A Betrayal in Winter

by Daniel Abraham

  The voices of men seeped through the door, and then the sound of a winch creaking as it lowered the platform and its cargo of men. Then there were only two voices speaking in light, conversational tones. He couldn't make out a word they said.

  He forced himself to sit up and take stock. The room was larger than he'd expected, and bare. It could have been used as a storage room or set with table and chairs for a small meeting. There was a bowl of water in one corner, but no food, no candles, nothing but the stone to sleep on. The light came from a barred window. His hip and knees ached as Otah pulled himself up and stumbled over to it. He was facing south, and the view was like he'd become a bird. He leaned out-the bars were not so narrowly spaced that he couldn't climb out and fall to his death if he chose. Below him, the carts in the streets were like ants shuffling along in their lines. A crow launched itself from a crack or beam and circled below him, the sun shining on its black back. Trembling, he pulled himself back in. There were no shutters to close off the sky.

  He tried the door's latch, but it had been barred from without, and the hinges were leather and worked iron. Not the sort of thing a man could take apart with teeth. Otah knelt by the bowl of water and drank from his cupped hand. He washed out the worst of his wounds, and left a third in the bowl. There was no knowing how long it might be before they saw fit to give him more. He wondered if there were birds that came up this high to rest, and whether he would be able to trap one. Not that he would have the chance to cook it-there was nothing to burn here, and no grate to burn it in. Otah ran his hands over his face, and despite himself, laughed. It seemed unlikely they would allow him anything sharp enough to shave with. He would die with this sad little beard.

  Otah stretched out in a corner, his arm thrown over his eyes, and tried to sleep, wondering as he did whether the sense of movement came from his own abused and exhausted body, or if it were true that so far up even stone swayed.

  MAATI LOOKED AT THE FLOOR. HIS FACE WAS HARD WITH FRUSTRATION AND anger.

  "If you want him dead, most high," he said, his voice measured and careful, "you might at least have the courtesy to kill him."

  The Khai Machi raised the clay pipe to his lips. He seemed less to breathe the smoke in than to drink it. The sweet resin from it had turned every surface in the room slightly tacky to the touch. The servant in the blue and gold robes of a physician sat discreetly in a dim corner, pretending not to hear the business of the city. The rosewood door was closed behind them. Lanterns of sanded glass filled the room with soft light, rendering them all shadowless.

  "I've listened to you, Maati-cha. I didn't end him there in the audience chamber. I am giving you the time you asked," the old man said. "Why do you keep pressing me?"

  "He has no blankets or fire. The guards have given him three meals in the last four days. And l)anat will return before I've had word hack from the I)ai-kvo. If this is all you can offer, most high-"

  "You can state your case to l)anat-cha as eloquently as you could to me," the Khai said.

  "There'll be no point if Otah dies of cold or throws himself out the tower window before then," Maati said. "Let me take him food and a thick robe. Let me talk with him."

  "It's hopeless," the Khai said.

  "Then there's nothing lost but my effort, and it will keep me from troubling you further."

  "Your work here is complete, isn't it? Why are you bothering me, Maati-cha? You were sent to find Otah. He's found."

  "I was sent to find if he was behind the death of Biitrah, and if he was not, to discover who was. I have not carried out that task. I won't leave until I have."

  The Khai's expression soured, and he shook his head. His skin had grown thinner, the veins at his temples showing dark. When he leaned forward, tapping the howl of his pipe against the side of the iron brazier with a sound like pebbles falling on stone, his grace could not hide his discomfort.

  "I begin to wonder, Maati-cha, whether you have been entirely honest with me. You say that there is no great love between you and my upstart son. You bring him to me, and for that reason alone, I believe you. Everything else you have done suggests the other. You argue that it was not he who arranged Biitrah's death, though you have no suggestion who else might have. You ask for indulgences for the prisoner, you appeal to the Dai-kvo in hopes ..

  A sudden pain seemed to touch the old man's features and one nearskeletal hand moved toward his belly.

