Shadow and Betrayal

library. And now your price may be going away.’
    Will your support go, too? The unasked question hung in the chill air. If the Galts could not have what they wanted from Adrah and Idaan and the books of Machi, would the support for this mad, murderous scheme remain? Idaan felt her heart tripping over faster, half hoping that the answer might be no.
    ‘It is the business of a poet to concern himself with ancient texts,’ Oshai said. ‘If a poet were to come to Machi and not avail himself of its library, that would be odd. This coincidence of timing is of interest. But it’s not yet a cause for alarm.’
    ‘He’s looking into the death of Biitrah. He’s been down to the mines. He’s asking questions.’
    ‘About what?’ Oshai said. The smile was gone.
    She told him all she knew, from the appearance of the poet to his interest in the court and high families, the low towns and the mines. She recounted the parties at which he had asked to be introduced, and to whom. The name he kept mentioning - Itani Noygu . The way in which his interest in the ascension of the next Khai Machi seemed to be more than academic. She ended with the tale she’d heard of his visit to the Daikani mines and to the wayhouse where her brother had died at Oshai’s hands. When she was finished, neither man spoke. Adrah looked stricken. Oshai, merely thoughtful. At length, the assassin took a pose of gratitude.
    ‘You were right to call me, Idaan-cha,’ he said. ‘I doubt the poet knows precisely what he’s looking for, but that he’s looking at all is bad enough.’
    ‘What do we do?’ Adrah said. The desperation in his voice made Oshai look up like a hunting dog hearing a bird.
    ‘ You do nothing, most high,’ Oshai said. ‘Neither you nor the great lady does anything. I will take care of this.’
    ‘You’ll kill him,’ Idaan said.
    ‘If it seems the best course, I may . . .’
    Idaan took a pose appropriate to correcting a servant. Oshai’s words faded.
    ‘I was not asking, Oshai-cha. You’ll kill him.’
    The assassin’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but then something like amusement flickered at the corners of his mouth and the glimmer of candlelight in his eyes grew warmer. He seemed to weigh something in his mind, and then took a pose of acquiescence. Idaan lowered her hands.
    ‘Will there be anything else, most high?’ Oshai asked without taking his gaze from her.
    ‘No,’ Adrah said. ‘That will be all.’
    ‘Wait half a hand after I’ve gone,’ Oshai said. ‘I can explain myself, and the two of you together borders on the self-evident. All three would be difficult.’
    And with that, he vanished. Idaan looked at the sky doors. She was tempted to open them again, just for a moment. To see the land and sky laid out before her.
    ‘It’s odd, you know,’ she said. ‘If I had been born a man, they would have sent me away to the school. I would have become a poet or taken the brand. But instead, they kept me here, and I became what they’re afraid of. Kaiin and Danat are hiding from the brother who has broken the traditions and come back to kill them for the chair. And here I am. I am Otah Machi. Only they can’t see it.’
    ‘I love you, Idaan-kya.’
    She smiled because there was nothing else to do. He had heard the words, but understood nothing. It would have meant as much to talk to a dog. She took his hand in hers, laced her fingers with his.
    ‘I love you too, Adrah-kya. And I will be happy once we’ve done all this and taken the chair. You’ll be the Khai Machi, and I will be your wife. We’ll rule the city together, just as we always planned, and everything will be right again. It’s been half a hand by now. We should go.’
    They parted in one of the night gardens, he to the east and his family compound, and she to the south, to her own apartments, and past them and west to the tree-lined path that led to the poet’s house. If the shutters were closed, if no light shone but the night candle, she told herself she wouldn’t go in. But the lanterns were lit brightly, and the shutters open. She paced quietly through the grounds, peering in through windows, until she caught the sound of voices. Cehmai’s soft and reasonable, and then another. A man’s, loud and full of a rich self-importance. Baarath, the librarian. Idaan found a tree with low branches and deep shadows and sat, waiting with as much patience as she could muster, and silently willing the man away. The full moon was halfway