Shadow and Betrayal

This room smelled of cedar and sandalwood. And sitting in one of the sills, her feet out over the void, Idaan. Cehmai breathed in deep, and let the air slide out slowly, taking with it a tension he’d only half known he carried. She turned, looking at them over her shoulder. Her face was unpainted, but she was just as lovely as she had ever been. The bare, unadorned skin reminded Cehmai of the soft curve of her mouth when she slept and the slow, languorous way she stretched when she was on the verge of waking.
    He took a pose of formal greeting. There was perhaps a moment’s surprise, and then she pulled her legs back into the room. Her expression asked the question.
    ‘Cehmai-kya wished to speak with you, love,’ Adrah said.
    ‘I am always pleased to meet with the servant of the Dai-kvo,’ Idaan said. Her smile was formal and calm, and gave away nothing. Cehmai hoped that he had not been wrong to come, but feared that her pleasant words might cover anger.
    ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t meant to intrude. Only I had hoped to find you at your own quarters, and these last few days . . .’
    Something in her demeanor softened slightly, as if she had heard the deeper layer of his apology - I had to see you, and there was no other way - and accepted it. Idaan returned his formal greeting, then sauntered to the desk and sat, her hands folded on her knees, her gaze cast down in what would have been proper form for a girl of the utkhaiem before a poet. From her, it was a bitter joke. Adrah coughed. Cehmai glanced at him and realized the man thought she was being rude.
    ‘I had hoped to offer my sympathies before this, Idaan-cha,’ Cehmai said.
    ‘Your congratulations, too, I hope,’ Idaan said. ‘I am to be married once the mourning week has passed.’
    Cehmai felt his heart go tighter, but only smiled and nodded.
    ‘Congratulations as well,’ he said.
    ‘Cehmai-kya and I have been talking,’ Adrah said. ‘About the city and the succession.’
    Idaan seemed almost to wake at the words. Her body didn’t move, but her attention sharpened. When she spoke, her voice had lost a slowness Cehmai had hardly known was there.
    ‘Is that so? And what conclusions have you fine gentlemen reached?’
    ‘Cehmai-kya agrees with me that the longer the struggle among the utkhaiem, the worse for the city. It would be better if it were done quickly. That’s the most important thing.’
    ‘I see,’ Idaan said. Her gaze, dark as skies at midnight, shifted to Cehmai. She moved to brush her hair back from her brow, though Cehmai saw no stray lock there. ‘Then I suppose he would be wise to back whichever house has the strongest claim. If he has decided to back anyone. The Dai-kvo has been scrupulous about removing himself from these things.’
    ‘A man may voice an opinion,’ Adrah said, an edge in his voice, ‘without shouting on street corners.’
    ‘And what opinion would you voice, Cehmai-cha?’
    Cehmai stood silent, his breath deep and fast. With every impotent thread of his will, he wished Adrah away. His hands were drawn toward Idaan, and he felt himself lean toward her like a reed in the wind. And yet her lover’s eyes were on him, holding him back as effectively as chains.
    ‘Whatever opinion you should choose,’ he said.
    Idaan smiled, but there was more in her face than pleasure. Her jaw shifted forward, her eyes brightened. There was rage beneath her calm, and Cehmai felt it in his belly like an illness. The silence stretched out for three long breaths, four, five . . .
    ‘Love,’ Adrah said in a voice without affection. ‘I know our good fortune at this unexpected ally is overwhelming, but—’
    ‘I didn’t want to take any action until I spoke to you,’ Cehmai said. ‘That’s why I had Adrah-cha bring me here. I hope I haven’t given offense.’
    ‘Of course not, Cehmai-cha,’ she said. ‘But if you can’t take my husband’s word for my mind, whose could you trust? Who could know me better than he?’
    ‘I would still prefer to discuss it with you,’ Cehmai said, packing as much meaning into the words as he could without sounding forced. ‘It will have some influence over the shape your life takes, and I wouldn’t wish to guess wrong.’
    A spark of amusement flashed in her eyes, and she took a pose of gratitude before turning to Adrah.
    ‘Leave us, then.’
    ‘Leave you . . .’
    ‘Certainly he can’t expect a woman to speak her mind openly with her husband floating