bowl on the floor stank of distilled wine. Or perhaps it was his breath.
"You aren't sleeping?" she asked.
"Neither arc you," he said. The slurred words were half accusation.
"I had a dream," she said. "It woke me."
Adrah lifted the bottle, drinking from its neck. She watched the
delicate shifting mechanism of his throat, the planes of his cheeks, his
eyes closed and as smooth as a man asleep. Her fingers twitched toward
him, moving to caress that familiar skin without consulting him on her
wishes. Coughing, he put down the wine, and the eyes opened. Whatever
beauty had been in him, however briefly, was gone now.
"You should go to him," Adrah said. Perversely, he sounded less drunk
now. Idaan took a pose of query. Adrah waved it away with the sloshing
bottle. "The poet boy. Cehmai. You should go to him. See if you can get
more information."
"You don't want me here?"
"No," Adrah said, pressing the bottle into her hand. As he rose and
staggered past her, Idaan felt the insult and the rejection and a
certain relief that she hadn't had to find an excuse to slip away.
The palaces were deserted, the empty paths dreamlike in their own way.
Idaan let herself imagine that she had woken into a new, different
world. As she slept, everyone had vanished, and she was walking now
alone through an empty city. Or she had died in her sleep and the gods
had put her here, into a world with nothing but herself and darkness. If
they had meant it for punishment, they had misjudged.
The bottle was below a quarter when she stepped under the canopy of
sculpted oaks. She had expected the poet's house to he dark as well, but
as she advanced, she caught glimpses of candle glow, more light than a
single night candle could account for. Something like hope surged in
her, and she slowly walked forward. The shutters and door were open, the
lanterns within all lit. But the wide, still figure on the steps wasn't
him. Idaan hesitated. The andat raised its hand in greeting and motioned
her closer.
"I was starting to think you wouldn't come," Stone-Made-Soft said in its
distant, rumbling voice.
"I hadn't intended to," Idaan said. "You had no call to expect me."
"If you say so," it agreed, amiably. "Come inside. He's been waiting to
see you for days."
Going up the steps felt like walking downhill, the pull to be there and
see him was more powerful than weight. The andat stood and followed her
in, closing the door behind her and then proceeding around the room,
fastening the shutters and snuffing the flames. Idaan looked around the
room, but there were only the two of them.
"It's late. He's in the back," the andat said and pinched out another
small light. "You should go to him."
"I don't want to disturb him."
"He'd want you to."
She didn't move. The spirit tilted its broad head and smiled.
"He said he loves me," Idaan said. "When I saw him last, he said that he
loved me."
"I know."
"Is it true?"
The smile broadened. Its teeth were white as marble and perfectly
regular. She noticed for the first time that it had no canines-every
tooth was even and square as the one beside it. For a moment, the
inhuman mouth disturbed her.
"Why are you asking me?"
"You know him," she said. "You are him."
"True on both counts," Stone-Made-Soft said. "But I'm not credited as
being the most honest source. I'm his creature, after all. And all dogs
hate the leash, however well they pretend otherwise."
"You've never lied to me."
The andat looked startled, then chuckled with a sound like a boulder
rolling downhill.
"No," it said. "I haven't, have I? And I won't start now. Yes, Cehmai-
kya has fallen in love with you. He's Young. His passions are still a
large part of what he is. In forty years, he won't burn so hot. It's the
way it's been with all of them."
"I don't want him hurt," she said.
"Then stay."
"I'm not sure that would save him pain. Not in the long term."
The andat went still a moment, then shrugged.
"Then go," it said. "But when he finds you've gone, he'll chew his own
guts out over it. There's been nothing he's wanted more than for you to
come here, to him. Coming this close, talking to me, and leaving? It'd
hardly make him feel better about things."
Idaan looked at her feet. The sandals weren't laced well. She'd done the
thing in darkness, and the wine had, perhaps, had more effect on her
than she'd thought. She shook her head as she had when shaking off the
dreams.
"He doesn't have to know I came."
"Late for that," the andat said and put out another candle. "He woke up
as soon as we started talking."
"Idaan-kya?" his voice came from behind her.
Cehmai stood in the corridor that led hack to his bedchamber. His hair
was tousled by sleep. His feet were bare. Idaan caught her breath,
seeing him here in the dim light of candles. He was beautiful. He was
innocent and powerful, and she loved him more than anyone in the world.
"Cehmai."
"Only Cehmai?" he asked, stepping into the room. He looked hurt and
hopeful both. She had no right to feel this young. She had no right to
feel afraid or thrilled.
"Cehmai-kya," she whispered. "I had to see you."
"I'm glad of it. But ... but you aren't, are you? Glad to see me, I mean.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she said, and the sorrow rose up
in her like a flood. "It's my wedding night, Cehmai-kya. I was married
today, and I couldn't go a whole night in that bed."
Her voice broke. She closed her eyes against the tears, but they simply
came, rolling down her cheeks as fast as raindrops. She heard him move
toward her, and between wanting to step into his arms and wanting to
run, she stood Unmoving, feeling herself tremble.
He didn't speak. She was standing alone and apart, the sorrow and guilt
heating her like storm waves, and then his arms folded her into him. His
skin smelled dark and musky and male. He didn't kiss her, he didn't try
to open her robes. He only held her there as if he had never wanted
anything more. She put her arms around him and held on as though he was
a branch hanging over a precipice. She heard herself sob, and it sounded
like violence.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I want it back. I
want it all back. I'm so sorry."
"What, love? What do you want back?"
"All of it," she wailed, and the blackness and despair and rage and