Shadow and Betrayal

spent half a hand very quietly telling me that you’ve been making a fool of me before the utkhaiem. What are you doing with the poet’s student?’
    ‘Maati,’ Itani said, distantly. ‘He’s named Maati.’
    If Liat had had anything to throw, she’d have launched it at Itani’s bowed head. Instead, she let out an exasperated cry and stamped her foot. Itani looked up, his vision swimming into focus as if he was waking from a dream. He smiled his charming, open, warm smile.
    ‘Itani. I’m humiliated before the whole court, and you—’
    ‘How?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘How? How is my drinking at a teahouse with Maati humiliating to you?’
    ‘It makes it look as if I were trying to leverage some advantage after the agreements are complete,’ she snapped.
    Itani took a pose that requested clarification.
    ‘Isn’t that most of what goes on between the harvest and completing the contracts? I thought Amat Kyaan was always sending you with letters arguing over interpretations of language.’
    It was true, but it hadn’t occurred to her when Wilsin-cha had been sitting across his table from her with that terrible expression of pity. Playing for advantage had never stopped because a contract had been signed.
    ‘It’s not the same,’ she said. ‘This is with the Khai. You don’t do that with the Khai.’
    ‘I’m sorry, then,’ Itani said. ‘I didn’t know. But I wasn’t trying to change your negotiation.’
    ‘So what were you doing?’
    Itani scooped up a double handful of water and poured it over his head. His long, northern face took on a look of utter calm, and he breathed deeply twice. He nodded to himself, coming to some private decision. When he spoke, his voice was almost conversational.
    ‘I knew Maati when we were boys. We were at the school together.’
    ‘What school?’
    ‘The school where the courts send their disowned sons. Where they choose the poets.’
    Liat frowned. Itani looked up.
    ‘What were you doing there?’ Liat asked. ‘You were a servant? You never told me you were a servant as a child.’
    ‘I was the son of the Khai Machi. The sixth son. My name was Otah Machi then. I only started calling myself Itani after I left, so that my family couldn’t find me. I left without taking the brand, so it would have been dangerous to go by my true name.’
    His smile faltered, his gaze shifted. Liat didn’t move - couldn’t move. It was ridiculous. It was laughable. And yet she wasn’t laughing. Her anger was gone like a candle snuffed by a strong wind, and she was only fighting to take in breath. It couldn’t be true, but it was. She knew he wasn’t lying. Before her and below her, Itani’s eyes were brimming with tears. He coughed out something like mirth and wiped his eyes with the back of his bare hand.
    ‘I’ve never told anyone,’ he said, ‘until now. Until you.’
    ‘You . . .’ Liat began, then had to stop, swallow, begin again. ‘You’re the son of the Khai Machi?’
    ‘I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t know you. And then later because I hadn’t before. But I love you. And I trust you. I do. And I want you to be with me. Will you forgive me?’
    ‘Is this . . . are you lying to me, ’Tani?’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s truth. You can ask Maati if you’d like. He knows as well.’
    Liat’s throat was too tight to speak. Itani rose and lifted his arms up to her in supplication, the water flowing down his naked chest, fear in his eyes - fear that she would turn away from him. She melted down into the water, into his arms. Her robes, drinking in the water, were heavy as weights, but she didn’t care. She pulled him to her, pulled him close, pressed her face against his. There were tears on their cheeks, but she didn’t know whether they were hers or his. His arms surrounded her, lifted her, safe and strong and amazing.
    ‘I knew,’ she said. ‘I knew you were something. I knew there was something about you. I always knew.’
    He kissed her then. It was unreal - like something out of an old epic story. She, Liat Chokavi, was the lover of the hidden child of the Khai Machi. He was hers. She pulled back from him, framing his face with her hands, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.
    ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ he said.
    ‘Am I hurt?’ she asked. ‘I could fly, love. I could fly.’
    He held her fiercely then, like a drowning man holding the plank that might save him. And she matched him before pulling off her