Shadow and Betrayal

said, and then failed.
    ‘How are things with our father?’
    The sorrow that was called for here was at least easier than the feigned delight. She saw it echoed in Danat’s eyes. So close to him, she could see the angry red in the whites of his eyes, the pallor in his skin. He was wearing paint, she realized. Rouge on his cheeks and lips and some warm-toned powder to lend his skin the glow of health. Beneath it, he was sallow. She wondered if he’d grown sick, and whether there was some slow poison that might be blamed for his death.
    ‘He has been looking forward to seeing you,’ she said.
    ‘Yes. Yes, of course. And I hear that you’re to become a Vaunyogi. I’m pleased for you. Adrah’s a good man.’
    ‘I love him,’ she said, surprised to find that in some dim way it was still truth. ‘But how are you, brother? Are you . . . are things well with you?’
    For a moment, Danat seemed about to answer. She thought she saw something weaken in him, his mouth losing its smile, his eyes looking into a darkness like the one she carried. In the end, he shook himself and kissed her forehead, then turned again to the crowd and made his way to the Khai’s palace, greeting and rejoicing with everyone who crossed his path. And it was only the beginning. Danat and their father would be closeted away for a time, then the ritual welcome from the heads of the families of the utkhaiem. And then festivities and celebrations, feasts and dances and revelry in the streets and palaces and teahouses.
    Idaan made her way to the compound of the Vaunyogi, and to Adrah and his father. The house servants greeted her with smiles and poses of welcome. The chief overseer led her to a small meeting room in the back. If it seemed odd that this room - windowless and dark - was used now in the summer when most gatherings were in gardens or open pavilions, the overseer made no note of it. Nothing could have been more different from the mood in the city than the one here; like a winter night that had crept into summer.
    ‘Has House Vaunyogi forgotten where it put its candles?’ she asked, and turned to the overseer. ‘Find a lantern or two. These fine men may be suffering from their drink, but I’ve hardly begun to celebrate.’
    The overseer took a pose that acknowledged the command and scampered off, returning immediately with his gathered light. Adrah and his father sat at a long stone table. Dark tapestries hung from the wall, red and orange and gold. When the doors were safely closed behind them, Idaan pulled out one of the stools and sat on it. Her gaze moved from the father’s face to the son’s. She took a pose of query.
    ‘You seem distressed,’ she said. ‘The whole city is loud with my brother’s glory, and you two are skulking in here like criminals.’
    ‘We have reason to be distressed,’ Daaya Vaunyogi said. She wondered whether Adrah would age into the same loose jowls and watery eyes. ‘I’ve finally reached the Galts. They’ve cooled. Killing Oshai’s made them nervous, and now with Danat back . . . we expected to have the fighting between your brothers to cover our . . . our work. There’s no hope of that now. And that poet hasn’t stopped hunting around, even with the holes Oshai poked in him.’
    ‘The more reason you have to be distressed,’ Idaan said, ‘the more important that you should not seem it. Besides, I still have two living brothers.’
    ‘Ah, and you have some way to make Danat die at Otah’s hand?’ the old man said. There was mockery in his voice, but there was also hope. And fear. He had seen what she had done, and perhaps now he thought her capable of anything. She supposed that would be something worthy of his hope and fear.
    ‘I don’t have the details. But, yes. The longer we wait, the more suspicious it will look when Danat and the poet die.’
    ‘You still want Maati Vaupathai dead?’ Daaya asked.
    ‘Otah is locked away, and the poet’s digging. Maati Vaupathai isn’t satisfied to blame the upstart for everything, even if the whole city besides him is. There are three breathing men between Adrah and my father’s chair. Danat, Otah, and the poet. I’ll need armsmen, though, to do what I intend. How many could you put together? They would have to be men you trust.’
    Daaya looked at his son, as if expecting to find some answer there, but Adrah neither spoke nor moved. He might very nearly not have been there at all. Idaan swallowed her impatience and leaned