Shadow and Betrayal

the Khai said, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. ‘I love them all. Very dearly. I cannot tell you how deeply I miss Biitrah.’
    ‘Had you known him, you would have loved Otah as well.’
    ‘You think so? Certainly you knew him better than I. I can’t think he would have thought well of me,’ the Khai said. Then, ‘Did you go back? After you took your robes? Did you go to see your parents?’
    ‘My father was very old when I went to the school,’ Maati said. ‘He died before I completed my training. We did not know each other.’
    ‘So you have never had a family.’
    ‘I have, most high,’ Maati said, fighting to keep the tightness in his chest from changing the tone of his voice. ‘A lover and a son. I had a family once.’
    ‘But no longer. They died?’
    ‘They live. Only not with me.’
    The Khai considered him, bloodshot eyes blinking slowly. With his thin, wrinkled skin, he reminded Maati of a very old turtle or else a very young bird. The Khai’s gaze softened, his brows tilting in understanding and sorrow.
    ‘It is never easy for fathers,’ the Khai said. ‘Perhaps if the world had needed less from us.’
    Maati waited a long moment until he trusted his voice.
    ‘Perhaps, most high.’
    The Khai exhaled a breath of gray, his gaze trapped by the smoke.
    ‘It isn’t the world I knew when I was young,’ the old man said. ‘Everything changed when Saraykeht fell.’
    ‘The Khai Saraykeht has a poet,’ Maati said. ‘He has the power of the andat.’
    ‘It took the Dai-kvo eight years and six failed bindings,’ the Khai said. ‘And every time word came of another failure, I could see it in the faces of the court. The utkhaiem may put on proud faces, but I’ve seen the fear that swims under that ice. And you were there. You said so in the audience when I greeted you.’
    ‘Yes, most high.’
    ‘But you didn’t say everything you knew,’ the Khai said. ‘Did you?’
    The yellowed eyes fixed on Maati. The intelligence in them was unnerving. Maati felt himself squirming, and wondering what had happened to the melancholy dying man he’d been speaking with only moments before.
    ‘I . . . that is . . .’
    ‘There were rumors that the poet’s death was more than an angry east island girl’s revenge. The Galts were mentioned.’
    ‘And Eddensea,’ Maati said. ‘And Eymond. There was no end of accusation, most high. Some even believed what they charged. When the cotton trade collapsed, a great number of people lost a great amount of money. And prestige.’
    ‘They lost more than that,’ the Khai said, leaning forward and stabbing at the air with the stem of his pipe. ‘The money, the trade. The standing among the cities. They don’t signify. Saraykeht was the death of certainty . They lost the conviction that the Khaiem would hold the world at bay, that war would never come to Saraykeht. And we lost it here too.’
    ‘If you say so, most high.’
    ‘The priests say that something touched by chaos is never made whole,’ the Khai said, sinking back into his cushions. ‘Do you know what they mean by that, Maati-cha?’
    ‘I have some idea,’ Maati said, but the Khai went on.
    ‘It means that something unthinkable can only happen once. Because after that, it’s not unthinkable any longer. We’ve seen what happens when a city is touched by chaos. And now it’s in the back of every head in every court in all the cities of the Khaiem.’
    Maati frowned and leaned forward.
    ‘You think Cehmai-cha is in some danger?’
    ‘What?’ the Khai said, then waved the thought away, stirring the smoky air. ‘No. Not that. I think my city is at risk. I think Otah . . . my upstart son . . .’
    He’s forgiven you , a voice murmured in the back of Maati’s mind. The voice of Seedless, the andat of Saraykeht. They were the words the andat had spoken to Maati in the instant before Heshai’s death had freed it.
    It had been speaking of Otah.
    ‘I’ve called you here for a reason, Maati-cha,’ the Khai said, and Maati pulled his attention back to the present. ‘I didn’t care to speak of it around those who would use it to fuel gossip. Your inquiry into Biitrah’s death. You must move more quickly.’
    ‘Even with the truce?’
    ‘Yes, even at the price of my sons returning to their tradition. If I die without a successor chosen - especially if Danat and Kaiin are still gone to ground - there will be chaos. The families of the utkhaiem start thinking that perhaps they would