the same. He saw the large form lean back, turning to face into the
house, and heard the deep, rough voice if not the words them selves.
Cehmai was at the door in an instant, his eyes wide and bright, and then
bleak with disappointment before becoming merely polite.
With an almost physical sensation, it fit together-Cehmai's rage at
holding back news of Otah's survival, the lack of wedding decoration,
and the disappointment that Maati was only himself and not some other,
more desired guest. The poor bastard was in love with Idaan Machi.
Well, that was one secret discovered. It wasn't much, but the gods all
knew he'd take anything these days. He took a pose of greeting and
Cehmai returned it.
"I was wondering if you had a moment," Maati said.
"Of course, Maati-kvo. Come in."
The house was in a neat sort of disarray. Tables hadn't been overturned
or scrolls set in the brazier, but things were out of place, and the air
seemed close and stifling. Memories rose in his mind. He recalled the
moments in his own life when a woman had left him. The scent was very
much the same. He suppressed the impulse to put his hand on the boy's
shoulder and say something comforting. Better to pretend he hadn't
guessed. At least he could spare Cehmai that indignity. He lowered
himself into a chair, groaning with relief as the weight left his legs
and feet.
"I've gotten old. When I was your age I could walk all day and never
feel it."
"Perhaps if you made it more a habit," Cehmai said. "I have some tea.
It's a little tepid now, but if you'd like ..
Maati raised a hand, refusing politely. Cehmai, seeming to notice the
state of the house now there were someone else's eyes on it, opened the
shutters wide before he came to sit at Nlaati's side.
"I've come to ask for more time," Maati said. "I can make excuses first
if you like, or tell you that as your elder and an envoy of the Daikvo
it's something you owe me. Any of that theater you'd like. But it comes
to this: I don't know yet what's happening, and it's important to me
that if something does go wrong for Otah-kvo it not have been my doing."
Cehmai seemed to weigh this.
"Baarath tells me you had a message from the Dai-kvo," Cehmai said.
"Yes. After he heard I'd turned Otah-kvo over to his father, he called
me back."
"And you're disobeying that call."
"I'm exercising my own judgment."
"Will the Dai-kvo make that distinction?"
"I don't know," Maati said. "If he agrees with me, I suppose he'll agree
with me. If not, then not. I can only guess what he would have said if
he'd known everything I know, and move from there."
"And you think he'd want Otah's secret kept?"
Maati laughed and rubbed his hands together. His legs were twitching
pleasantly, relaxing from their work. He stretched and his shoulder cracked.
"Probably not," he said. "He'd more likely say that it isn't our place
to take an active role in the succession. That he'd sent me here with
that story about rooting through the library so that it wouldn't be
clear to everyone over three summers old what I was really here for. He
might also mention that the questions I've been asking have been bad
enough without lying to the utkhaiem while I'm at it."
"You haven't lied," Cchmai said, and then a moment later. "Well,
actually, I suppose you have. You aren't really doing what you believe
the Dai-kvo would want."
"No."
"And you want my complicity?"
"Yes. Or, that is, I have to ask it of you. And I have to persuade you
if I can, though in truth I'd he as happy if you could talk me out of it."
"I don't understand. Why are you doing this? And don't only say that you
want to sleep well after you've seen another twenty summers. You've done
more than anyone could have asked of you. What is it about Otah Machi
that's driving you to this?"
Oh, Maati thought, you shouldn't have asked that question, my boy.
Because that one I know how to answer, and it'll sting you as much as me.
He steepled his fingers and spoke.
"He and I loved the same woman once, when we were younger men. If I do
him harm or let him come to harm that I could have avoided, I couldn't
look at her again and say it wasn't my anger that drove me. My anger at
her love for him. I haven't seen her in years, but I will someday. And
when I do, I need it to be with a clear conscience. The Dai-kvo may not
need it. The poets may not. But despite our reputations, we're men under
these robes, and as a man ... As a man to a man, it's something I would
ask of you. Another week. Just until we can see who's likely to be the
new Khai."
There was a shifting sound behind him. The andat had come in silently at
some point and was standing at the doorway with the same simple, placid
smile. Cehmai leaned forward and ran his hands through his hair three
times in fast succession, as if he were washing himself without water.
"Another week," Cehmai said. "I'll keep quiet another week."
Maati blinked. He had expected at least an appeal to the danger he was
putting Idaan in by keeping silent. Some form of at /east let me warn
her... Maati frowned, and then understood.
He'd already done it. Cehmai had already told Idaan Machi that Otah was
alive. Annoyance and anger flared brief as a firefly, and then faded,
replaced by something deeper and more humane. Amusement, pleasure, and
even a kind of pride in the young poet. We arc men beneath these robes,
he thought, and we do what we must.
SINJA SPUN, TIIE THICK WOODEN CUDGEL HISSING TIIROUGII THE AIR. OTAH
stepped inside the blow, striking at the man's wrist. He missed, his own
rough wooden stick hitting Sinja's with a clack and a shock that ran up
his arm. Sinja snarled, pushed him back, and then ruefully considered
his weapon.
"That was decent," Sinla said. "Amateur, granted, but not hopeless."
Otah set his stick down, then sat-head between his knees-as he fought to
get his breath back. His ribs felt as though he'd rolled down a rocky
hill, and his fingers were half numb from the shocks they'd absorbed.
And he felt good-exhausted, bruised, dirty, and profoundly hack in
control of his own body again, free in the open air. His eyes stung with
sweat, his spit tasted of blood, and when he looked up at Sinja, they
were both grinning. Otah held out his hand and Sinja hefted him to his feet.
"Again?" Sinja said.
"I wouldn't ... want to ... take advantage ... when you're ... so tired."
Sinja's face folded into a caricature of helplessness as he took a pose
of gratitude. They turned back toward the farmhouse. "l'he high summer
afternoon was thick with gnats and the scent of pine resin. The thick