"I'm not wrong, Adrah. You know I'm not wrong."
"There's a price for doing what you say, do you know that? I loved you
more than I loved anything. My father, my mother, my sisters, anything
or anyone. I did all of this because it was what you wanted."
"And not for any gain of your own? How selfless. Becoming Khai Machi
must be such a chore for you."
"You wouldn't have had me if my ambition didn't match yours," Adrah
said. "What I've become, I've become for you."
"That isn't fair," Idaan said.
Adrah whooped and turned in a wide circle, like a child playing before
an invisible audience.
"Fair! When did this become about fair? When someone finally asked you
to take some responsibility? You made the plans, love. This is yours,
Idaan! All of it's yours, and VOL] won't blame me that you've got to
live with it!"
He was breathing fast now, as if he'd been running, but she could see in
his shoulders and the corners of his mouth that the rage was failing. He
dropped his arms and looked at her. His breath slowed. His face relaxed.
They stood in silence, considering each other for what felt like half a
hand. There was no anger now and no sorrow. He only looked tired and
lost, very young and very old at once. He looked the way she felt. It
was as if the air they both breathed had changed. He was the one to look
away and break the silence.
"You know, love, you never said Cehmai wasn't your lover."
"He is," Idaan said, then shrugged. The battle was over. They were both
too thin now for any more damage to matter. "He has been for a few weeks."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Because he wasn't part of all this. Because he was clean."
"Because he is power, and you're drawn to that more than anything?"
Idaan hit back her first response and let the accusation sit. "Then she
nodded.
"Perhaps a bit of that, yes," she said.
Adrah sighed and leaned against the wall. Slowly, he slid down until he
was sitting on the floor, his arms resting on his knees.
"There is a list of houses and their women," he said. ""There was before
you and Cehmai took tip with each other. I argued against it, but my
father said it was just as an exercise. Just in case it was needed
later. Only tell me ... today, when he came ... you didn't ... the two
of you didn't ..."
Idaan laughed again, but this was a lower sound, gentler.
"No, I haven't lain down for another man in your house, Adrah-kya. I
can't say why I think that would be worse than what I have done, but I do."
Adrah nodded. She could see another question in the way he shifted his
eyes, the way he moved his hands. They had been lovers and conspirators
for years. She knew him as if he were her family, or a distant part of
herself. It didn't make her love him, but she remembered when she had.
"The first time I kissed you, you looked so frightened," she said. "Do
you remember that? It was the middle of winter, and we'd all gone
skating. "There must have been twenty of us. We all raced, and you won."
"And you kissed me for the prize," he said. "Noichi Vausadar was chewing
his own tongue, he was so jealous of me."
"Poor Noichi. I half did it to annoy him, you know."
"And the other half?"
"Because I wanted to," she said. "And then it was weeks before you came
hack for another."
"I was afraid you'd laugh at me. I went to sleep every night thinking
about you, and woke up every morning just as possessed. Can you imagine
only being afraid that someone would laugh at you?"
"Now? No."
"Do you remember the night we both went to the inn. With the little dog
out front?"
"The one that danced when the keep played flute? Yes."
Idaan smiled. It had been a tiny animal with gray hair and soft, dark
eyes. It had seemed so delighted, rearing up on its hind legs and
capering, small paws waving for balance. It had seemed happy. She wiped
away the tear before it could mar her kohl, then remembered that her
eyes were only her eyes now. In her mind, the tiny dog leapt and looked
at her. It had been so happy and so innocent. She pushed her own heart
out toward that memory, pleading with the cold world that the pup was
somewhere out there, still safe and well, trusting and loved as it had
been that day. She didn't bother wiping the tears away now.
"We were other people then," she said.
They were silent again. After a moment, Idaan went to sit on the floor
beside Adrah. I Ic put his arm across her shoulder, and she leaned into
him, weeping silently for too many things for one mind to hold. He
didn't speak until the worst of the tears had passed.
"Do they bother you?" he asked at last, his voice low and hoarse.
"Who?"
"'I'hem," he said, and she knew. She heard the sound of the arrow again,
and shivered.
"Yes," she said.
"Do you know what's funny? It isn't your father who haunts me. It should
be, I know. He was helpless, and I went there knowing what I was going
to do. But he isn't the one."
Idaan frowned, trying to think who else there had been. Adrah saw her
confusion and smiled, as if confirming something for himself. Perhaps
only that she hadn't known some part of him, that his life was something
different from her own.
"When we went in for the assassin, Oshal. There was a guard. I hit him.
With a blade. It split his jaw. I can still see it. Have you ever swung
a thin bar of iron into hard snow? It felt just like that. A hard, fast
arc and then something that both gave way and didn't. I remember how it
sounded. And afterward, you wouldn't touch me."
"Adrah ..."
He raised his hands, stopping anything that might have been sympathy.
Idaan swallowed it. She had no right to pardon him.
"Men do this," Adrah said. "All over the world, in every land, men do
this. They slaughter each other over money or sex or power. The Khaiem
do it to their own families. I never wondered how. Even now, I can't
imagine it. I can't imagine doing the things I've done, even after I've
done them. Can you?"
"There's a price they pay," Idaan said. "The soldiers and the armsmen.
Even the thugs and drunkards who carve each other up outside comfort
houses. They pay a price, and we're paying it too. That's all."
