to rest against His knee; I shuddered and could not speak. The silk of his robes was heavily embroidered but even the thread was smooth to the touch, and the fabric smelled of temple incense and fresh sovereign blossoms. His fingers in my hair reminded me of a breeze off a fountain in spring, so sublime. I did not want Him to ever stop touching me.

"And you, menuredi?" Thirukedi said, still cradling me but speaking now to my ajzelin.

"Masuredi," Kor answered. "To be in your presence is to be complete."

...and the Emperor... chuckled. It shocked me to hear such a thing from Him, but it sounded completely natural somehow. "And I would not do without you, Kor Nai'Nerillin-osulkedi. But tell me what your ajzelin will not. Tell me how it went."

Kor considered his words, then began to speak. Of the maien in Qenain's Gate-house. Of ij Qenain's sin; of his discovery of it. He did not omit his mad flight through the rain, nor his fever; he spoke of the lord's sister and her attempts to Correct the household, and her ultimate Correction which he had completed in our bath. He spoke candidly but with respect for our privacy of our discovery of one another... of Haraa's pain... of our crossing over to the colony world, and what we found there. The aunera who were not animals, lovers of the lord of Qenain. The terrible accident that had delayed his return... his impressions of the lord, the aunera, Haraa, the Ai-Naidar of the Gate-house... even the Gate Guardians responsible for Ajan's injuries. All of it he had observed with his customary attention to detail and uncanny understanding of the Ai-Naidari heart, and even though he spoke concisely the telling took long enough that I began to feel comfortable breathing again, even with the god of Civilization stroking my hair from my brow, now and then.

"Does this account accord with yours?" He asked me at last.

"It does," I said. "Though I saw things Shame did not."

"Tell me," He said. And so I did, striving for Kor's level of completeness and honesty, speaking of my personal efforts in the Gate-house and my impressions of the aunera, particularly in the wake of Ajan's injury and on their journey to the capital.

By then our audience had grown long enough to merit the arrival of a Servant with food and drink, left alongside the Emperor at a small folding table. After the Servant withdrew, Thirukedi poured tea into a bowl, somewhat larger than I would have expected for one person. This He sipped from, then gathered us with His eyes, though to look upon Him was more than I would ever have dared without this implied permission.

Kor lifted his chin for the touch that cupped it. With his long throat exposed, he parted his lips and drank from the bowl as it was offered, and in his expression I saw, briefly and powerfully, what he must have been like at the trials: that surrender, given so readily in response to a master worthy of it. Perhaps among aunera there is confusion about the gift of surrender, that it suggests the master is the one of worth and the servant the lesser of the two. But what good is the service of an unworthy soul? Even more importantly, what reflection it is on the master, when a worthy man kneels to him?

They were beautiful, Civilization and Shame. They completed one another. I could not be ashamed of the tears that gathered on my lashes, and I was grateful for the gift they made me in permitting me to witness the trust between them.

You imagine my shock when Thirukedi wiped the bowl's lip and then proffered it to me. I met His eyes, those pale green eyes gentled by centuries of compassion, so infinitely patient and yet so knowing. I had thought Kor's knowledge of the Ai-Naidari heart uncanny, and it was, because all that he knew he had learned through concentrated and constant study. But Thirukedi's knowledge? Had accumulated throughout lifetimes of living and loving us.

I had spoken so blithely of the role of the sacred witness in Ai-Naidari society... and overlooked the most singular exemplar.

What could I do? No matter what I thought of myself, my own worth, how could I ever deny Him?

Why would I ever wish to?

The tea was sublime, astringent, clear and bright on the tongue, and the lip of the bowl so delicate it was sharp as a blade... but the touch of His fingers on my face as I drank I remembered forever.

Afterwards, He poured the remainder of the bowl's tea into smaller cups, which He gave to us, along with a larger bowl of fruits and small rolls of delicate fish and vegetables. Kor accepted it on our behalf and picked one out for me. I likewise did the same for him, and we fed one another at the Emperor's feet and sensed His contentment. Just as we are nourished by our witness of the joy and love of others, so too our Emperor.

Eating thus brought forth a feeling of familial comfort; perhaps that is why afterward we both leaned on His legs with less awareness of His divinity and more a feeling of being held in His benevolent aura.

"Masuredi," Kor said at last, and I could not imagine what exception would allow him to speak first, but speak he did. "What will become of them?"

"ij Qenain, as you imagine, is no longer head of household," Thirukedi said at last as we listened. "And Qenain itself has been damaged by his conduct. The maien you observed at the Gate-house, osulked, has remained despite his sister's best attempts to remedy it. I have separated the Gate-house's Ai-Naidar from Qenain, and a good number of other members of that House have been sundered with it. For now, Qenain is too small to remain the capital's House of Flowers."

I drew in a sudden breath. Kor gave voice to our shock. "Was it so bad?"

