Shadow and Betrayal

couldn’t think that Otah-kvo was bothering Cehmai badly, but surely something was.
    Still, the boy managed a grin and when he sat, he moved with more energy than Maati himself felt.
    ‘You sent for me, Maati-kvo?’
    ‘I have work,’ he said. ‘You offered to help me with this project once. And I could do with your aid, if you still wish to lend it.’
    ‘You aren’t stopping?’
    Maati considered. He could say again that the Dai-kvo had told him to discover the murderer of Biitrah Machi and whether Otah-kvo had had a hand in it, and that until he’d done so, he would keep to his task. It had been a strong enough argument for the utkhaiem, even for the Khai. But Cehmai had known the Dai-kvo as well as he had, and more recently. He would see how shallow the excuse was. In the end he only shook his head.
    ‘I am not stopping,’ he said.
    ‘May I ask why not?’
    ‘They are going to kill Otah-kvo.’
    ‘Yes,’ Cehmai agreed, his voice calm and equable. Maati might as well have said that winter would be cold.
    ‘And I have a few days to find whose crimes he’s carrying.’
    Cehmai frowned and took a pose of query.
    ‘They’ll kill him anyway,’ Cehmai said. ‘If he killed Biitrah, they’ll execute him for that. If he didn’t, Danat will do the thing to keep his claim to be the Khai. Either way he’s a dead man.’
    ‘That’s likely true,’ Maati said. ‘But I’ve done everything else I can think to do, and this is still left, so I’ll do this. If there is anything at all I can do, I have to do it.’
    ‘In order to save your teacher,’ Cehmai said, as if he understood.
    ‘To sleep better twenty years from now,’ Maati said, correcting him. ‘If anyone asks, I want to be able to say that I did what could be done. And I want to be able to mean it. That’s more important to me than saving him.’
    Cehmai seemed puzzled, but Maati found no better way to express it without mentioning his son’s name, and that would open more than it would close. Instead he waited, letting the silence argue for him. Cehmai took a pose of acceptance at last, and then tilted his head.
    ‘Maati-kvo . . . I’m sorry, but when was the last time you slept?’
    Maati smiled and ignored the question.
    ‘I’m going to meet with one of the armsmen who saw my assassin killed,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if I could impose on you to find some servant from Danat’s household with whom I might speak later this evening. I have a few questions about him . . .’
     
    Danat Machi arrived like a hero. The streets were filled with people cheering and singing. Festivals filled the squares. Young girls danced through the streets in lines, garlands of summer blossoms in their hair. And from his litter strewn with woven gold and silver, Danat Machi looked out like a protective father indulging a well-loved child. Idaan had been present when the word came that Danat Machi waited at the bridge for his father’s permission to enter the city. She had gone down behind the runner to watch the doors fly open and the celebration that had been building spill out into the dark stone streets. They would have sung as loud for Kaiin, if Danat had been dead.
    While Danat’s caravan slogged its way through the crowds, Idaan retreated to the palaces. The panoply of the utkhaiem was hardly more restrained than the common folk. Members of all the high families appeared as if by chance outside the Third Palace’s great hall. Musicians and singers entertained with beautiful ballads of great warriors returning home from the field, of time and life renewed in a new generation. They were songs of the proper function of the world. It was as if no one had known Biitrah or Kaiin, as if the wheel of the world were not greased with her family’s blood. Idaan watched with a calm, pleasant expression while her soul twisted with disgust.
    When Danat reached the long, broad yard and stepped down from his litter, a cheer went up from all those present; even from her. Danat raised his arms and smiled to them all, beaming like a child on Candles Night. His gaze found her, and he strode through the crowd to her side. Idaan raised her chin and took a pose of greeting. It was what she was expected to do. He ignored it and picked her up in a great hug, swinging her around as if she weighed nothing, and then placed her back on her own feet.
    ‘Sister,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘I can’t say how glad I am to see you.’
    ‘Danat-kya,’ she