She led him through a high hall and out to an open garden that looked
down over the city. There were six or seven floors between them and the
streets below. Idaan Leaned against the rail and looked down, then back
at him.
"So he's gotten to you, has he?" she asked, her voice gray as ashes.
"No one's gotten to me. If Adrah had wanted me to bray like a mule and
paint my face like a whore's before he'd take me to you, I'd have been a
stranger sight than this."
And, almost as if it was against her will, Idaan laughed. Not long, and
not deep, hardly more than a faint smile and a fast exhalation, but it
was there. Cehmai stepped in and pulled her body to his. He felt her
start to push him back, hesitate, and then her cheek was pressed to his,
her hair filling his breath with its scent. He couldn't say if the tears
between them were hers or his or both.
"Why?" he whispered. "Why did you go? Why didn't you come to me?"
"I couldn't," she said. "There was ... there's too much."
"I love you, Idaan. I didn't say it before because it wasn't true, but
it is now. I love you. Please let me help."
Now she did push him away, holding one arm out before her to keep him at
a distance and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of the other.
"Don't," she said. "Don't say that. You ... you don't love me, Cehmai.
You don't love me, and I do not love you."
"Then why are we weeping?" he asked, not moving to dry his own cheek.
"Because we're young and stupid," she said, her voice catching. "Because
we think we can forget what happens to things that I care for."
"And what's that?"
"I kill them," she said, her voice soft and choking. "I cut them or I
poison them or I turn them into something wrong. I won't do that to you.
You can't be part of this, because I won't do that to you."
Cehmai didn't step toward her. Instead, he pulled back, walked to the
edge of the garden and looked out over the city. The scent of flowers
and forge-smoke mixed. "You're right, Idaan-kya. You won't do that. Not
to me. You couldn't if you tried."
"Please," she said, and her voice was near him. She had followed. "You
have to forget me. Forget what happened. It was ..."
"Wrong?"
For a breath, he waited.
"No," she said. "Not wrong. But it was dangerous. I'm being married in a
few days time. Because I choose to be. And it won't be you on the other
end of the cord."
"Do you want me to support Adrah for the Khai's chair?"
"No. I want you to have nothing to do with any of this. Go home. Find
someone else. Find someone better."
"I can love you from whatever distance you wish-"
"Oh shut up," Idaan snapped. "Just stop. Stop being the noble little boy
who's going to suffer in silence. Stop pretending that your love of me
started in anything more gallant than opening my robes. I don't need
you. And if I want you ... well, there are a hundred other things I want
and I can't have them either. So just go."
He turned, surprised, but her face was stony, the tears and tenderness
gone as if they'd never been.
"What are you trying to protect me from?" he asked.
"The answer to that question, among other things," she said. "I want you
away from me, Cehmai. I want you elsewhere. If you love me as much as
you claim, you'll respect that."
"But-"
"You'll respect it."
Cehmai had to think, had to pick the words as if they were stuck in mud.
The confusion and distress rang in his mind, but he could see what any
protests would bring. He had walked away from her, and she had followed.
Perhaps she would again. That was the only comfort here.
"I'll leave you," he said. "If it's what you want."
"It is. And remember this: Adrah Vaunyogi isn't your friend. Whatever he
says, whatever he does, you watch him. He will destroy you if he can."
"He can't," Cehmai said. "I'm the poet of Machi. The worst he can do to
me is take you, and that's already done."
That seemed to stop her. She softened again, but didn't move to him, or
away.
"Just be careful, Cehmai-kya. And go."
Cehmai's leaden hands took a pose of acceptance, but he did not move.
Idaan crossed her arms.
"You also have to be careful. Especially if Adrah wants to become Khai
Machi," Cehmai said. "It's the other thing I came for. The body they
found was false. Your brother Otah is alive."
He might have told her that the plague had come. Her face went pale and
empty. It was a moment before she seemed able to draw a breath.
"What ... ?" she said, then coughed and began again. "How do you know that?"
"If I tell you, will you still send inc away?"
Something washed through Idaan's expression-disappointment or depair or
sorrow. She took a pose that accepted a contract.
"Tell me everything," Idaan said.
Cehmai did.
Idaan walked through the halls, her hands clenched in fists. Her body
felt as if a storm were running through it, as if flood waters were
washing out her veins. She trembled with the need to do something, but
there was nothing to be done. She remembered seeing the superstitious
dread with which others had treated the name Otah Machi. She had found
it amusing, but she no longer knew why.
She had made Cehmai repeat himself until she was certain that she'd
understood what he was saying. It had taken all the pain and sorrow of
seeing him again and put it aside. Cehmai had meant to save her by it.
Adrah was in the kitchens, talking with his father's house master. She
took a pose of apology and extracted him, leading him to a private
chamber, pulling closed the shutters, and sliding home the door before
she spoke. Adrah sat in a low chair of pale wood and red velvet as she
paced. The words spilled out of her, one upon another as she repeated
the story Cehmai had told her. Even she could hear the tones of panic in
her voice.
"Fell me," she said as the news came to its end. ""Fell me it's not
true. Nell me you're sure he's dead."
"He's dead. It's a mistake. It has to be. No one knew when he'd he
leaving the city. No one could have rescued him."
"'Tell me that you know!"
Adrah scowled.
"How would I do that? We hired men to free him, take him away, and kill
him. They took him away, and his body floated hack down the river. But I
wasn't there, I didn't strangle him myself. I can't keep these men from
knowing who's paid their fee and also be there to hold their hands,
Idaan. You know that."