Shadow and Betrayal

‘But this is a thing I can do.’
    For a moment, he seemed on the verge of speaking again. Then a flute trilled, and a trumpet sounded, and the procession of gifts began. Each family of the utkhaiem in attendance had brought some token, as custom required. And following them, each trading house or foreign guest. Servants in the colors of their family or house stepped as carefully as dancers, carrying chests and tapestries, gilded fruits and bolts of fine silk, curiosities and wonders. The Khai Saraykeht considered each offering in turn, accepting them with a formal pose of recognition. She could feel Marchat Wilsin shift beside her as the bearers of his house stepped into the clearing. Four men bore a tapestry worked with a map of the cities of the Khaiem done in silver thread. Each man held one corner, pulling the cloth tight, and they stepped slowly and in perfect unison, grave as mourners.
    Three of them grave as mourners. The fourth, while he kept pace with his fellows, kept casting furtive glances at the crowd. His head shifted subtly back and forth, as if he were searching for someone or something. Liat heard an amused murmur, the men and women of the audience enjoying the spectacle, and her heart sank.
    The fourth man was Itani.
    Marchat Wilsin must have noticed some reaction in her, because he glanced over, his expression puzzled and alarmed. Liat held her countenance empty, vacant. She felt a blush growing and willed it to be faint. The four men reached the Khai, the two in front kneeling to provide a better view of the work. Itani, at the rear, seemed to realize where he was and straightened. The Khai betrayed no sense of amusement or disapproval, only recognized the gift and sent it on its way. Itani and the other three moved off as the bearers of House Kiitan came forward. Liat shifted toward her employer.
    ‘Wilsin-cha. If there’s a private room. For women . . .’
    ‘Being anxious does the same to me,’ he said. ‘Epani will show you. Just be back before the Khai brings in his wise men. At the rate this is going, you’ve probably got half a hand, but don’t test that.’
    Liat took a pose of gratitude, rose, and wove her way to the rear of the assembly. She didn’t look for Epani. Itani was waiting there for her. She gestured with her eyes to a column, and he followed her behind it.
    ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded when they were out of sight. ‘You avoid me for days, and then you . . . you do this?’
    ‘I know the man who was supposed to be the fourth bearer,’ Itani said, taking a pose of apology. ‘He let me take his place. I didn’t intend to avoid you. I only . . . I was angry, sweet. And I didn’t want that to get in your way. Not with this before you.’
    ‘And this is how you don’t come in my way?’
    He smiled. His mouth had a way of being disarming.
    ‘This is how I say I’m at your back,’ he said. ‘I know you can do this. It’s no more than a negotiation, and if Amat Kyaan and Wilsin-cha chose you - if they believe in you - then my faith may not signify anything much. But you have it. And I didn’t want you going to your audience without knowing that. I know you can do this.’
    Her hand strayed to his without her realizing that it had. She only noticed when he raised it to his lips.
    ‘ ’Tani, you pick the worst time to say the sweetest things.’
    The music of the flute changed its rhythm and Liat turned, pulling her hand free. The audience proper was about to begin - the counselors and servants about to rejoin the Khai. Itani stepped back, taking a pose of encouragement. His gaze was on her, his mouth tipped in a smile. His fingernails - gods, his fingernails were still dye-stained.
    ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he said, and she turned back, moving through the seated men and women as quickly as she could without appearing to run. She sat at Wilsin-cha’s side just as the two poets and the andat knelt before the Khai and took their places, the last of the counselors to arrive.
    ‘You’re just in time,’ Wilsin-cha said. ‘Are you well?’
    Well? I’m perfect , she thought. She imagined Amat Kyaan’s respectful, assured expression and arranged her features to match it.
     
    Maati sat on a cushion of velvet, shifting now and then in an attempt to keep his legs from falling asleep. It wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped. The Khai Saraykeht sat off to Maati’s left on a blackwood divan. Heshai-kvo and Seedless sat somewhat nearer,