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“My lord?” Evemer managed to choke out. Of all the things—of all the—
Oh. Oh, but then he realized.
Kadou squeezed his eyes shut. “I’morderingyou to do it,” he said, forcing it out like every word was made of thorns that tore at his tongue. “Right now, immediately.”
Kadou was saving his life. Kadou was . . . Oh, clever thing, clever stupid precious thing. Kadou was shielding him under the wing of his protection in the only way he could now. Thetitles. Kadou’s titles. He was giving them to Evemer.
And then it wouldn’t be a lie when the satyota came.
“Yes. Right now,” Evemer echoed. “Immediately.” His mouth had gone dry, and he felt rather dizzy. What were the gods-damned oaths? How was he supposed to remember oaths at a time like this, much less oaths that he had never imagined he’d say to anyone? “By the sea—by the—gods, Kadou, I can’t—”
Kadou seized his hands. His grip was warm and strong. He wasn’t shaking at all.
His own hands were, Evemer noticed distantly.
How could he deserve this? How could he ever possibly hope to repay this kind of loyalty? This was beyond anything that Evemer would have expected from his lord—from any lord, even a perfect one from legend. It was too much.
“I’m not worth this,” he whispered.
“You are,” Kadou whispered back, simply. His eyes were so bright, so infinitely deep, and so incredibly sad. With no hesitation, with a voice that was as clear and steady and assured as anything Evemer had heard from him, he spoke: “By the sea and in the eyes of the Mother and the Lord of Judgment, I declare myself to you. I come to you without distinctions and without glory, without the trifling and meaningless trappings of mortal honors. I come to you as nothing and no one but myself. Take my hands and see that they are empty—I offer you no wealth but that of my heart, and ask for none but that of yours. Hear my words and know that they are true—I swear myself to you and none other.”
“Your hands are empty,” Evemer said, feeling rather faint. “Your words, I know, are true. I take you as you are, as nothing and no one but yourself, without distinctions and without glory.” Polite lies, those, because Kadou’s distinctions and glories were the very reason for doing this. He wanted to sink to his knees and press his forehead to the backs of Kadou’s hands once more, wanted to weep and swear his fealty all over again instead. Empty hands? What nonsense. This was as gifts of gold spilling from Kadou’s hands like waterfalls.
“By the sea and in the eyes of the Mother,” he said, feeling every word of it like a song pulled from his heart,meaningit as he had never meant anything before, even more than any oath he’d ever sworn as a kahya, “I declare myself to you. I come to you without distinctions and without glory, without the trifling and meaningless trappings of mortal honors.” Theyweremeaningless, compared to this. He was daunted by the breadth and depth of this, humbled by the encompassing greatness of it. “I come to you as nothing and no one but myself. Take my hands and see that they are empty—I offer you no wealth but that of my heart, and ask for none but that of yours.” Paltry and base, he knew. The wealth of his heart was meager, a deeply inadequate trade when exchanged for Kadou’s. “Hear my words and know that they are true—I swear myself to you and none other.” This, at least, was true. Beyond true.
“Your hands are empty,” Kadou whispered. “Your words, I know, are true. I take you as you are, as nothing and no one but yourself, without distinctions and without glory.” More polite lies, that, because the very fact of being in this room, taking Kadou’s hands, hearing him speak these words, was an honor Evemer would never have even begun to imagine.
“I name you my consort,” Kadou said then, and Evemer’s heart jerked in his chest all over again. “All that I have or will ever have is yours.” There was supposed to be more, a long and boring script of much drier language, a recitation of law rather than poetry, granting each other shared claim on wealth, assets, holdings, heirs. But Kadou stumbled to a halt, his hands gripping Evemer’s so hard they hurt.
“I don’t have anything,” Evemer whispered. He felt like he’d been shattered. He didn’t know the rest of the script, and perhaps the rest didn’t actually matter. But this, this seemed important. Better to speak truth from the very core of himself, from the basalt foundations of his heart: “But if I did, I’d give all of it to you.”
Kadou huffed a nervous, shaky laugh. “Neither of us brought wedding cloaks to exchange.”
“I’m sorry,” Evemer said, because it was the only thing to say. “I’ll try to be more prepared next time.”
Kadou was supposed to laugh, but he slipped his hands out of Evemer’s. His heart cried out, protesting and forlorn. “I’m sorry too,” Kadou said. He glanced at their captors across the room (squabbling energetically with each other and paying little heed), then stepped forward and laid the lightest, briefest kiss on the corner of Evemer’s mouth. “There. Done. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I had to. Please don’t hate me—I don’t mean to hold you to anything. We’ll undo it as soon as we can.” He stepped back again. “But listen, this is important. These are your titles: Prince of Arast, Duke-Consort of Altinbasi-ili, Lord-Consort of Sirya and Nadirintepe, and Warden-Consort of the Northern Marches. You’re rightfully styled Damat Evemer Hoskadem Mahisti-es Bey Effendi.”
Evemer choked out half a delirious laugh—the full title was something he would have only heard from heralds announcing him to thecourt. A profoundly surreal thought, bordering on absurd.
Kadou continued relentlessly. “Your common-usage address is Prince Evemer. You’re of equal rank with me and anyone Zeliha marries, if she were ever to do so.”
That was . . . dizzying, in the same way as thin mountain air. “Yes, my lord,” he managed.
“Can you remember all that?”
“Yes.” The Northern Marches were his home—the mountains where he’d spent his childhood, where part of his heart still lay. That part was Kadou’s now too.
The door opened and the satyota entered. She was rather short and plump, with long, dead-straight, glossy black hair tied back in a braid. She had dark, wide-set eyes, rich brown skin, plain clothes—a baggy shirt and drawstring trousers in a matching undyed linen that looked rather bed-rumpled—and a deeply annoyed expression. “What is it now? I wasnapping.”
Siranos snapped his fingers at Kadou and Evemer, gesturing them back to the middle of the room. “These two,” he said. “We need to know if they’re lying.”
“Ohh,” said the satyota. “Isthatwhy you summoned a satyota? I thought we were just going to eat cakes.” She heaved a sigh. “Fine, what do you want to know?”
“That one in particular,” Siranos said, jabbing his finger at Evemer. “Is he noble?”
The satyota turned sharply on her heel, pivoting to Evemer so sharply her braid swung out behind her. “What’s your name?” she demanded.
“Evemer,” he replied.
