Shadow and Betrayal

own wish that things could change and still be the same.
    ‘You look tired,’ she said, leading him down a long flight of smooth-worn granite stairs. ‘How long have you been traveling?’
    ‘I left the Dai-kvo before Candles Night,’ he said.
    ‘You still dress like a poet,’ she said, gently. So she knew.
    ‘The Dai-kvo agreed to Otah-kvo’s proposal. I’m not formally removed so long as I don’t appear in public ceremony in my poet’s robes. I’m not permitted to live in a poet’s house or present myself in any way as carrying the authority of the Dai-kvo.’
    ‘And Cehmai?’
    ‘Cehmai’s had some admonishing letters, I think. But I took the worst of it. It was easier that way, and I don’t mind so much as I might have when I was younger.’
    The doors at the stairway’s end stood open. They had descended below the level of the street, even under its burden of snow, and the candlelit tunnel before them seemed almost hot. His breath had stopped ghosting.
    ‘I’m sorry for that,’ Kiyan said, leading the way. ‘It seems wrong that you should suffer for doing the right thing.’
    ‘I’m not suffering,’ Maati said. ‘Not as badly as I did when I was in the Dai-kvo’s good graces, at least. The more I see of the honors I was offered, the better I feel about having lost them.’
    She chuckled.
    The passageway glowed gold. A high, vaulted arch above them was covered with tiles that reflected the light back into the air where it hung like pollen. An echo of song came from a great distance, the words blurred by the tunnels. And then the melody was joined and the whispering voices of the gods seemed to touch the air. Maati’s steps faltered, and Kiyan turned to look at him and then followed his gaze into the air.
    ‘The winter choir,’ she said. Her voice was suddenly smaller, sharing his awe. ‘There are a lot of idle hands in the colder seasons. Music becomes more important, I think, when things are cold and dark.’
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ Maati said. ‘I knew there were tunnels, but . . .’
    ‘It’s another city,’ Kiyan said. ‘Think how I feel. I didn’t know half the depth of it until I was supposed to help rule it.’
    They began walking again, their words rising above the song.
    ‘How is he?’
    ‘Not idle,’ she said with both amusement and melancholy in her tone. ‘He’s been working until he’s half exhausted every day and then getting up early. There’s a thousand critical things that he’s called on to do, and a thousand more that are nothing more than ceremony that only swallow his time. It makes him cranky. He’ll be angry that he wasn’t free to meet you, but it will help that I could. That’s the best I can do these days. Make sure that the things most important to him are seen to while he’s off making sure the city doesn’t fall into chaos.’
    ‘I’d think it would be able to grind on without him for a time just from habit,’ Maati said.
    ‘Politics takes all the time you can give it,’ Kiyan said with distaste.
    They walked through a wide gate and into a great subterranean hall. A thousand lanterns glowed, their white light filling the air. Men and women and children passed on their various errands, the gabble of voices like a brook over stones. A beggar sang, his lacquered begging box on the stone floor before him. Maati saw a waterseller’s cart, and another vendor selling waxpaper cones of rice and fish. It was almost like a street, almost like a wide pavilion with a canopy of stone.
    ‘Your rooms?’ Kiyan asked. ‘Or would you rather have something to eat first? There’s not much fresh this deep into winter, but I’ve found a woman who makes a hot barley soup that’s simply lovely.’
    ‘Actually . . . could I meet the child?’
    Kiyan’s smile seemed to have a light of its own.
    ‘Can you imagine a world where I said no?’ she asked.
    She nodded to a branching in the wide hall, and led him west, deeper into the underground. The change was subtle, moving from the public space of the street to the private tunnels beneath the palaces. There were gates, it was true, but they were open. There were armsmen here and there, but only a few of them. And yet soon all the people they passed wore the robes of servants or slaves of the Khai, and they had entered the Khai’s private domain. Kiyan stopped at a thin oak door, pulled it open and gestured him to follow her up the staircase it revealed.
    The nursery was high above the