worn tapestry, the great ironwork candleholders filled with half a
hundred candles of tallow instead of wax, the empty incense burners, the
long stairway leading up to the higher floors that still showed the
marks where cloth runners had once softened the stone corners and no
longer did-but Cehmai couldn't quite fathom it. In another man, at
another time, it would have been a humbling thing to show a poet through
a compound like this, but Adrah seemed anything but humble. It might
have been a challenge or a play for Cehmai's sympathy. Or it might have
been a boast. My house has little, and still Idaan chose me.
They stopped at last at a wide door-dark wood inlaid with bone and black
stone. Adrah knocked, and when a servant girl opened the door a
fraction, he pressed his way in, gesturing Cehmai to follow. They were
summer quarters with wide arched windows, the shutters open to the air.
Silk banners with the yellow and gray of the Vaunyogi bellied and
fluttered in the breeze, as graceful as dancers. A desk stood at one
wall, a brick of ink and a metal pen sitting on it, ready should anyone
wish to use them. This room smelled of cedar and sandalwood. And sitting
in one of the sills, her feet out over the void, Idaan. Cehmai breathed
in deep, and let the air slide out slowly, taking with it a tension he'd
only half known he carried. She turned, looking at them over her
shoulder. Her face was unpainted, but she was just as lovely as she had
ever been. The bare, unadorned skin reminded Cehmai of the soft curve of
her mouth when she slept and the slow, languorous way she stretched when
she was on the verge of waking.
He took a pose of formal greeting. There was perhaps a moment's
surprise, and then she pulled her legs back into the room. Her
expression asked the question.
"Cehmai-kya wished to speak with you, love," Adrah said.
"I am always pleased to meet with the servant of the I)ai-kvo," Idaan
said. Her smile was formal and calm, and gave away nothing. Cehmai hoped
that he had not been wrong to come, but feared that her pleasant words
might cover anger.
"Forgive me," he said. "I hadn't meant to intrude. Only I had hoped to
find you at your own quarters, and these last few days ..."
Something in her demeanor softened slightly, as if she had heard the
deeper layer of his apology-I hurl to see yore, and there was no other
wayand accepted it. Idaan returned his formal greeting, then sauntered
to the desk and sat, her hands folded on her knees, her gaze cast down
in what would have been proper form for a girl of the utkhaiem before a
poet. From her, it was a bitter joke. Adrah coughed. Cehmai glanced at
him and realized the man thought she was being rude.
"I had hoped to offer my sympathies before this, Idaan-cha," Cehmai said.
"Your congratulations, too, I hope," Idaan said. "I am to be married
once the mourning week has passed."
Cehmai felt his heart go tighter, but only smiled and nodded.
"Congratulations as well," he said.
"Cehmai-kya and I have been talking," Adrah said. "About the city and
the succession."
Idaan seemed almost to wake at the words. Her body didn't move, but her
attention sharpened. When she spoke, her voice had lost a slowness
Cehmai had hardly known was there.
"Is that so? And what conclusions have you fine gentlemen reached?"
"Cehmai-kya agrees with me that the longer the struggle among the
utkhaiem, the worse for the city. It would be better if it were done
quickly. That's the most important thing."
"I see," Idaan said. I let gaze, dark as skies at midnight, shifted to
Cehmai. She moved to brush her hair back from her brow, though Cehmai
saw no stray lock there. "Then I suppose he would be wise to back
whichever house has the strongest claim. If he has decided to back
anyone. The I)ai-kvo has been scrupulous about removing himself from
these things."
"A man may voice an opinion," Adrah said, an edge in his voice, "without
shouting on street corners."
"And what opinion would you voice, Cehmai-cha?"
Cehmai stood silent, his breath deep and fast. With every impotent
thread of his will, he wished Adrah away. His hands were drawn toward
Idaan, and he felt himself lean toward her like a reed in the wind. And
yet her lover's eyes were on him, holding him back as effectively as chains.
"Whatever opinion you should choose," he said.
Idaan smiled, but there was more in her face than pleasure. Her jaw
shifted forward, her eyes brightened. There was rage beneath her calm,
and Cehmai felt it in his belly like an illness. The silence stretched
out for three long breaths, four, five....
"Love," Adrah said in a voice without affection. "I know our good
fortune at this unexpected ally is overwhelming, but-"
"I didn't want to take any action until I spoke to you," Cehmai said.
"That's why I had Adrah-cha bring me here. I hope I haven't given offense."
"Of course not, Cehmai-cha," she said. "But if you can't take my
husband's word for my mind, whose could you trust? Who could know me
better than he?"
"I would still prefer to discuss it with you," Cehmai said, packing as
much meaning into the words as he could without sounding forced. "It
will have some influence over the shape your life takes, and I wouldn't
wish to guess wrong."
A spark of amusement flashed in her eyes, and she took a pose of
gratitude before turning to Adrah.
"Leave us, then."
"Leave you ..."
"Certainly he can't expect a woman to speak her mind openly with her
husband floating above her like a hunting hawk. If Cehmai-cha is to
trust what I say, he must see that I'm free to do my own will, ne?"
"It might be best," Cchmai agreed, trying to make his voice
conciliatory. "If it wouldn't disturb you, Adrah-kya?"
Adrah smiled without even the echo of pleasure.
"Of course," he said. "I've arrangements to see to. The wedding is
almost upon us, you know. There's so much to do, and with the mourning
week ... I do regret that the Khai did not live long enough to see this
day come."
Adrah shook his head, then took a pose of farewell and retreated,
closing the door behind him. When they were alone, Idaan's face shifted,
naked venom in her stare.
"I'm sorry," Cehmai began, but Idaan cut him off.
"Not here. Gods only know how many servants he's set to listening. Come
with me."
Idaan took him by the arm and led him through the door Adrah had used,
then down a long corridor, and up a flight of winding stairs. Cehmai
felt the warmth of her hand on his arm, and it felt like relief. She was
here, she was well, she was with him. The world could be falling to
pieces, and her presence would make it bearable.