“What is it thou doest here, Asra?”
Fidá bent his head. “Mighty lord, I prayed.”
The Rajah smiled slightly, lifted one of his hands to the curtain beside him, grasped it, and settled into an easier position. “Thou art not a good servant, Asra,” he observed at last.
“It has not hitherto been my place to serve, O King.”
There was another pause, while the Rajah’s eyes travelled around the room. “Thou hast slept here?”
“Yes.”
“And why? Knowest thou not the house of slaves?”
For a second Fidá hesitated. Then he answered, “Too well I knew it, Lord Rajah.”
“What sayest thou?”
“Thou, O King—wouldst thou lie among the base born?”