Shadow and Betrayal

then,’ Sinja said. ‘Amiit-cha was thinking he’d need to speak with you about the issue soon. Things will be moving in Machi as soon as the mourning’s done.’
    ‘I know. And yes, I’ve decided.’
    ‘Would you mind if I asked why you chose to stay?’
    Otah turned and let himself down into the room. He took two bowls from the cabinet and poured deep red wine into both before he answered. Sinja took the one he was offered and drank half at a swig. Otah sat on the table, his feet on the seat of the bench, and swirled the red of the wine against the bone white of the bowl.
    ‘Someone killed my father and my brothers.’
    ‘You didn’t know them,’ Sinja said. ‘Don’t tell me this is love.’
    ‘They killed my old family. Do you think they’d hesitate to kill my new one?’
    ‘Spoken like a man,’ Sinja said, raising his bowl in salute. ‘The gods all know it won’t be easy. As long as the utkhaiem think you’ve done everything you’re accused of, they’ll kill you first and crown you after. You’ll have to find who did the thing and feed them to the crowds, and even then half of them will think you’re guilty and clever. But if you don’t do the thing . . . No, I think you’re right. The options are live in fear or take the world by the balls. You can be the Khai Machi, or you can be the Khai Machi’s victim. I don’t see a third way.’
    ‘I’ll take the first. And I’ll be glad about it. It’s only . . .’
    ‘You mourn that other life, I know. It comes with leaving your boyhood behind.’
    ‘I wouldn’t have thought I was still just a boy.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or seen. Every man’s a child until he’s a father. It’s the way the world’s made.’
    Otah raised his brows and took a pose of query only slightly hampered by the bowl of wine.
    ‘Oh yes, several,’ Sinja said. ‘So far the mothers haven’t met one another, so that’s all for the best. But your woman? Kiyan-cha?’
    Otah nodded.
    ‘I traveled with her for a time,’ Sinja said. ‘I’ve never met another like her, and I’ve known more than my share of women. You’re lucky to have her, even if it means freezing your prick off for half the year up here in the north.’
    ‘Are you telling me you’re in love with my lover?’ Otah asked, half joking, half serious.
    ‘I’m saying she’s worth giving up the sea for,’ Sinja said. He finished the last of his wine, spun the bowl on the table, and then clapped Otah’s shoulder. Otah met his gaze for a moment before Sinja turned and strode out. Otah looked into the wine bowl again, smelled the memory of grapes hot from the sun, and drank it down. Outside, the sun broke through, and the green of the trees and blue of the sky where it peeked past the gray and white and yellow clouds showed vibrant as something newly washed.
    Their quarters were down a short corridor, and then through a thin wooden door on leather hinges halfway to wearing through. Kiyan lay on the cot, the netting pulled around her to keep the gnats and mosquitoes off. Otah slipped through and lay gently beside her, watching her eyes flutter and her lips take up a smile as she recognized him.
    ‘I heard you talking,’ she said, sleep slurring the words.
    ‘Sinja-cha came up.’
    ‘What was the matter?’
    ‘Nothing,’ he said, and kissed her temple. ‘We were only talking about the sea.’
     
    Cehmai closed the door of the poet’s house again and started pacing the length of the room. The storm in the back of his mind was hardly a match for the one at the front. Stone-Made-Soft, sitting at the empty, cold brazier, looked up. Its face showed a mild interest.
    ‘Trees still there?’ the andat asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And the sky?’
    ‘And the sky.’
    ‘But still no girl.’
    Cehmai dropped onto the couch, his hands worrying each other, restless. The andat sighed and went back to its contemplation of the ashes and fire-black metal. Cehmai smelled smoke in the air. It was likely just the forges, but his mind made the scent into Idaan’s father and brother burning. He stood up again, walked to the door, turned back and sat down again.
    ‘You could go out and look for her,’ the andat said.
    ‘And why should I find her now? The mourning week’s almost done. You think if she wanted me, there wouldn’t have been word? I just . . . I don’t understand it.’
    ‘She’s a woman. You’re a man.’
    ‘Your point being?’
    The andat didn’t reply. It might