  "There is a shadow in your city," Maati said. "You've called it by Utah's name, but none of it shows any connection with Otah: not Biitrah, not the attack on me, not the murder of the assassin. None of the other couriers of any house report anything that would suggest he was more than he appeared. By his own word, he'd fled the city before the attack on me, and didn't return before the assassin was killed. How is it that he arranged all these things with no one seeing him? No one knowing his name? How is it that, now he's trapped, no one has offered to sell him in trade for their own lives?"

  "Who then?"

  "I don't ..."

  "Who else gained from these things?"

  "Your son, Danat," Maati said. "He broke the pact. If all this talk of Otah was a ploy to distract Kaiin from the real danger, then it worked, most high. Danat will be the new Khai Machi."

  "Ask him when he comes. He will be the Khai Machi, and if he has done as you said, then there's no crime in it and no reason that he should hide it."

  "A poet was attacked-"

  "And did you die? Are you dying? No? Then don't ask sympathy from me. Go, Maati-cha. Take the prisoner anything you like. Take him a pony and let him ride it around his cell, if that pleases you. Only don't return to me. Any business you have with me now, you have with my son.

  The Khai took a pose of command that ended the audience, and Maati stood, took a pose of gratitude that he barely felt, and withdrew from the meeting room. He stalked along the corridors of the palace seething.

  Back in his apartments, he took stock. He had gathered together his bundle even before he'd gone to the audience. A good wool robe, a rough cloth hag filled with nut breads and dry cheeses, and a flask of fresh water. Everything that he thought the Khai's men would permit. He folded it all together and tied it with twine.

  At the base of the great tower, armsmcn stood guard at the platform-a metalwork that ran on tracks set into the stone of the tower, large enough to carry twelve men. The chains that held it seemed entirely too thin. Maati identified himself, thinking his poet's robe, reputation, and haughty demeanor might suffice to make the men do as he instructed. Instead, a runner was sent to the Khai's palace to confirm that Maati was indeed permitted to see the prisoner and to give him the little gifts that he carried. Once word was brought back, Maati climbed on the platform, and the signalman on the ground blew a call on a great trumpet. The chains went taut, and the platform rose. Maati held onto the rail, his knuckles growing whiter as the ground receded. Wind plucked at his sleeves as the roofs of even the greatest palaces fell away below him. The only things so high as he was were the towers, the birds, and the mountains. It was beautiful and exhilarating, and all he could think the whole time was what would happen if a single link in any of the four chains gave way. When he reached the open sky doors at the top, the captain of the armsmen took him solidly by his arm and helped him step in.

  "First time, eh?" the captain said, and his men chuckled, but not cruelly. It was a journey each of them risked, Maati realized, every day. These men were more likely to die for the vanity of Machi than he. He smiled and nodded, stepping away from the open space of the sky door.

  "I've come to see the prisoner," he said.

  "I know," the captain said. "The trumpet said as much, if you knew to listen for it. But understand, if he attacks you-if he tries to bargain your life for his freedom-I'll send your body down. You make your choice when you go in there. I can't be responsible for it."

  The captain's expression was stern. Maati saw that he thought this possible, the danger real. Maati took a pose
of thanks, hampered somewhat by the bundle under his arm. The captain only nodded and led him to a huge wooden door. Four of his men drew their blades as he unbarred it and let it swing in. Maati took a deep breath and stepped through.

  Otah was huddled in a corner, his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked up and then back down. Maati heard the door close behind him, heard the bar slide home. All those men to protect him from this half-dead rag.

  "I've brought food," Maati said. "I considered wine, but it seemed too much like a celebration."

  Otah chuckled, a thick phlegmy sound.

  "It would have gone to my head too quickly anyway," he said, his voice weak. "I'm too old to go drinking without a good meal first."

  Maati knelt and unfolded the robe and arranged the food he'd brought. It seemed too little now, but when he broke off a corner of nut bread and held it out, Otah nodded his gratitude and took it. Maati opened the flask of water, put it beside Otah's feet, and sat back.

