Shadow and Betrayal

did. He wanted to know if I’d sent you.’
    ‘What did you tell him?’
    ‘That I hadn’t.’
    ‘I see.’
    The silence stretched. She waited, willing him to speak, willing some words that would put it in some perspective less awful than it seemed. But Wilsin said nothing.
    ‘I’ll go back to my apartments,’ Amat said. ‘We can talk about this later.’
    She reached for her cane, but Wilsin’s hand trapped hers. There was something in his eyes now, an emotion. Fear. It was as if they’d been soaking in it instead of water. She could feel her own heart trip faster as his eyes searched hers.
    ‘Don’t. Don’t go home. He’ll be waiting for you.’
    For the space of four breaths together, they were silent. Amat had to swallow to loosen her throat.
    ‘Hide, Amat. Don’t tell me where you’ve gone. Keep your head low for . . . four weeks. Five. It’ll be over by then. And once it’s finished with, you’ll be safe. I can protect you then. You’re only in danger if they think you might stop it from happening. Once it’s done . . .’
    ‘I could go to the utkhaiem. I could tell them that something’s wrong. We could have Oshai in chains by nightfall, if . . .’
    Marchat shook his wooly, white head slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. Amat felt the strength go out of his fingers.
    ‘If this comes out to anyone, I’ll be killed. At least me. Probably others. Some of them innocents.’
    ‘I thought there was only one innocent in this city,’ Amat said, biting her words.
    ‘I’ll be killed.’
    Amat hesitated, then withdrew her arm and took a pose of acceptance. He let her stand. Her hip screamed. And her stinging ointment was all at her apartments. The unfairness of losing that small comfort struck her ridiculously hard; one insignificant detail in a world that had turned from solid to nightmare in a day.
    At the door, she stopped, her hand on the water-thick wood. She looked back at her employer. At her old friend. His face was stone.
    ‘You told me,’ she said, ‘because you wanted me to find a way to stop it. Didn’t you?’
    ‘I made a mistake because I was confused and upset and felt very much alone,’ he said. His voice was stronger now, more sure of himself. ‘I hadn’t thought it through. But it was a mistake, and I see the situation more clearly now. Do what I tell you, Amat, and we’ll both see the other side of this.’
    ‘It’s wrong. Whatever this is, it’s evil and it’s wrong.’
    ‘Yes,’ he agreed.
    Amat nodded and closed the door behind her when she went.

3
    Through the day, the skies had been clear, hot and muggy. The rain only came with sunset; huge thunderheads towering into the sky, their flowing ropy trains tinted pink and gold and indigo by the failing light. The gray veil of water higher than mountains moved slowly toward the city, losing its festival colors in the twilight, pushing gusts of unpredictable wind before it, and finally reaching the stone streets and thick tile roofs in darkness. And in the darkness, it roared.
    Liat lay her head on Itani’s bare chest and listened to it: the angry hiss of falling rain, the lower rumble - like a river or a flood - of water washing through the streets. Here, in her cell at the compound of House Wilsin, it wasn’t so bad. The streets outside were safe to walk through. Lower in the city - the soft quarter, the seafront, the warehouses - people would be trapped by it, staying in whatever shelter they had found until the rain slackened and the waters fell. She listened to the sound of water and her lover’s heartbeat, smelled the cool scent of rain mixed with the musk of sex. In the summer cities, even a night rain didn’t cool the air so much that she felt the need to cover her bare skin.
    ‘We need to find a stronger frame for your netting,’ Itani said, prodding the knot of fallen cloth with his toe. Liat remembered that it had come down sometime during the evening. She smiled. The sex had left her spent - her limbs warm and loose, as if her bones had gone soft, as if she were an ocean creature.
    ‘I love you, ’Tani,’ she said. His hand caressed the nape of her neck. He had rough hands - strong from his work and callused - but he used them gently when he chose. She looked up at him, his long face and unkempt hair. His smile. In the light of the night candle, his skin seemed to glow. ‘Don’t go home tonight. Stay here, with me.’
    When he sighed, his breath lifted her head and settled it gently