with the rustle of their robes. At a branching of the great hallway,
Kiyan hesitated, then bore left. A pair of great brass gates opened onto
a space like a garden, the plants all designed from silk, the birds
perched on the branches dead and dust-covered.
"Unreal, isn't it?" Kiyan said as she picked her way across the sterile
terrain. "I think they must go a little mad in the winters down here.
All those months without seeing the sunlight."
"I suppose," Maati said.
After the garden, they went down a series of corridors so narrow that
Maati could place his palms on both walls without stretching. She came
to a high wooden doorway with brass fittings that was barred from
within. Kiyan passed the lantern to Maati and knocked a complex pattern.
A scraping sound spoke of the bar being lifted, and then the door swung
in. Three men with blades in their hands stood. The center one smiled,
stepped back and silently gestured them through.
Lanterns filled the stone-walled passage with warm, buttery light and
the scent of burnt oil. There was no door at the end, only an archway
that opened out into a wide, tall space that smelled of sweat and damp
wool and torch smoke. A storehouse, then, with the door frames stuffed
with rope to keep out even a glimmer of light.
Half a dozen men stopped their conversations as Kiyan led him across the
empty space to the overseer's office-a shack within the structure that
glowed from within.
Kiyan opened the office door and stood aside, smiling encouragement to
Maati as he stepped past her and into the small room. A desk. Four
chairs. A stand for scrolls. A map of the winter cities nailed to the
wall. Three lanterns. And Otah-kvo rising now from his seat.
He was still thin, but there was an energy about him-in the way he held
his shoulders and his hands. In the way he moved.
"You're looking well for a dead man," Maati said.
"Feeling better than expected, too," Otah said, and a smile spread
across his long, northern face. "Thank you for coming."
"How could I not?" Maati drew one of the chairs close to him and sat,
his fingers laced around one knee. "So you've chosen to take the city
after all?"
Otah hesitated a moment, then sat. He rubbed the desktop with his open
palm-a dry sound-and his brow furrowed.
"I don't see my option," he said at last. "That sounds convenient, I
know. But ... You said before that you'd realized I had nothing to do
with Biitrah's death and your assault. I didn't have a part in Danat's
murder either. Or my father's. Or even my own rescue from the tower,
come to that. It's all simply happened up to now. And I didn't know
whether you still believed me innocent."
Maati smiled ruefully. There was something in Otah's voice that sounded
like hope. Maati didn't know his own heart-the resentment, the anger,
the love of Otah-kvo and of Liat and the child she'd borne. He couldn't
say even what they all had to do with this man sitting across his
appropriated desk.
"I do," Maati said at last. "I've been looking into the matter, but I
suppose you know that if you've had me watched."
"Yes. That's one reason I wanted to speak to you."
"There are others?"
"I have a confession to make. I'd likely be wiser to keep quiet until
this whole round is finished, but ... I've lied to you, Maati. I told
you that I'd been with a woman in the east islands and failed to father
a child on her. She ... she wasn't real. That never happened."
Maati considered this, waiting for his heart to rise in anger or
shrivel, but it only beat in its customary rhythm. He wondered when it
had stopped mattering to him, the father of the boy he'd lost. Since the
last time he had spoken with Utah in the high stone cell, certainly, but
looking back, he couldn't put a moment to it. If the boy was his get or
Utah's, neither would bring him back. Neither would undo the years gone
by. And there were other things that he had that he might still lose, or
else save.
"I thought I was going to die," Otah said. "I thought it wouldn't matter
to me, and if it gave you some comfort, then ..."
"Let it go," Maati said. "If there's anything to be said about it, we
can say it later. There are other matters at hand."
"Have you found something, then?"
"I have a family name, I think. Certainly there's someone putting money
and influence behind the Vaunyogi."
"Likely the Galts," Otah said. "They've been making contracts bad enough
to look like bribes. We didn't know what influence they were buying."
"It could be this," Nlaati said. "Do you know why they'd do it?"
"No," Otah said. "But if you've proof that the Vaunyogi are behind the
murderers-"
"I don't," Maati said. "I have a suspicion, but nothing more than that.
Not yet. And if we don't uncover them quickly, they'll likely have Adrah
named Khai Machi and have the resources of the whole city to find you
and kill you for crimes that everyone outside this warehouse assumes you
guilty of."
They sat in silence for the space of three breaths.
"Well," Otah-kvo said, "it appears we have some work to do then. But at
least we've an idea where to look."
IN HER DREAM, II)AAN WAS AT A CELEBRATION. FIRE BURNED IN A RING ALL
around the pavilion, and she knew with the logic of dreams that the
flames were going to close, that the circle was growing smaller. They
were all going to burn. She tried to shout, tried to warn the dancers,
but she could only croak; no one heard her. 't'here was someone there
who could stop the thing from happening-a single man who was Cehmai and
Otah and her father all at once. She beat her way through the bodies,
trying to find him, but there were dogs in with the people. The flames
were too close already, and to keep themselves alive, the women were
throwing the animals into the fire. She woke to the screams and howls in
her mind and the silence in her chamber.
The night candle had failed. The chamber was dim, silvered by moonlight
beyond the dark web of the netting. The shutters along the wall were all
open, but no breath of air stirred. Idaan swallowed and shook her head,
willing the last wisps of nightmare into forgetfulness. She waited,
listening to her breath, until her mind was her own again. Even then she
was reluctant to sleep for fear of falling into the same dream. She
turned to Adrah, but the bed at her side was empty. He was gone.
"Adrah?"
"There was no answer.
Idaan wrapped herself with a thin blanket, pushed aside the netting and
stepped out of her bed-her new bed. Her marriage bed. The smooth stone
of the floor was cool against her bare feet. She walked through the
chambers of their apartments-hers and her husband'ssilently. She found
him sitting on a low couch, a bottle beside him. A thick earthenware