She felt him sigh.
"I suppose you're right," he said.
"So what do we do from here? What about Otah?"
Adrah shrugged, as if the answer were obvious.
"If Maati Vaupathai's set himself to be Otah's champion, Otah will
eventually come to him. And Cehmai's already shown that there's one
person in the world he'll break his silence for."
"I want Cehmai kept out of this."
"It's too late for that," Adrah said. His voice should have been cold or
angry or cruel, and perhaps those were in him. Mostly, he sounded
exhausted. "He's the only one who can lead us to Otah Machi. And you're
the only one he'll tell."
PORSHA RADAANI GESTURED TOWARD MAA'I'I'S BOWL, AND A SERVANT BOY moved
forward, graceful as a dancer, to refill it. Maati took a pose of
gratitude toward the man. There were times and places that he would have
thanked the servant, but this was not one of them. Maati lifted the bowl
and blew across the surface. The pale green-yellow tea smelled richly of
rice and fresh, unsmoked leaves. Radaani laced thick fingers over his
wide belly and smiled. His eyes, sunk deep in their sockets and padded
by generous fat, glittered like wet stones in a brook.
"I confess, Maati-cha, that I hadn't expected a visit from the Daikvo's
envoy. I've had men from every major house in the city here to talk with
me these last few days, but the most high Dai-kvo usually keeps clear of
these messy little affairs."
Maati sipped his tea though it was still too hot. He had to be careful
how he answered this. It was a fine line between letting it be assumed
that he had the Dai-kvo's hacking and actually saying as much, but that
difference was critical. He had so far kept away from anything that
might reach hack to the Dal-kvo's village, but Radaani was an older man
than Ghiah Vaunani or Admit Kamati. And he seemed more at home with the
bullying attitude of wealth than the subtleties of court. Maati put down
his bowl.
"The Dai-kvo isn't taking a hand in it," Nlaati said, "but that hardly
means he should embrace ignorance. The better he knows the world, the
better he can direct the poets to everyone's benefit, nc?"
"Spoken like a man of the court," Radaani said, and despite the smile in
his voice, Maati didn't think it had been a compliment.
"I have heard that the Radaani might have designs on the Khai's chair,"
Maati said, dropping the oblique path he had intended. It would have
done no good here. "Is that the case?"
Radaani smiled and pointed for the servant boy to go. The boy dropped
into a formal pose and retreated, sliding the door closed behind him.
Maati sat, smiling pleasantly, but not filling the silence. It was a
small room, richly appointed-wood varnished until it seemed to glow and
ornaments of worked gold and carved stone. The windows were adorned with
shutters of carved cedar so fine that they let the breeze in and kept
the birds and insects out even as they scented the air. Radaani tilted
his head, distant eyes narrowing. Maati felt like a gem being valued by
a merchant.
"I have one son in Yalakeht, overseeing our business interests. I have a
grandson who has recently learned how to sing and jump sticks at the
same time. I can't see that either of them would be. well suited to the
Khai's chair. I would have to either abandon my family's business or put
a child in power over the city."
"Certainly there must be some financial advantages to being the Khai
Machi," Maati said. "I can't think it would hurt your family to exchange
your work in Yalakcht to join the Khaiem."
"Then you haven't spoken to my overseers," Radaani laughed. "We are
pulling in more gold from the ships in Yalakeht and Chaburi-Tan than the
Khai Machi can pull out of the ground, even with the andat. No. If I
want power, I can purchase it and not have to compromise anything.
Besides, I have six or eight daughters I'd be happy for the new Khai to
marry. He could have one for every day of the week."
"You could take the chair for yourself," Maati said. "You're not so old...."
"And I'm not so young as to be that stupid. Here, Vaupathai, let me lay
this out for you. I am old, gouty as often as not, and rich. I have what
I want from life, and being the Khai Maehi would mean that if I were
lucky, my grandsons would be slitting each other's throats. I don't want
that for them, and I don't want the trouble of running a city for
myself. Other men want it, and they can have it. None of them will cross
me, and I will support whoever takes the name."
"So you have no preference," Maati said.
"Now I didn't go so far as to say that, did I? Why does the Dai-kvo care
which of its becomes the Khai?"
"He doesn't. But that doesn't mean he's uninterested."
""Then let him wait two weeks, and he can have the name. It doesn't
figure. Dither he has a favorite or ... or is this about your belly
getting opened for you?" Radaani pursed his lips, his eyes darting back
and forth over Maati's face. "I'he upstart's dead, so it isn't that. You
think someone was working with Otah Machi? That one of the houses was
backing him?"
"I didn't go so far as to say that, did I? And even if they were, it's
no concern of the Dai-kvo's," Maati said.
""lrue, but no one tried to fish-gut the Dai-kvo. Could it be, Maaticha,
that you're here on your own interest?"
"You give me too much credit," Maati said. "I'm only a simple man trying
to make sense of complex times."
"Yes, aren't we all," Radaani said with an expression of distaste.
Mlaati kept the rest of the interview to empty niceties and social
forms, and left with the distinct feeling that he'd given out more
information than he'd gathered. Chewing absently at his inner lip, he
turned west, away from the palaces and out into the streets of the city.
The pale mourning cloth was coming down already, and the festival colors
were going back up for the marriage of Adrah Vaunyogi and Idaan Machi.