  "What news?" Otah asked. "I don't hear much gossip up here."

  "It's all as straightforward as a maze," Maati said. "House Siyanti is calling in every favor it has not to be banned from the city. Your old overseer has been going to each guild chapter house individually. There's even rumor he's been negotiating with hired armsmen."

  "He must be frightened for his life," Otah said and shook his head wearily. "I'm sorry to have done that to him. But I suppose there's little enough I can do about it now. There does always seem to be a price people pay for knowing me."

  Maati looked at his hands. For a moment he considered holding his tongue. It would be worse, he thought, holding out hope if there was none. But it was all that he had left to offer.

  "I've sent to the Dai-kvo. I may have a way that you can survive this," he said. "There's no precedent for someone refusing the offer to become a poet. It's possible that ..."

  Otah sipped the water and put down the flask. His brow was furrowed.

  "You've asked him to make me a poet?" Otah asked.

  "I didn't say it would work," Maati said. "Only that I'd done it."

  "Well, thank you for that much."

  Otah reached out, took another hit of bread, and leaned back. The effort seemed to exhaust him. Nlaati rose and paced the room. The view from the window was lovely and inhuman. No one had ever been meant to see so far at once. A thought occurred, and he looked in the corners of the room.

  "Have they ... there's no night bucket," he said.

  Otah raised one arm in a wide gesture toward the world outside.

  "I've been using the window," he said. Maati smiled, and Otah smiled with him. 't'hen for a moment they were laughing together.

  "Well, that must confuse people in the streets," Maati said.

  "Very large pigeons," Otah said. "They blame very large pigeons."

  Maati grinned, and then felt the smile fade.

  "They're going to kill, you Otah-kvo. The Khai and Danat. 't'hey can't let you live. You're too well known, and they think you'll act against them."

  "They won't make do with blinding inc and casting me into the wilderness, eh?"

  "I'll make the suggestion, if you like."

  Otah's laugh was thinner now. Ile took up the cheese, digging into its pale flesh with his fingers. lie held a sliver out to Maati, offering to share it. Maati hesitated, and then accepted it. It was smooth as cream and salty. It would go well with the nut bread, he guessed.

  "I knew this was likely to happen when I chose to come back," Otah said. "I'm not pleased by it, but it will spare Kiyan, won't it? They won't keep pressing her?"

  "I can't see why they would," Maati said.

  "Dying isn't so had, then," Otah said. "At least it does something for her."

  "Do you mean that?"

  "I might as well, Nlaati-kya. Unless you plan to sneak me out in your sleeve, I think I'm going to he spared the rigors of a northern winter. I don't see there's anything to be done about that."

  Maati sighed and nodded. He rose and took a pose of farewell. Even just the little food and the short time seemed to have made Otah stronger. He didn't rise, but he took a pose that answered the farewell. Maati walked to the door and pounded to be let out. He heard the scrape of the bar being raised. Otah spoke.

  "Thank you for all this. It's kind."

  "I'm not doing it for you, Otah-kvo."

  "All the same. Thank you."

  Maati didn't reply. The door opened, and he stepped out. The captain of the armsmen started to speak, but something in Maati's expression stopped him. Maati strode to the sky doors and out to the platform as if he were walking into a hallway and not an abyss of air. He clasped his hands behind him and looked out over the roofs of Machi. What had been vertiginous only recently failed to move him now. His mind and heart were too full. When he reached the ground again, he walked briskly to his apartments. The wound in his belly itched badly, but he kept himself from worrying it. He only gathered his papers, sat on a deck of oiled wood that looked out over gardens of summer trees and ornate flowers a brighter red than blood, and planned out the remainder of his day.

  There were still two armsmen from the cages with whom he hadn't spoken. If he knew who had killed the assassin, it would likely lead him nearer the truth. And the slaves and servants of the Third Palace might be persuaded to speak more of Danat Machi, now that he was coming back covered in the glory of his brother's blood. If he had used the story of Otah the Upstart to distract his remaining brother from his schemes ...