"It was becoming so, yes," Thirukedi said. "And to prevent it from growing worse, I have done what was necessary. Qenain will restore itself in time, but for the healing to be accomplished the connection had to be severed. Alone, those who suffered from the maien can learn to stand upright again, where too close an association with those who would shun them would have created strife and drawn attention to the taint. As for the lord... he will be leaving soon, with the aunera."

"Back to the colony world, Thirukedi?" I dared ask.

"No, Calligrapher," Thirukedi said. "There is another world which the aunera do not know yet and that we have no need of, beyond the colony. It is there that I have sent them."

"You have exiled the aunera from their own world?" I asked, stunned.

"I have exiled the lord," Thirukedi said. "The aunera chose to accompany him rather than break off association with him." His voice gentled. "Do not be afraid for them, Calligrapher. They have already been stranded here, lacking the Gates; their ships must travel incredible distances to reach worlds that we can walk to. By nature they are explorers, and the thought of an entirely new world excites their curiosity. They will manage."

"And the lord," I said softly. "We will not hear from him again?"

"You will not," Thirukedi said. "But I will."

This the two of us considered in silence.

Kor said, then, "They are not animals, master."

"Of course not," Thirukedi said.

"Then why..." I began, and then stopped, blushing at my own temerity.

"Why do I require them to be treated thus?" Thirukedi said. At my expression, He nodded. "They are not Ai-Naidar, my osulked. They look enough like us, seem enough like us to foster complacency. But the values that have shaped them are too different from those that we have chosen to shape us. Our society, our way of living, our way of evaluating change and consciously deciding what change we allow... is so alien to them that they cannot conceive of it. They do not plan civilization the way we do. They find the notion of such planning monstrous, or absurd, or unsustainable. And they have a need to disturb systems that seems like caprice, but is actually a survival response: they see serenity and must know if it can stand disruption, or if the serenity is false."

"They would come among us, and could not resist trying to change us," Kor said.

"Or improve us. Or help us. Or simply pull our tails, to see if we would react," Thirukedi said.

"Then... they will never be enough like us for there truly to be anything between us worth fostering," I said, ears flat.

Thirukedi smiled. "That, I did not say, Calligrapher. They may become something like a shinje in time... a complement to Kherishdar, strong where we are weak, and weak where we are strong. But before that comes to pass, they must accept what we are and be willing to respect our desire to remain fully ourselves. As it is, most aunera would mistrust Kherishdar on first hearing. They would believe me a malicious force, and all of you slaves; they would call the evaluation of the ishas a pretty lie, impossible to implement; they would see the castes and believe them prisons, rather than the structures that give form to our lives, and make contentment possible. Some few among them would trust us to be what we say we are. Most of them would not."

"Lenore," I whispered.

"And Andrew Clarke," Thirukedi said, saying their names without accent. "Yes. They believe. Enough to have fallen in love with Qenain, and through him, with Kherishdar. But even they have their misgivings." He looked away from us, perhaps toward some sight only He could see. "The matter wants time, that is all. Perhaps, with enough time, the aunera will look upon Kherishdar and see us rather than the reflection of their own fears."

"Not in our lifetimes," Kor said, subdued.

"No," Thirukedi said. "But I will see it come to pass."

Such a sharp, deep silence. I inhaled against the silk of his robe, turning my eyes against it, and tried not to think of the generations between us and that distant day when the love of the lord of Qenain and his aunera might no longer be considered perverse... by both our peoples.

Thirukedi's smile was in His voice, and it lifted both our faces. "In this step toward that end the two of you have served me well, and I am pleased.... particularly to see that you have both found your healing."

"So it was true!" I exclaimed. "You sent me to mend a broken pot, and it was me!"

Thirukedi laughed. "Yes, Farren. You were the pot. And so was Kor." At my shocked stillness, He lifted his brows in an expression so like Shame's it disarmed me. "Shall I not hold your names on my tongue? Even Civilization might love His servants, and invite them to a deeper intimacy. Besides, what is to be said now must be said from a master to his servants, not as Civilization to its people." Looking at Kor, he said, "You are long overdue to take up your duty as a family man, Kor Nai'Nerillin. Your having found an ajzelin and a lover incapable of giving you children does not excuse you."

"Masuredi—" Kor began, rueful.

"Do not think to sway me with oratory," Thirukedi said. "You must stop living in your temple as if you expect your life to end there as too many of your predecessors' have. You are the first priest to succeed Tsevet in full and I will not have you break in your prime. You are no longer to labor alone, nor will you allow your ishas to consume you as it has." Gentler, "Kor, you have earned a life apart from Shame's. Let your beloveds into that life now that they are at the door."

"Yes," I muttered. "Before they kick it in."

"And you," Thirukedi said to me, tipping my chin up. "No more the solitary artist's life. It feeds a spirit already given to melancholy. It does not suit you; you must give it up."

"Master!" I said, embarrassed. "I did not intend to return to it!"

"Good," He said. "And to be sure that you hold to that intention, I am issuing you both a property, which you will take for your new house. You will find it salubrious, I believe; it is within the temple district. And I highly suggest you settle the matter of your family relation."

