Shadow and Betrayal

wasn’t time to reapply it. She pushed back a stray lock of hair and stormed out.
    The servant girl took a pose of apology as Idaan approached her. She wore the colors of her father’s personal retinue, and Idaan’s heart sank to her belly. He had died. It had happened. But the girl was smiling, her eyes bright.
    ‘What’s happened?’ Idaan demanded.
    ‘Everything,’ the girl said. ‘You’re summoned to the court. The Khai is calling everyone.’
    ‘Why? What’s happened?’
    ‘I’m not to say, Idaan-cha,’ the girl said.
    Idaan felt the rage-blood in her face as if she were standing near a fire. She didn’t think, didn’t plan. Her body seemed to move of its own accord as she slid forward and clapped her hand on the servant girl’s throat and pressed her to the wall. There was shock in the girl’s expression, and Idaan sneered at it. Adrah fluttered like a bird in the corner of her vision.
    ‘Say,’ Idaan said. ‘Because I asked you twice, tell me what’s happened. And do it now.’
    ‘The upstart,’ the girl said. ‘They’ve caught him.’
    Idaan stepped back, dropping her hand. The girl’s eyes were wide. The air of excitement and pleasure was gone. Adrah put a hand on Idaan’s shoulder, and she pushed it away.
    ‘He was here,’ the girl said. ‘In the palaces. The visiting poet caught him, and they’re bringing him before the Khai.’
    Idaan licked her lips. Otah Machi was here. He had been here for the gods only knew how long. She looked at Adrah, but his expression spoke of an uncertainty and surprise as deep as her own. And a fear that wasn’t entirely about their conspiracy.
    ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
    ‘Choya,’ the girl said.
    Idaan took a pose of abject apology. It was more than a member of the utkhaiem would have normally presented to a servant, but Idaan felt her guilt welling up like blood from a cut.
    ‘I am very sorry, Choya-cha. I was wrong to—’
    ‘But that isn’t all,’ the servant girl said. ‘A courier came this morning from Tan-Sadar. He’d been riding for three weeks. Kaiin Machi is dead. Your brother Danat killed him, and he’s coming back. The courier guessed he might be a week behind him. Danat Machi’s going to be the new Khai Machi. And Idaan-cha, he’ll be back in the city in time for your wedding!’

7
    O n one end, the chain ended at a cube of polished granite the color of soot that stood as high as a man’s waist. On the other, it linked to a rough iron collar around Otah’s neck. Sitting with his back to the stone - the chain was not so long that he could stand - Otah remembered seeing a brown bear tied to a pole in the main square of a low town outside Tan-Sadar. Dogs had been set upon it three at a time, and with each new wave, the men had wagered on which animal would survive.
    Armsmen stood around him with blades drawn and leather armor, stationed widely enough apart to allow anyone who wished it a good view of the captive. Beyond them, the representatives of the utkhaiem in fine robes and ornate jewelry crowded the floor and two tiers of the balconies that rose up to the base of the domed ceiling far above him. The dais before him was empty. Otah wondered what would happen if he should need to empty his bladder. It seemed unlikely that they would let him piss on the fine parquet floor, but neither could he imagine being led away decorously. He tried to picture what they saw, this mob of nobility, when they looked at him. He didn’t try to charm them or play on their sympathies. He was the upstart, and there wasn’t a man or woman in the hall who wasn’t delighted to see him debased and humiliated.
    The first of the servants appeared, filing out from a hidden door and spacing themselves around the chair. Otah picked out the brown poet’s robe, but it was Cehmai with the bulk of his andat moving behind him. Maati wasn’t with him; Cehmai was speaking with a woman in the robes of the Khaiem - Otah’s sister, she would be. He wondered what her name was.
    The last of the servants and counselors took their places, and the crowd fell silent. The Khai Machi walked out, as graceful as a dying man could be. His robes were lush and full, and served to do little more than show how wasted his frame had become. Otah could see the rouge on his sunken cheeks, trying to give the appearance of vigor long since gone. Whisperers fanned out from the dais and into the crowd. The Khai took a pose of welcome appropriate to the opening