Shadow and Betrayal

scandals - diseased cotton in the northern fields; a dyer who killed himself after losing a year’s wages gambling; Liat’s old overseer Amat Kyaan breaking with her house in favor of a business of her own in the soft quarter. The petty life-and-death battles of the sons of the Khaiem.
    And so what had seemed of critical importance at the time proved empty now that it was done. And his own personal journey had achieved little more. He could go, if he chose, to speak to Muhatia-cha this afternoon. Perhaps House Wilsin would take him back on to complete his indenture. Or there were other places in the city, work he could do that would pay for his food and shelter. The world was open before him. He could even have taken the letter from Orai Vaukheter and taken work as a courier if it weren’t for Liat, and for Maati, and the life he’d built as Itani Noyga.
    He ate strips of dried apple and plum, chewing the sweet flesh slowly as he thought and noticing the subtlety of the flavors as they changed. It wasn’t so bad a life, Itani Noyga’s. His work was simple, straightforward. He was good at it. With only a little more effort, he could find a position with a trading house, or the seafront authority, or any of a hundred places that would take a man with numbers and letters and an easy smile. And half a year ago, he would have thought it enough. Otah or Itani. It was still the question.
    ‘You’re up,’ a soft voice said. ‘And the men of the house are still out. That’s good. We have things to talk about, you and I.’
    Seedless leaned against a bookshelf, his arms crossed and his dark eyes considering. Otah popped the last sliver of plum into his mouth and took a pose of greeting appropriate for someone of low station to a member of the utkhaiem. There was, so far as he knew, no etiquette appropriate for a common laborer to an andat. Seedless waved the pose away and flowed forward, his robes - blue and black - hissing cloth against cloth.
    ‘Otah Machi,’ the andat said. ‘Otah Unbranded. The man too wise to be a poet and too stupid to take the brand. And here you are.’
    Otah met the glittering black gaze and felt the flush in his face. His words were ready, his hands already halfway to a pose of denial. Something in the perfect pale mask of a face stopped him. He lowered his arms.
    ‘Good,’ Seedless said, ‘I was hoping we might dispense with that part. We’re a little short of time just now.’
    ‘How did you find out?’
    ‘I listened. I lied. The normal things anyone would do who wanted to know something hidden. You’ve seen Liat?’
    ‘Not yet, no.’
    ‘You know what happened to her, though? The tiles?’
    ‘Maati told me.’
    ‘It wasn’t an accident,’ the andat said. ‘They were thrown.’
    Otah frowned, aware that Seedless was peering at him, reading his expressions and movement. He forced himself to remain casual.
    ‘Was it you?’
    ‘Me? Gods, no,’ Seedless said, sitting on a couch, his legs tucked up beneath him like they were old friends chatting. ‘In the first place I wouldn’t have done it. In the second, I wouldn’t have missed. No, it was Marchat Wilsin and his men.’
    Otah leaned forward, letting the smile he felt show on his face. The andat didn’t move, even to breathe.
    ‘You know there’s no sane reason that I should believe anything you say.’
    ‘True,’ the andat said. ‘But hear me out first, and then you can disbelieve my little story entirely instead of just one bit at a time.’
    ‘There’s no reason Wilsin-cha would want to hurt Liat.’
    ‘Yes, there is. His sins are creeping back to kill him, you see. That little incident with the island girl and her dead get? It was more than it seemed. Listen carefully when I say this. It’s the kind of thing men are killed for knowing, so it’s worth paying attention. The High Council of Galt arranged that little mess. Wilsin-cha helped. Amat Kyaan - his overseer - found out and is dedicating what’s left of her life to prying the whole sordid thing open like it was shellfish. Wilsin-cha in his profoundly finite wisdom is cleaning up anything that might be of use to Amat-cha. Including Liat.’
    Otah took a pose of impatience and stood, looking for his cloak.
    ‘I’ve had enough of this . . .’
    ‘I know who you are, boy. Sit back down or I’ll end all your choices for you, and you can spend the rest of your life running from your brothers over a chair you don’t even want to sit in.’
    Otah