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She had been constrained to nothing but mundane, human sight for several years, but Cyradis had no need of her second sight to know what irked her husband as he stomped through their rooms. Fingers pausing in their steady movement of needle and thread as she embroidered a wide band around the collar of a shirt, she tipped her head and gave a quick look to the white and black cat sleeping in front of the fire.
"What was it this time?" she asked in a low voice. "Another one of his rings? A brooch? A cloak pin?"
The cat stretched, all four limbs extended to full length, and rolled onto her back, front paws dangling over her chest.
"Nazli," Cyradis said. "What did you take?"
The very tip of Nazli's tail quivered, but the cat gave no other indication that Cyradis had even been heard.
Cyradis shook her head, the tiniest smile curling her lips, and returned her attention to her needlecraft. Her stitches were uneven, and she still wasn't entirely certain that the colors she'd chosen went together, but she acknowledged that she hadn't been embroidering for long. It wouldn't matter to Zakath in any case. She could make a shirt out of sailcloth and uncarded wool and he would wear it with pride and love, because she had made it for him.
She filled in two leaves and started on a third, her eyes steadfast on the fabric and thread as Zakath stomped into the room.
"Where is it?" he demanded.
"Where is what?" Cyradis replied serenely.
"I wasn't talking to you."
Cyradis arched a brow without looking up from her embroidery. Imperiousness was a hard habit to break, and though Zakath had softened considerably since the final EVENT, the Dread Emperor of Boundless Mallorea occasionally reared his head again.
Fortunately, Zakath had become much better at recognizing those moments.
Zakath coughed, a thread of self-awareness in the sound, and his voice softened. "That ... didn't come out right."
"It didn't. But you noticed, and that counts for a great deal."
Zakath sighed, and Cyradis watched from under her lashes as he ruffled his dark hair, stepped closer to the fireplace, and stared down at the cat. "Nazli," he said. "Where is it?"
Nazli stretched languorously, back legs extended and little toes spread wide, then twisted herself into a crescent, eyes and paws crossed.
"If you tell me what you're missing," Cyradis said, "I can help you find it."
"I want the cat to tell me."
Cyradis allowed herself a small laugh. "Unless you have taken up sorcery along with your other hobbies, I doubt you'll be able to communicate with her."
As if to prove Cyradis wrong, Nazli stood, back arched and tail quivering, then twined around and between Zakath's ankles. She strolled to the open arch leading to their walled garden, stopped, and half-twisted to look at them, uttering a single, very pointed, meow.
Zakath held his hand out and Cyradis set aside her embroidery, laying her fingers across his palm as she rose. She collected a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her eyes from the bright sun, then she and Zakath followed Nazli through the arch and into the garden.
Cyradis had wanted flowers and bushes and trees much closer to the house; Zakath had insisted that he would not have places for assassins and thieves to hide. Her desire to have nature close at hand warred with Zakath's desire to keep her safe. After several rather vociferous arguments and an appeal to Eriond for mediation, they had compromised on tall stone walls and the light touch of the God of the Angaraks to protect the garden.
Perhaps a little less light than he'd claimed, Cyradis thought, looking at the riot of colorful blooms around them. They'd had to take on a dozen gardeners and assistants to handle the inexplicable explosion of growth after Eriond's visit.
Nazli strolled ahead of them, looking back every few paces to ensure they were still following, and led them into the shadows of a small copse of fragrant trees. Tucked among the roots of one was a trove of little objects: rings, brooches, feathers, buttons, and more. Cyradis spotted a woolen sock, a piece of linen, and a bright red ribbon that had caused one of the kitchen maids to fret over its loss.
"I knew it," Zakath said with satisfaction. He crouched down and plucked a small necklace, a string of amber beads, from the collection. "This was meant for Garion's newest daughter, you little thief."
Nazli chirped and rubbed her cheek against his leg, then sauntered deeper into the copse. Zakath gathered the more expensive objects from Nazli's trove, tucked them into his tunic, and started to rise, but Cyradis put her hand on his shoulder.
"Wait," she whispered. "I thought I heard—" She closed her eyes and tipped her head, listening. Nazli's muffled meow came to her ears, and after several heartbeats, she heard a second meow.
A different meow.
Cyradis opened her eyes and watched with delight as Nazli returned from behind the tree, trailed by another cat. The second cat was a deep amber color, striped in dark bands, with eyes so green they looked like emeralds.
"Oh," Cyradis murmured, slowly sinking to her knees. "Hello, lovely." She held out her hand.
Nazli bumped her fingers and looked to the new cat, who approached cautiously. It stretched out its neck, whiskers pricked forward, and gave the air in front of her fingers a careful sniff.
"Nazli," Zakath said quietly. "You made a friend. And apparently gave him several presents. Are you courting him?"
"Him?" Cyradis asked, watching raptly as the new cat edged closer to her hand.
"I have an excellent view. He is most definitely male."
Cyradis smiled. "A new friend, and possibly a mate. Well done, Nazli. What shall we name him?"
Zakath laughed quietly. "So I take it I get no say in adopting a new cat into my household? What if I didn't want another one?"
"Pretend protests won't work on me," Cyradis replied. "I know you too well, Zakath. You grumble and fuss and complain, and yet you're the first one to drop tidbits under the table for Nazli. I've seen you hold entire audiences with her on your lap, silently daring the nobles and supplicants to say one word about her presence, and she's only the latest in a long line of cats and kittens that you have pampered enough to rival a Nyissan eunuch. Admit it. You're already planning where to put a soft bed for him."
Zakath faked a sigh. "No," he said. "I was planning on a much larger bed for him and Nazli to share." He looked down at the pair of cats. "Though I suspect the both of you will end up sleeping on our bed regardless."
Nazli gave him an expression of such patent innocence that Cyradis had to cover her mouth to keep from startling the cats with her laugh.
The amber-colored cat touched noses with Nazli before slinking forward to put one paw on Cyradis' knee. He gave a low and croaking meow, then abruptly reared on his back legs and shoved the top of his head into her chin. He rubbed her jaw, almost violently, and slumped against her chest. Cyradis barely had time to get both arms around him before he relaxed into a drooping mass of fur and thunderous purrs.
Nazli chirped and climbed up Zakath's back, ignoring his pained winces. She perched on his shoulder, licked his ear, and yowled triumphantly.
Zakath's next sigh was in no way false, and he carefully got to his feet. "I see a Choice has been made," he said. "Bring him home, Cyradis."