I glanced at Kor helplessly, who looked just as flustered (for once!) as I.

"Sheviet... I don't know if they would take you," I said. "I hardly communicate with them at all—"

"Nerillin adopted me," Kor was saying, "but they are not comfortable with what I've become—"

We both stopped short and stared at one another.

"Then you will have to take a new family name," Thirukedi said. "I suggest Qevellen."

One must forgive a calligrapher for losing a breath to such a name, for it is rare in these days for anything new to begin with that sound... which meant that Thirukedi had given us an ancient name. Even Kor looked suitably humbled.

"It is a beautiful name," I murmured, ears lowered. "May your servant ask after its pedigree?"

There was no mistaking the hint of humor in His voice then. "The matter would require research. I leave that exercise to you both."

Kor and I glanced at one another before he spoke. "Masuredi, on the matter of children..."

Thirukedi said, "Do you forget your own childhood, Shame? Adopt a few if you will not beget them yourself. And see if your Guardians, who gave up their chance at assignment elsewhere to follow you to the shrine, would like to join Qevellen. Then your new head of household can take them to the Summer Tryst and find them wives, and you will have more than enough children to promulgate the name."

"The new head of household?" I said, still trying to encompass the changes.

"That would be you," Kor said past His legs. "I am too young."

"Me!" I exclaimed, shocked.

"A good choice," Thirukedi told Kor. "You could use someone else to bow your head to."

"Gods and ancestors!" I said, and Kor began laughing.

"So have we settled the matter?" Thirukedi said. "The two of you will form Qevellen, take the house I have set aside for you in the temple district and induct as many of Shame's Guardians into the family as wish to join. Farren Nai'Qevellen-osulkedi will be head of household and make arrangements for those who wish to find mates. And the two of you will consider adoption, if you do not find wives for yourselves."

The longer I listened, the more I liked the arrangement. To be Kor's ajzelin was a great joy; but to also be his head of household gave our relationship more complexity, and Thirukedi was right... I thought he would enjoy deferring to someone else after spending so many years as the only decision-maker in his life. If Thirukedi was encouraging us to take on Kor's entourage, then the house He had in mind was well and again large enough for me to paint in and for us to have all the many sleeping arrangements we would require. And... it would be good... good to have an extended family again. I had missed the laughter of children, and their grave, earnest thoughts.

"I find it agreeable, masuredi," I said. "If my ajzelin does."

"Your ajzelin cannot say no to both master and beloved," Kor said with a smile, and rested his cheek against Thirukedi's knee.

"Then I count my two pots well-mended," Thirukedi said, smiling.

Silently, I reached past His legs for Kor's hand, and felt his fingers twine in mine.

"Masuredi?" I said, tentatively. "If I may ask..."

"Yes?"

"When first I took tea in Your presence," I said, "You asked me for my favorite version of the parable of the broken pot."

"So I recall," He murmured.

"Master, what is yours?" I asked.

Another of those smiles, this one tender and somehow old, dense with too many years. He closed His clear eyes a moment, then lifted His head and said in a voice that gathered us close in that small room: "Reck this. Once there was a pot that served well, and served long. It had some cracks, as was to be expected in a pot of such age and consistent use. It knew those cracks were growing, and feared that it would burst. But that pot continued to serve despite its fears, until one day it broke.

"And then it discovered that in breaking, it was now free... for it could never be broken again."

Silence.

Shame said, very soft, "Master... we cannot possibly be that great of heart."

"That is why we have aspirations," Thirukedi said, gently brushing the hair from Shame's face.

Looking up at Civilization, Shame said, "And when we have attained all our aspirations? What is left then?"

Thirukedi cupped his face in one long hand and smiled. "The attainment of all our aspirations is another form of shattering. And we break so that all that is in us can be given away, given away eternally and completely to others."

"Oh, masuredi," I whispered, reaching for His hand.

How long we remained thus, I cannot say. But in the wake of such a revelation, how could we have moved?

When at last we rose, my knees hurt, and my neck from looking up at Him, and yet none of it mattered. He rose with us, and we bowed to him, and His smile was radiance, like sunlight in spring when new flowers are blooming. It was less dismissal and more as if He was gently parting us from His company, for neither of us wished to go.

On our way out, I stopped at the threshold and said, "Master?"

"Farren," Thirukedi said, grave.

"Seraeda... she meant no harm," I said. "She followed the demands of her ishas."

"I know," He answered, gentle.

"And Haraa—" I paused. "The lord's fathrikedi... what... what is to become of her? You have not said."

"And you wish to know," Thirukedi said. "Do not fear for her, osulkedi. Her ishas will be evaluated and she will be placed where she belongs."

I bowed then and followed Kor out, but not before I noticed the vauni haale that had been sitting across from us on a curved table facing the bench.

In a vase of impeccable Ai-Naidari design... a single black blossom.

The two of us stood together outside the gates, feeling as if we had stepped out of some other world, some more rarified place where time passed in a different manner. For several moments, neither of us spoke.

Then Kor said, "Well... let us see to this property of ours, shinje."