  A servant boy interrupted, announcing Cehmai. Maati took a pose of acknowledgment and had the young poet brought to him. He looked unwell, Maati thought. His skin was too pale, his eyes troubled. He couldn't think that Otah-kvo was bothering Cehmai badly, but surely something was.

  Still, the boy managed a grin and when he sat, he moved with more energy than Maati himself felt.

  "You sent for me, Maati-kvo?"

  "I have work," he said. "You offered to help me with this project once. And I could do with your aid, if you still wish to lend it."

  "You aren't stopping?"

  Maati considered. He could say again that the Dai-kvo had told him to discover the murderer of Biitrah Machi and whether Otah-kvo had had a hand in it, and that until he'd done so, he would keep to his task. It had been a strong enough argument for the utkhaiem, even for the Khai. But Cehmai had known the Dai-kvo as well as he had, and more recently. He would see how shallow the excuse was. In the end he only shook his head.

  "I am not stopping," he said.

  "May I ask why not?"

  "They are going to kill Otah-kvo."

  "Yes," Cehmai agreed, his voice calm and equable. Maati might as well have said that winter would be cold.

  "And I have a few days to find whose crimes he's carrying."

  Cehmai frowned and took a pose of query.

  "They'll kill him anyway," Cehmai said. "If he killed Biitrah, they'll execute him for that. If he didn't, Danat will do the thing to keep his claim to be the Khai. Either way he's a dead man."

  "That's likely true," Maati said. "But I've done everything else I can think to do, and this is still left, so I'll do this. If there is anything at all I can do, I have to do it."

  "In order to save your teacher," Cehmai said, as if he understood.

  "To sleep better twenty years from now," Maati said, correcting him. "If anyone asks, I want to he able to say that I did what could be done. And I want to be able to mean it. "That's more important to me than saving him."

  Cehmai seemed puzzled, but Maati found no better way to express it without mentioning his son's name, and that would open more than it would close. Instead he waited, letting the silence argue for him. Cehmai took a pose of acceptance at last, and then tilted his head.

  "Maati-kvo ... I'm sorry, but when was the last time you slept?"

  Maati smiled and ignored the question.

  "I'm going to meet with one of the armsmen who saw my assassin killed," he said. "I was wondering if I could imp
ose on you to find some servant from Danat's household with whom I might speak later this evening. I have a few questions about him ..

  DANAT MACIII ARRIVED LIKE. A HERO. THE STREETS WERE FILLET) WITH people cheering and singing. Festivals filled the squares. Young girls danced through the streets in lines, garlands of summer blossoms in their hair. And from his litter strewn with woven gold and silver, Danat Machi looked out like a protective father indulging a well-loved child. Idaan had been present when the word came that Danat Machi waited at the bridge for his father's permission to enter the city. She had gone down behind the runner to watch the doors fly open and the celebration that had been building spill out into the dark stone streets. They would have sting as loud for Kaiin, if Danat had been dead.

  While Danat's caravan slogged its way through the crowds, Idaan retreated to the palaces. The panoply of the utkhaiem was hardly more restrained than the common folk. Members of all the high families appeared as if by chance outside the Third Palace's great hall. Musicians and singers entertained with beautiful ballads of great warriors returning home from the field, of time and life renewed in a new generation. They were songs of the proper function of the world. It was as if no one had known Biitrah or Kaiin, as if the wheel of the world were not greased with her family's blood. Idaan watched with a calm, pleasant expression while her soul twisted with disgust.

  When Danat reached the long, broad yard and stepped down from his litter, a cheer went up from all those present; even from her. Danat raised his arms and smiled to them all, beaming like a child on Candles Night. His gaze found her, and he strode through the crowd to her side. Idaan raised her chin and took a pose of greeting. It was what she was expected to do. He ignored it and picked her up in a great hug, swinging her around as if she weighed nothing, and then placed her back on her own feet.