Free The Killing Moon (Dreamblood) by N. K. Jemisin Page B

that niggling familiarity. “Doubtless she will find others who have need of her skills.”
    “And you have no need? How old are you?”
    “I have seen sixteen floods.”
    The man smiled. “Then you have need, young Gatherer! Does it trouble you that you could ease those needs right now, if not for your oath? Or are you hoping you still can, if you catch her in some discreet place along the way home?”
    His words were offensive, and he knew it. Nijiri could see that in the man’s smile. For a moment he was flustered. He should, as one sworn to Hananja, remind the man of his vows—but a highcaste might take that as an implication of ignoranceor stupidity. And yet to say nothing would make Nijiri faithless to Her… He wavered in indecision, his stomach knotting.
    “We all have such needs, my lord. But directing them toward the service of Hananja is the sacrifice we of the Hetawa offer every day, with great joy.”
    The Gatherer Rabbaneh stepped out of the milling throng, his face carved into its usual smile, a cup in one hand. Before Nijiri could register relief, Rabbaneh handed his cup to Nijiri and dropped smoothly to one knee, crossing both arms before his face and turning his palms outward as if to shield himself from a blinding glare. A manuflection; Nijiri had heard of the custom from his Teachers, but never seen it performed outside of lessons. It was the highest gesture of respect, offered only to those specially marked by the gods—
    Dream of Inunru!
    The strange man—
the Prince of Gujaareh—
laughed good-naturedly at the look of horror on Nijiri’s face, then waved a hand at Rabbaneh. “Stop that. I put aside the Aureole so I could walk among my people for a while without all that foolishness.”
    Rabbaneh rose and adopted the more traditional bow of respect instead. He was still smiling as he straightened. “You must forgive me, my lord. I meant only to model the proper behavior for Nijiri. His actions reflect upon the whole Hetawa now, and especially my path.”
    “Oh, he was perfectly polite, Rabbaneh. A credit to his Teachers.”
    “Thank you, my lord,” Nijiri said. To his great relief he did not stammer, though he could not have vouched for the volumeor pitch of his voice in that moment. He quickly bowed over his free hand, not trusting himself to manuflect without falling over. His hands shook so badly that Rabbaneh’s drink sloshed and splashed in its cup. Rabbaneh reached over and deftly plucked the cup away before Nijiri could stain his robe.
    “Nijiri.” The Prince seemed to mull over the name. “Too pale to be shunha, too humble for zhinha. Were you common-born?”
    “My lord.” Rabbaneh smiled in a gentle reprimand even as Nijiri opened his mouth to say, “Yes.” To Nijiri’s surprise, the Prince chuckled.
    “Oh fine, fine. You priests.” He stepped closer, and Nijiri nearly started as the Prince reached up to take his chin between two fingers. “You’re a fine-looking boy. It’s a good thing your birth-caste no longer applies, whatever it was. You might have been sold in marriage to some wealthy, influential widow—or if you were lowcaste, someone would have made a pleasure-servant of you.” He ran a thumb over Nijiri’s lips and this time Nijiri did start in spite of himself, though he mastered the reflex to pull away in time. The Prince smiled, his eyes narrowing in amusement. Then—to Nijiri’s intense relief—he let go.
    “Sonta-i is your mentor?”
    “Ehiru, my lord.”
    “Ehiru?” The Prince’s eyebrows rose in impressive arches—though strangely, Nijiri had the sense that he was not surprised at all. “He’s not the seniormost.”
    Rabbaneh coughed into one hand. “My lord, Hetawa matters…”
    “Ah yes. Bad manners again. Do not take me as an exampleof proper behavior, Nijiri. Old men take more liberties than young men can get away with.” He tilted his head in a self-mocking bow. “Another time, Gatherer-Apprentice.”
    With that, the Prince