Idaan paused. This was only a side gallery-little used, rarely
trafficked. But it would do, she thought.
"What now?" Adrah asked. "We light the pitch? Simulate a fire?"
Idaan took the pot from its hag and weighed it in her hands.
"We simulate nothing, Adrah-kya," she said. She tossed the pot at the
base of a thick timber support and tossed her lit torch onto the
blackness. It sputtered for a moment, then caught. Idaan unslung the bow
from her shoulder and draped a fold of the cloak over it. "Be ready."
She waited as the flames caught. If she waited too long, they might not
be able to pass the fire. If she was too quick, the armsmen might be
able to put out the blaze. A deep calm seemed to descend upon her, and
she felt herself smile. Now would be a fine moment, she thought, and
screamed, raising the alarm. Adrah and Daaya followed her as she
stumbled through the darkness and into the cages. In the time it took
for her to take two breaths of the thickening air, they found themselves
in the place she'd hoped: a wide gallery in torchlight, the air already
becoming dense with smoke, and iron cages set into the stone where
prisoners waited on the justice of the Khai. Two armsmen in leather and
bronze armor scuttled to the three of them, their eyes round with fear.
"There's a fire in the gallery!" Daaya shrilled. "Get water! Get the watch!"
The prisoners were coming to the front of the cages now. Their cries of
fear added to the confusion. Idaan pretended to cough as she considered
the problem. There were two more armsmen at the far end of the cages,
but they were coming closer. Of the first two who had approached, one
had raced off toward the fire, the other down a well-lit tunnel, she
presumed towards aid. And then midway down the row of cages on the left,
she caught a glimpse of the Galts' creature. There was real fear in his
eyes.
Adrah panicked as the second pair came close. With a shriek, he drew his
blade, hewing at the armsmen like a child playing at war. Idaan cursed,
but Daaya was moving faster, drawing his bow and sinking a dark shaft
into the man's belly as Idaan shot at his chest and missed. But Adrah
was lucky-a wild stroke caught the armsman's chin and seemed to cleave
his jaw apart. Idaan raced to the cages, to Oshai. The moon-faced
assassin registered a moment's surprise when he saw her face within the
hood, and then Oshai closed his eyes and spat.
Adrah and Daaya rushed to her side.
"Do not speak," Oshai said. "Nothing. Every man here would sell you for
his freedom, and there are people who would buy. Do you understand?"
Idaan nodded and pointed toward the thick lock that barred the door.
Oshai shook his head.
"The Khai's Master of Blades keeps the keys," Oshai said. "The cages
can't be opened without him. If you meant me to leave with you, you
didn't think this through very well."
Adrah whispered a curse, but Oshai's eyes were on Idaan. He smiled
thinly, his eyes dead as a fish's. He saw it when she understood, and he
nodded, stepped back from the bars, and opened his arms like a man
overwhelmed by the beauty of a sunrise. Idaan's first arrow took him in
the throat. There were two others after that, but she thought they
likely didn't matter. The first shouts of the watch echoed. The smoke
was thickening. Idaan walked away, down the route she had meant to take
when the prisoners were free. She'd meant to free them all, adding to
the chaos. She'd been a fool.
"What have you done?" Daaya Vaunyogi demanded once they were safely away
in the labyrinth. "What have you done?"
Idaan didn't bother answering.
Back in the garden, they sank the blades and the cloaks in a fountain to
lie submerged until Adrah could sneak back in under cover of night and
get rid of them. Even with the dark hoods gone, they all reeked of
smoke. She hadn't foreseen that either. Neither of the men met her eyes.
And yet, Oshai was beyond telling stories to the utkhaiem. So perhaps
things hadn't ended so badly.
She gave her farewells to Daaya Vaunyogi. Adrah walked with her hack
through the evening-dimmed streets to her rooms. That the city seemed
unchanged struck her as odd. She couldn't say what she had expected-what
the day's events should have done to the stones, the air-but that it
should all be the same seemed wrong. She paused by a beggar, listening
to his song, and dropped a length of silver into the lacquered box at
his feet.
At the entrance to her rooms, she sent her servants away. She did not
wish to be attended. They would assume she smelled of sex, and best that
she let them. Adrah peered at her, earnest as a puppy, she thought. She
could see the distress in his eyes.
"You had to," he said, and she wondered if he meant to comfort her or
convince himself. She took a pose of agreement. He stepped forward, his
arms curving to embrace her.
"Don't touch me," she said, and he stepped hack, paused, lowered his
arms. Idaan saw something die behind his eyes, and felt something wither
in her own breast. So this is what we are, she thought.
"Things were good once," he said, as if willing her to say and they will
be again. The most she could give him was a nod. They had been good
once. She had wanted and admired and loved him once. And even now, a
part of her might love him. She wasn't sure.
The pain in his expression was unbearable. Idaan leaned forward, kissed
him briefly on the lips, and went inside to wash the day off her skin.
She heard his footsteps as he walked away.
Her body felt wrung out and empty. There were dried apples and sugared
almonds waiting for her, but the thought of food was foreign. Gifts had
arrived throughout the day-celebrations of her being sold off. She
ignored them. It was only after she had bathed, washing her hair three
times before it smelled more of flowers than smoke, that she found the note.
It rested on her bed, a square of paper folded in quarters. She sat
naked beside it, reached out a hand, hesitated, and then plucked it
open. It was brief, written in an unsteady hand.
Daughter, it said. I had hoped that you might be able to spend some part
of this happy day with me. Instead, I will leave this. Know that you
have my blessings and such love as a weary old man can give. You have
always delighted me, and I hope for your happiness in this match.
When her tears and sobbing had exhausted her, Idaan carefully gathered
the scraps of the note together and placed them together under her
pillow. Then she bowed and prayed to all the gods and with all her heart
that her father should die, and die quickly. That he should die without
discovering what she was.
MAATI WAS LOST FOR A TIME IN PAIN, THEN DISCOMFORT, AND THEN PAIN again.
He didn't suffer dreams so much as a pressing sense of urgency without