Shadow and Betrayal

there?’
    ‘Epani Doru,’ the voice shouted from the other side of the thin door. ‘Wilsin-cha sent me to ask whether he might have a word with you.’
    ‘Of course. Yes. Just give me a moment.’
    Itani, trousers located, tossed her robes to her. She pulled on the inner robes, then grabbed a fresh outer robe from the wardrobe. Itani helped her fasten it. She felt her hands trembling. The voice of House Wilsin wanted to speak with her, and outside the normal hours of labor. It had never happened before.
    ‘I should go back to my quarters,’ Itani said as she pulled her hair back to a formal bun.
    ‘No. Please, ’Tani. Wait for me.’
    ‘You could be a quarter-candle, love,’ he said. ‘Listen. The rain’s coming softer now anyway. It’s time.’
    It was true. The hiss of the rain was less vicious. And for all her complaints, she understood what it meant to have the unkind interest of an overseer. She took a pose of acceptance, but broke it to kiss him again.
    ‘I’ll find you tomorrow,’ she said.
    ‘I’ll be waiting.’
    Itani moved back into the shadows behind the wardrobe and Liat tugged at her robes one last time, stepped into her slippers and answered the door. Epani, Marchat Wilsin’s house master, stood under the awning, his arms crossed, and his expression neutral. Liat took a pose indicating preparedness, and without apparent irony, he replied with one expressing thanks for prompt action. His gaze passed her for a moment, taking in the wreckage of her cot, the discarded robes on the stone floor, but he made no comment. When he turned and strode away, she followed.
    They went down an open walkway of gray stones raised far enough that the streams of rainwater hadn’t darkened them. In the courtyard, the fountain had filled to overflowing, the wide pool dancing with drops. The tall bronze statue of the Galtic Tree - symbol of the house - loomed in the darkness, the false bark glittering in the light of lanterns strung beneath the awnings and safe from the rain.
    The private apartments where Wilsin-cha lived were at the end of the courtyard farthest from the street. Double doors of copper-bound ash stood open, though the view of the antechamber was still blocked by house banners shifting uneasily in the breeze. They glowed from the light behind them. Epani drew one banner aside and gestured Liat within as if she were a guest and not an apprentice overseer.
    The antechamber was stone-floored, but the walls and high ceiling glowed with worked wood. The air smelled rich with lemon candle and mint wine and lamp oil. Lanterns lit the space. From somewhere nearby, she heard voices - two men, she thought. She made out few words - Wilsin-cha’s voice saying ‘won’t affect’ and ‘unlike the last girl,’ the other man saying ‘won’t allow’ and ‘street by street if needed.’ Epani, sweeping in behind her, took a pose that indicated she should wait. She took a pose of acknowledgment, but the house master had already moved on, vanishing behind thick banners. The conversation stopped suddenly as Epani’s rain-soft voice interrupted. Then Marchat Wilsin himself, wearing robes of green and black, strode into the room.
    ‘Liat Chokavi!’
    Liat took a pose of obeisance which the head of her house replied to with a curt formal pose, dropped as soon as taken. He put a thick hand on her shoulder and drew her back to an inner chamber.
    ‘I need to know, Liat. Do you speak any island tongues? Arrask or Nippu?’
    ‘No, Wilsin-cha. I know Galtic and some Coyani . . .’
    ‘But nothing from the eastern islands?’
    As they stepped into a meeting room, Liat adopted an apologetic pose.
    ‘That’s too bad,’ Wilsin-cha said, though his tone was mild and his expression curiously relieved.
    ‘I think Amat-cha may know some Nippu. It isn’t a language that’s much used in trade, but she’s very well-studied.’
    Wilsin lowered himself to a bench beside a low table, gesturing to the cushion across from him. Liat knelt as he poured out a bowl of tea for her.
    ‘You’ve been with my house, what? Three years now?’
    ‘Amat-cha accepted me as her apprentice four years ago. I was with my father in Chaburi-Tan before that, working with my brothers . . .’
    ‘Four years ago? Weren’t you young to be working four years ago? You’d have seen twelve summers?’
    Liat felt herself blush. She hadn’t meant to have her family brought into the conversation.
    ‘Thirteen, Wilsin-cha. And there were