common thief in a low-town courtroom and have me defend my life? Justify
my right to breathe to the man who killed my son?"
"Nayiit has nothing to do with this," Otah said. "Sinja Ajutani, to
contrast, died because of you. Every Galt who has starved since you
exacted this sick, petty revenge is dead because of you. Every-"
"Nayiit has everything to do with this. Your sick love of all things
Galtic has everything to do with it. Your disloyalty to the women you
claim to rule. Your perfect calm in making me an outcast living in
gutters for something you were just as guilty of. You are a hypocrite
and a liar in everything you've done. I owe you nothing, Otah-kvo. Nothing!"
Otah was shouting something, but Maati's ears were rushing with blood
and raw anger. He saw the armsmen shift forward, blades at the ready,
but Maati was far past caring. Every injustice, every slight, every
cupful of pent-up outrage spilled out, all made worse by the fact that
Otah-self-righteous, entitled, and arrogant-was so busy shouting back
that he wasn't hearing a word of what Maati was saying.
When he noticed through his rage that a third voice had entered the
fray, he couldn't say how long it had been going.
"I said stop!" the Galt shouted again. "Stop it! Both of you!"
Maati turned to the girl, a sneer on his lip, but he was having a hard
time catching his breath. Otah also was now silent, his imperial face
flushed bright red. Maati felt the urge to offer up an obscene gesture,
but he restrained himself. The girl stood in the space between the two,
her hands outstretched. Danat stepped to her side. If anything, her
anger appeared as high as either of her elders', but she was able to
speak coherently.
"Gods," she said. "Is this really what we've been doing? Someone please
tell me that the world is on its knees over something more than two old
men chewing over quarrels from their boyhood."
"This is much, much more than that," Otah said. His voice, though
severe, had lost some of its certainty.
"I wouldn't know from listening to that display," Idaan said. "Ana-cha
has more sense than you on this, brother. Listen to her."
Otah had calmed down enough to look merely peeved. Maati held his fist
to his chest, but his heart was slowing to its usual pace. Nothing had
happened. He was fine. Otah, across from him, took a pose appropriate to
the beginning of a short break in a negotiation. His jaw was tight and
his stance only civil. Maati replied with one that accepted the
proposal. He wanted to sit at Eiah's side, to talk with her about what
to do next and how to go about it. It would have been a provocation,
though, so instead, Maati retreated to the door leading out into the
cold, black courtyard and the clean night air.
It had been a mistake. Otah was too proud and self-centered to help
them. He was too wrapped up in anger that the world hadn't followed his
one and only holy and anointed plan. They should have gone on to Utani,
found someone in the utkhaiem who would support them. Or they should
have gone after Vanjit themselves.
They should have done anything but this.
Voices came from behind him. Danat's, Otah's, Eiah's. They sounded
tense, but they weren't shouting. Maati pressed his hands into their
opposite sleeves and watched his breath steam like a soup kettle. He
wondered where Vanjit was and how she was keeping warm. It seemed the
woman had become two different people in his mind-one, the girl who had
come to him in despair and been given hope again, the other a halfmad
poet he'd loosed on the world. The impulses to kill her and to see to
her care shouldn't have been able to exist in him at the same time, and
yet there they were. He prayed she was dead, and he hoped she was well.
Between that and seeing Otah again, his head was buzzing like a hive.
"We've reached a conclusion," Idaan said from behind him. He turned. She
was standing in the doorway, blocking the light. His belly itched where
her assassin had stabbed him all those years before.
"Should I be grateful?" Maati asked. Idaan ignored the jab.
"If you and Otah can't play gently, and it's clear as the moon that you
can't, we're going to go through channels. Eiah's talking with Danat.
They sent me to speak with you."
"Ah, because we're such excellent friends?"
"Say it's because our relationship is simpler," Idaan said. Her voice
took on the texture of cast iron. "Tell me what happened."
Maati leaned against the rough wall and shook his head. He'd become too
excited, and now that he was calming, it was coming out in an urge to
weep. He would not under any circumstances allow that in front of Idaan.
Idaan, who'd tried to have Otah killed and had now become his traveling
companion. What more did anyone need to know to understand how far Otah
had fallen?
"Maati," Idaan said, her voice still hard. "Now."
He began with leaving the school, Eiah's opinion of his health, Vanjit's
escalating unreliability. The story took on a rhythm as he told it, the
words putting themselves in order as if he had practiced it all before.
Idaan didn't speak, but her listening was intense, drawing detail from
him almost against his will.
It was as if he were telling himself what had happened, offering a kind
of confession to the empty night, Idaan Machi-of all people in the
world, Idaan Machi-as his intercessor.
He reached the end-Vanjit's discovery of the poison, her escape, his
decision to find help. Somewhere in the course of things, he'd let
himself slip to the ground, sitting with his legs stuck out before him
and the stone paving leaching the warmth from his body. Idaan squatted
beside him. He imagined that the manner of her listening had softened,
as if silences could differ like speech.
"I see," she said. "Well. Who'd have thought this would become worse?"
"You led him to us," Maati said.
"I did my best," Idaan agreed. "It's been years since I put my hand to
this kind of work. I'm out of practice, but I did what I could."
"All to regain his imperial favor," Maati said. "I would never have
guessed that you'd become his toady."
"Actually, I started it to protect Cehmai," Idaan said as if he had
offered her no insult. "With you stirring up the mud, I was afraid for
him. I wanted Otah to know that he wasn't part of it. And then, once I
was at the court ... well, I had amends to make to Danat."
"The boy?"
"No. The one he's named for," Idaan said. She heaved a great sigh. "But
back to the matter at hand, eh? I understand how hard and confusing it
is to love someone you hate. I really do. And if you call me his toady
again, I swear by all the gods there ever were, I'll disjoint your
fingers. Understood?"