gray walls of the farmhouse, the wide low trees around it, looked like a
painting of modest tranquility. Nothing about it suggested court
intrigue or violence or death. That, Otah supposed, was why Amur had
chosen it.
They had gone out after a late breakfast. Otah had felt well enough, he
thought, to spar a bit. And there was the chance that this would all
come to blades before it was over, whether he chose it or not. He'd
never been trained as a fighter, and Sinja was happy to offer a day's
instruction. There was an easy camaraderie that Otah had enjoyed on the
way out. The work itself reminded him that Sinja had slaughtered his
last comrades, and the walk back was somehow much longer than the one
out had been.
"A little practice, and you'd be a decent soldier," Sinja said as they
walked. "You're too cautious. You'll lose a good strike in order to
protect yourself, and that's a vice. You'll need to be careful of it."
"I'm actually hoping for a life that doesn't require much blade work of me."
"I wasn't only talking about fighting."
When they reached the farmhouse, the stables had four unfamiliar horses
in them, hot from the road. An armsman of House Siyanti-one Otah
recognized, but whose name he'd never learned-was caring for them. Sinja
traded a knowing look with the man, then strode up the stairs to the
main rooms. Otah followed, his aches half-forgotten in the mingled
curiosity and dread.
Amiit Foss and Kiyan were sitting at the main table with two other men.
One-an older man with heavy, beetled brows and a hooked nose-wore robes
embroidered with the sun and stars of House Siyanti. The other, a young
man with round cheeks and a generous belly, wore a simple blue robe of
inexpensive cloth, but enough rings on his fingers to pay for a small
house. Their conversation stopped as Otah and Sinja entered the room.
Amiit smiled and gestured toward the benches.
"Well timed," Amiit said. "We've just been discussing the next step in
our little dance."
"What's the issue?" Sinja asked.
"The mourning's ending. Tomorrow, the heads of all the houses of the
utkhaiem meet. I expect it will take them a few days before the
assassinations start, but within the month it'll be decided who the new
Khai is to be."
"We'll have to act before that," Otah said.
"True enough, but that doesn't mean we'd be wise to act now," Amiit
said. "We know, or guess well enough, what power is behind all thisthe
Galts. But we don't know the mechanism. Who are they backing? Why? I
don't like the idea of moving forward without that in hand. And yet,
time's short."
Amiit held out his open hands, and Otah understood this choice was being
laid at his door. It was his life most at risk, and Amiit wasn't going
to demand anything of Otah that he wasn't prepared to do. Otah sat,
laced his fingers together, and frowned. It was Kiyan's voice that
interrupted his uncertainty.
"Either we stay here or we go to Machi. If we stay here, we're unlikely
to be discovered, but it takes half a day for us to get news, and half a
day at least to respond to it. Amiit-cha thinks the safety might be
worth it, but Lamara-cha," she gestured to the hook-nosed man, "has been
arguing that we'll want the speed we can only have by being present.
He's arranged a place for us to stay-in the tunnels below the palaces."
"I have an armsman of the Saya family in my employ," the hooknosed
Lamara said. His voice was a rough whisper, and Otah noticed for the
first time a long, deep, old scar across the man's throat. "The Saya are
a minor family, but they will be at the council. We can keep clear on
what's said and by whom."
"And if you're discovered, we'll all be killed," Sinja said. "As far as
the world's concerned, you've murdered a Khai. It's not a precedent
anyone wants set. Especially not the other Khaiem. Bad enough they have
to watch their brothers. If it's their sons, too...."
"I understand that," Otah said. Then, to Amiit, "Are we any closer to
knowing who the Galts are backing?"
"We don't know for certain that they're backing anyone," Amiit said.
"That's an assumption we've made. We can make some educated guesses, but
that's all. It may be that their schemes are about the poets, the way
you suggested, and not the succession at all."
"But you don't believe that," Otah said.
"And the poets don't either," the round-checked man said. "At least not
the new one."
"Shojen-cha is the man we set to follow Maati Vaupathai," Amiit said.
"He's been digging at all the major houses of the utkhaiem," Shojen
said, leaning forward, his rings glittering in the light. "In the last
week, he's had audiences with all the highest families and half the low
ones. And he's been asking questions about court politics and money and
power. He hasn't been looking to the Galts in particular, but it's clear
enough he thinks some family or families of the utkhaiem are involved in
the killings."
"What's he found out?" Otah asked,
"We don't know. I can't say what he's looking for or what he's found,
but there's no question he's conducting an investigation."
"He's the one who gave you over to the Khai in the first place, isn't
he, Otah-cha?" Lamara said in his ruined voice.
"He's also the one who took a knife in the gut," Sinja said.
"Can we say why he's looking?" Otah asked. "What would he do if he
discovered the truth? Report it to the utkhaiem? Or only the Daikvo?"
"I can't say," Shojen said. "I know what he's doing, not what he's
thinking."
"We can say this," Amiit said, his expression dour and serious. "As it
stands, there's no one in the city who'll think you innocent, Otah-cha.
If you're found in Machi, you'll be killed. And whoever sticks the first
knife in will use it as grounds that he should he Khai. The only
protection you'll have is obscurity."
"No armsmen?" Otah asked.
"Not enough," Amiit said. "First, they'd only draw attention to you, and
second, there aren't enough guards in the city to protect you if the
utkhaiem get your scent in their noses."
"But that's true wherever he is," Lamara said. "If they find out he's
alive on a desolate rock in the middle of the sea, they'll send men to
kill him. He's murdered the Khai!"
"Then best to keep him where he won't be found," Amiit said. There was
an impatience in his tone that told Otah this debate had been going on
long before he'd come in the room. Tempers were fraying, and even Amiit
Foss's deep patience was wearing thin. He felt Kiyan's eyes on him, and
looked up to meet her gaze. Her half-smile carried more meaning than
half a hand's debate. They will never agree and you may as we//practice
giving orders now-if itgoes well, you'll be doing it for the rest of