Free The Silver Lake by Fiona Patton

true bey: Neclan, Senior Abayos-Priest at Oristo-Sarayi—the Hearth God’s people took all Assemblies very seriously. A gaunt woman, whose features generally lent themselves to expressions of disapproval, Bey Neclan’s face seemed particularly lined this morning, her stiff posture revealing both annoyance and suspicion. As Jaq padded over to stuff his nose under the scribe’s arm and Kemal took his own seat, she looked down her long, thin nose at him.
    “You’re late,” she noted coldly. “Even Havo’s temple has seen fit to send someone on time.”
    “Havo’s temple is indeed most devout in their civic duty, Sayin,” Kemal agreed, ignoring the reproof. “Yusef, isn’t it?”
    His hands wrapped tightly about a porcelain teacup, Havo’s delinkos smiled painfully back at him.
    “My seniors send their regrets, Sayin. They are ... indisposed this morning.”
    “You mean hung over,” Neclan sniffed.
    “Yes, Sayin. This First Night was a wild one within Havo-Sarayi as well as without.” Starting slightly, he reached down as Jaq, finished with the scribe, thrust his nose into his lap. “Um, good dog, please move.”
    Aurad, one of Ystazia’s master musicians, leaned his heavily muscled forearms on the table. “Shall I send some drummers over to keep time with the beating in their skulls?” he asked with an evil grin.
    Yusef laughed carefully. “If it were up to me, I would say, yes, please. I was drafted to help Tahir-Sayin up a rickety flight of minaret stairs this morning and she puked on my shoes.”
    “Then she deserves drummers; I’ll see to it.”
    “No, you won’t.” Jemil, Usara’s representative turned a firm stare on both of them. Of medium height and build with thinning light brown hair and smooth, fluidly androgynous features, the bi-gender physician to the God of Healing was not an imposing figure, but nonetheless, Ystazia’s proxy-bey shrugged sheepishly.
    “I was only joking ...”
    Jemil raised one arched eyebrow.
    “Mostly. Physicians, no sense of humor,” Aurad muttered, winking at Neclan.
    “Musicians, no sense of propriety,” she retorted.
    Jemil raised a hand to forestall further argument. “Dorn, more tea for everyone please. No, Jaq, I do not have anything for you. Please remove your head from my knee.”
    As the dog shuffled away, Kemal glanced at the empty place at the head of the table. “Don’t tell me Incasa’s people are hung over as well,” he asked, accepting a cup from the steward. “Their festival was months ago.”
    “Maybe they couldn’t wait,” Aurad chuckled. “Get your nose out of there, Jaq.”
    “I imagine their representative is merely late as well. The streets are treacherous this morning,” Jemil surmised.
    The musician leaned across the table. “Ten aspers says it’s Bessic,” he offered Kemal in a loud stage whisper. “He wouldn’t miss the chance to attend Assembly.”
    “Done. He hates being out in poor weather.”
    “But he’s ambitious and what other day could we expect Freyiz-Sayin to be absent?”
    “Point.”
    “An unseemly point,” Neclan snapped peevishly. “Incasa-Sarayi will send whoever is appropriate to their God’s desire. Down, Jaq.” She shoved the dog’s head away. “Kemal, control your animal or leave him outside.”
    “Jaq, come.”
    The dog sighed deeply and, having ascertained that no one at the table would feed him, obeyed, slumping against Kemal’s leg with a disconsolate expression.
    Aurad grinned. Opening his mouth to say something else guaranteed to annoy Neclan again, he was interrupted as Freyiz, Incasa’s First Oracle and Anavatan’s most senior bey, entered the room on the arm of a delinkos. As one, the Assembly rose in surprise.
    No one knew how long Freyiz had served at Incasa’s temple; she’d been the God of Prophecy’s most favored seer for as long as anyone there could remember. Slight and frail, her body bent, and her hair as well as her eyes long ago turned white from the strength