Shadow and Betrayal

Maati shouted and pushed the andat away, their gazes locked, and Maati saw Seedless smile even as he murmured his poison.
    When the morning came, and the first pounding of visitors, Heshai roused himself enough to order Maati down to greet them. The bar had slid home behind him, and the stream of people had hardly slackened since. They stayed until the first quarter of the night candle had burned, and a new wave arrived before dawn.
    ‘I bring greetings from Annan Tiyan of House Tiyan,’ an older man said loudly as he stood on the threshold. He had to speak up for his words to carry over the conversation behind Maati. ‘We had heard of the poet’s ill health and wished . . .’
    Maati took a brief pose of welcome and gratitude that he didn’t begin to mean and ushered the man in. The flock of carrion crows gabbled and talked and waited, Maati knew, for news of Heshai. Maati only took the food they’d brought and laid it out for them to eat, poured their gift wine into bowls as hospitality. And upstairs, Heshai . . . It didn’t bear thinking about. A regal man in fine silk robes motioned Maati over and asked him gently what he could do to help the poet in his time of need.
    The first sign Maati had that something had changed was the sudden silence. All conversations stopped, and Maati rushed to the front of the house to find himself looking into the dark, angry eyes of the Khai Saraykeht.
    ‘Where is your master?’ the Khai demanded, and the lack of an accompanying pose made the words seem stark and terrible.
    Maati took a pose of welcome and looked away.
    ‘He is resting, most high,’ he said.
    The Khai looked slowly around the room, a single vertical line appearing between his brows. The visitors all took appropriate poses - Maati could hear the shuffle of their robes. The Khai took a pose of query that was directed to Maati, though his gaze remained on the assembled men.
    ‘Who are these?’ the Khai asked.
    ‘Well-wishers,’ Maati said.
    The Khai said nothing, and the silence grew more and more excruciatingly uncomfortable. At last, he moved forward, his hand taking Maati by the shoulder and turning him to the stairs. Maati walked before the Khai.
    ‘When I come down,’ the Khai said in a calm, almost conversational tone, ‘any man still here forfeits half his wealth.’
    At the top of the stairs, Maati turned and led the Khai down the short hall to Heshai’s door. He tried it, but it was barred. Maati turned with a pose of apology, but the Khai moved him aside without seeming to notice it.
    ‘Heshai,’ the Khai said, his voice loud and low. ‘Open the door.’
    There was a moment’s pause, and then soft footsteps. The bar scraped, and the door swung open. Seedless stepped aside as the Khai entered. Maati followed. The andat leaned the bar against the wall, caught Maati’s gaze, and took a pose of greeting appropriate to old friends. Maati felt a surge of anger in his chest, but did nothing more than turn away.
    The Khai stood at the foot of Heshai’s bed. The poet was sitting up, now. Sometime in the last day, he had changed from his brown ceremonial robes to robes of pale mourning cloth. The wide mouth turned down at the corners and his hair was a wild tangle. The Khai reached up and swept the netting aside. It occurred to Maati how much Khai and andat were similar - the grace, the beauty, the presence. The greatest difference was that the Khai Saraykeht showed tiny lines of age at the corners of his eyes and was not so lovely.
    ‘I have spoken with Marchat Wilsin of House Wilsin,’ the Khai said. ‘He extends his apologies. There will be an investigation. It has already begun.’
    Heshai looked down, but took a pose of gratitude. The Khai ignored it.
    ‘We have also spoken with the girl and the overseer for House Wilsin who negotiated the trade. There are . . . questions.’
    Heshai nodded and then shook his head as if clearing it. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and took a pose of agreement.
    ‘As you wish, most high,’ he said. ‘I will answer anything I can.’
    ‘Not you,’ the Khai said. ‘All I require is that you compel your creature.’
    Heshai looked at Maati and then at Seedless. The wide face went gray, the lips pressed thin. Seedless stiffened and then, slowly as a man wading through deep water, moved to the bedside and took a pose of obeisance before the Khai. Maati moved a step forward before he knew he meant to. His impulse to shield someone - Heshai,