Shadow and Betrayal

her than she’d thought. She shook her head as she had when shaking off the dreams.
    ‘He doesn’t have to know I came.’
    ‘Late for that,’ the andat said and put out another candle. ‘He woke up as soon as we started talking.’
    ‘Idaan-kya?’ his voice came from behind her.
    Cehmai stood in the corridor that led back to his bedchamber. His hair was tousled by sleep. His feet were bare. Idaan caught her breath, seeing him here in the dim light of candles. He was beautiful. He was innocent and powerful, and she loved him more than anyone in the world.
    ‘Cehmai.’
    ‘Only Cehmai?’ he asked, stepping into the room. He looked hurt and hopeful both. She had no right to feel this young. She had no right to feel afraid or thrilled.
    ‘Cehmai-kya,’ she whispered. ‘I had to see you.’
    ‘I’m glad of it. But . . . but you aren’t, are you? Glad to see me, I mean.’
    ‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ she said, and the sorrow rose up in her like a flood. ‘It’s my wedding night, Cehmai-kya. I was married today, and I couldn’t go a whole night in that bed.’
    Her voice broke. She closed her eyes against the tears, but they simply came, rolling down her cheeks as fast as raindrops. She heard him move toward her, and between wanting to step into his arms and wanting to run, she stood unmoving, feeling herself tremble.
    He didn’t speak. She was standing alone and apart, the sorrow and guilt beating her like storm waves, and then his arms folded her into him. His skin smelled dark and musky and male. He didn’t kiss her, he didn’t try to open her robes. He only held her there as if he had never wanted anything more. She put her arms around him and held on as though he was a branch hanging over a precipice. She heard herself sob, and it sounded like violence.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I want it back. I want it all back. I’m so sorry.’
    ‘What, love? What do you want back?’
    ‘All of it,’ she wailed, and the blackness and despair and rage and sorrow rose up, taking her in its teeth and shaking her. Cehmai held her close, murmured soft words to her, stroked her hair and her face. When she sank to the ground, he sank with her.
    She couldn’t say how long it was before the crying passed. She only knew that the night around them was perfectly dark, that she was curled in on herself with her head in his lap, and that her body was tired to the bone. She felt as if she’d swum for a day. She found Cehmai’s hand and laced her fingers with his, wondering where dawn was. It seemed the night had already lasted for years. Surely there would be light soon.
    ‘You feel better?’ he asked, and she nodded her reply, trusting him to feel the movement against his flesh.
    ‘Do you want to tell me what it is?’ he asked.
    Idaan felt her throat go tighter for a moment. He must have felt some change in her body, because he raised her hand to his lips. His mouth was so soft and so warm.
    ‘I do,’ she said. ‘I want to. But I’m afraid.’
    ‘Of me?’
    ‘Of what I would say.’
    There was something in his expression. Not a hardening, not a pulling away, but a change. It was as if she’d confirmed something.
    ‘There’s nothing you can say that will hurt me,’ Cehmai said. ‘Not if it’s true. It’s the Vaunyogi, isn’t it? It’s Adrah.’
    ‘I can’t, love. Please don’t talk about it.’
    But he only ran his free hand over her arm, the sound of skin against skin loud in the night’s silence. When he spoke again, Cehmai’s voice was gentle, but urgent.
    ‘It’s about your father and your brothers, isn’t it?’
    Idaan swallowed, trying to loosen her throat. She didn’t answer, not even with a movement, but Cehmai’s soft, beautiful voice pressed on.
    ‘Otah Machi didn’t kill them, did he?’
    The air went thin as a mountaintop’s. Idaan couldn’t catch her breath. Cehmai’s fingers pressed hers gently. He leaned forward and kissed her temple.
    ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’
    ‘I can’t,’ she said.
    ‘I love you, Idaan-kya. And I will protect you, whatever happens.’
    Idaan closed her eyes, even in the darkness. Her heart seemed on the edge of bursting, she wanted it so badly to be true. She wanted so badly to lay her sins before him and be forgiven. And he knew already. He knew the truth or else guessed it, and he hadn’t denounced her.
    ‘I love you,’ he repeated, his voice softer than the