Shadow and Betrayal

considered what I said?’
    ‘Yes, Adrah-cha. I have. But I’m concerned for Idaan-cha. I’m told she’s been by her apartments, but I haven’t been able to find her. And now, with the mourning week almost gone . . .’
    ‘You’ve been looking for her, then?’
    ‘I wished to offer my condolences. And then, after our conversation, I thought it would be wise to consult her on the matter as well. If it were not her will to go on living in the palaces after all that’s happened, I would feel uncomfortable lending my support to a cause that would require it.’
    Adrah’s eyes narrowed, and Cehmai felt a touch of heat in his cheeks. He coughed, looked down, and then, composed once again, raised his eyes to Adrah. He half expected to see rage there, but Adrah seemed pleased. Perhaps he was not so obvious as he felt. Adrah sat on the bench beside him, leaning in toward him as if they were intimate friends.
    ‘But if you could satisfy yourself that this is what she would wish, you’re willing? You would back me for her sake?’
    ‘It’s what would be best for the city,’ Cehmai said, trying to make it sound more like agreement than denial. ‘The sooner the question is resolved, the better we all are. And Idaan-cha would provide a sense of continuity, don’t you think?’
    ‘Yes,’ Adrah said. ‘I think she would.’
    They sat silent for a moment. The sense that Adrah knew or suspected something crept into Cehmai’s throat, drawing it tight. He tried to calm himself; there was ultimately nothing Adrah could do to him. He was the poet of Machi, and the city itself rode on his shoulders and on Stone-Made-Soft. But Adrah was about to marry Idaan, and she loved him. There was quite a bit Adrah might yet do to hurt her.
    ‘We’re allies, then,’ Adrah said at last. ‘You and I. We’ve become allies.’
    ‘I suppose we have. Provided Idaan-cha . . .’
    ‘She’s here,’ Adrah said. ‘I’ll take you to her. She’s been here since her brother died. We thought it would be best if she were able to grieve in private. But if we need to break into her solitude now in order to assure her future for the rest of her life, I don’t think there’s any question what the right thing is to do.’
    ‘I don’t . . . I don’t mean to intrude.’
    Adrah grinned and slapped him on the back. He rose as he spoke.
    ‘Never concern yourself with that, Cehmai-kya. You’ve come to our aid on an uncertain day. Think of us as your family now.’
    ‘That’s very kind,’ Cehmai said, but Adrah was already striding away, and he had to hurry to keep pace.
    He had never been so far into the halls and chambers that belonged to the Vaunyogi before. The dark stone passageways down which Cehmai was led seemed simpler than he had expected. The halls, more sparely furnished. Only the statuary - bronze likenesses of emperors and of the heads of the Vaunyogi - spoke of the wealth of a high family of the utkhaiem, and these were displayed in the halls and courtyards with such pride that they seemed more to point out the relative spareness of their surroundings than to distract from it. Diamonds set in brass.
    Adrah spoke little, but when he did, his voice and demeanor were pleasant enough. Cehmai felt himself watched, evaluated. There was some reason that Adrah was showing him these signs of a struggling family - the worn tapestry, the great ironwork candleholders filled with half a hundred candles of tallow instead of wax, the empty incense burners, the long stairway leading up to the higher floors that still showed the marks where cloth runners had once softened the stone corners and no longer did - but Cehmai couldn’t quite fathom it. In another man, at another time, it would have been a humbling thing to show a poet through a compound like this, but Adrah seemed anything but humble. It might have been a challenge or a play for Cehmai’s sympathy. Or it might have been a boast. My house has little, and still Idaan chose me .
    They stopped at last at a wide door - dark wood inlaid with bone and black stone. Adrah knocked, and when a servant girl opened the door a fraction, he pressed his way in, gesturing Cehmai to follow. They were summer quarters with wide arched windows, the shutters open to the air. Silk banners with the yellow and gray of the Vaunyogi bellied and fluttered in the breeze, as graceful as dancers. A desk stood at one wall, a brick of ink and a metal pen sitting on it, ready should anyone wish to use them.