A Betrayal in Winter lpq-2

by Abraham Daniel

  voice carrying like a flute's. Cehmai felt Maati-kvo's attention, but

  wasn't sure what to make of it. He felt as examined as the corpse on the

  physician's table. At length, he spoke to break the silence.

  "How is it?"

  "The council? Like a very long, very awkward dinner party. I imagine it

  will deteriorate. The only interesting thing is that a number of houses

  are calling for Vaunyogi to take the chair."

  "Interesting," Cehmai said. "I knew Adrah-cha was thinking of it, but I

  wouldn't have thought his father had the money to sway many people."

  "I wouldn't have either. But there are powers besides money."

  The comment seemed to hang in the air.

  "I'm not sure what you mean, Maati-kvo."

  "Symbols have weight. The wedding coming as it does might sway the

  sentimental. Or perhaps Vaunyogi has advocates we aren't aware of."

  "Such as?"

  Maati stopped. They had reached a wide courtyard, rich with the scent of

  cropped summer grass. The andat halted as well, its broad head tilted in

  an attitude of polite interest. Cehmai felt a brief flare of hatred

  toward it, and saw its lips twitch slightly toward a smile.

  "If you've spoken for the Vaunyogi, I need to know it," Matti said.

  "We're not to take sides in these things. Not without direction from the

  Dai-kvo."

  "I'm aware of that, and I don't mean to accuse you or pry into what's

  not mine, but on this one thing, I have to know. They did ask you to

  speak for them, didn't they?"

  "I suppose," Cehmai said.

  "And did you speak for them?"

  "No. Why should I?"

  "Because Idaan Machi is your lover," Maati said, his voice soft and full

  of pity.

  Cehmai felt the blood come into his face, his neck. The anger at

  everything that he had seen and heard pressed at him, and he let himself

  borrow certainty from the rage.

  "Idaan Machi is Adrah's wife. No, I did not speak for Vaunyogi. Despite

  your experience, not everyone falls in love with the man who's taken his

  lover."

  Maati leaned back. The words had struck home, and Cehmai pressed on,

  following the one attack with another.

  "And, forgive me, Maati-cha, but you seem in an odd position to take me

  to task for following my private affairs where they don't have a place.

  You are still doing all this without the l)ai-kvo's knowledge?"

  "He might have a few of my letters," Nlaati-kvo said. "If not yet, then

  soon."

  "But since you're a man under those robes, on you go. I am doing as the

  Dai-kvo set me to do. I am carrying this great bastard around; I am

  keeping myself apart from the politics of the court; I'm not willing to

  stand accused of lighting candles while you're busy burning the city down!"

  "Calling me a bastard seems harsh," Stone-Made-Soft said. "I haven't

  told you how to behave."

  "Be quiet!"

  "If Vol, think it will help," the andat said, its voice amused, and

  Cehmai turned the fury inward, pressing at the space where he and

  Stone-blade-Soft were one thing, pushing the storm into a smaller and

  smaller thing. He felt his hands in fists, felt his teeth ache with the

  pressure of his clenched jaw. And the andat, shifted, bent to his

  fire-bright will, knelt and cast down its gaze. He forced its hands into

  a pose of apology.

  "Cehmai-cha."

  He turned on Maati. The wind was picking up, whipping their robes. The

  fluttering of cloth sounded like a sail.

  "I'm sorry," Maati-kvo said. "I truly am very sorry. I know what it must

  mean to have these things questioned, but I have to know."

  "Why? Why is my heart suddenly your business?"

  "Let me ask this another way," Maati said. "If you aren't backing

  Vaunyogi, who is?"

  Cehmai blinked. His rage whirled, lost its coherence, and left him

  feeling weaker and confused. On the ground beside them, StoneMade-Soft

  sighed and rose to its feet. Shaking its great head, it gestured to the

  green streaks on its robe.

  "The launderers won't be pleased by that," it said.

  "What do you mean?" Cehmai said, not to the andat, but to Maatikvo. And

  yet, it was Stone-Made-Soft's deep rough voice that answered him.

  "He's asking you how badly Adrah Vaunyogi wants that chair. And he's

  suggesting that Idaan-cha may have just married her father's killer, all

  unaware. It seems a simple enough proposition to me. They aren't going

  to blame you for these stains, you know. They never do."

  Maati stood silently, peering at him, waiting. Cehmai held his hands

  together to stop their shaking.

  "You think that?" he asked. "You think that Adrah might have arranged

  the wedding because he knew what was going to happen? You think Adrich

  killed them?"

  "I think it worth considering," Maati said.

  Cchmai looked down and pressed his lips together until they ached. If he

  didn't-if he looked up, if he relaxed-he knew that he would smile. He

  knew what that would say about himself and his small, petty soul, so he

  swallowed and kept his head low until he could speak. Unbidden, he

  imagined himself exposing Adrah's crime, rejoining Idaan with her sole

  remaining family. He imagined her eyes looking into his as he told her

  what Maati knew.

  "Tell me how I can help," he said.

  MAAI'I SAT IN THE FIRST GALLERY, LOOKING DOWN INTO THE GREAT HALL and

  waiting for the council to go on. It was a rare event, all the houses of

  the utkhaiem meeting without a Khai to whom they all answered, and they

  seemed both uncertain what the proper rituals were and unwilling to let

  the thing move quickly. It was nearly dark now, and candles were being

  set out on the dozen long tables below him and the speaker's pulpit

  beyond them. The small flames were reflected in the parquet floor and

  the silvered glass on the walls below him. A second gallery rose above

  him, where women and children of the lower families and representatives

  of the trading houses could sit and observe. The architect had been

  brilliant-a man standing as speaker need hardly raise his voice and the

  stone walls would carry his words through the air without need of

  whisperers. Even over the murmurs of the tables below and the galleries

  above, the prepared, elaborate, ornate, deathly dull speeches of the

  utkhaiem reached every ear. The morning session had been interesting at

  least-the novelty of the situation had held his attention. But apart

  from his conversation with Cehmai, Maati had filled the hours of his day

  with little more than the voices of men practiced at saying little with

  many words. Praise of the utkhaiem generally and of their own families

  in particular, horror at the crimes and misfortunes that had brought

  them here, and the best wishes of the speaker and his father or his son

  or his cousin for the city as a whole, and on and on and on.

  Maati had pictured the struggle for power as a thing of blood and fire,

  betrayal and intrigue and danger. And, when he listened for the matter

  beneath the droning words, yes, all that was there. That even this could

  be made dull impressed him.

>   The talk with Cehmai had gone better than he had hoped. He felt guilty

  using Idaan Machi against him that way, but perhaps the boy had been

  ready to be used. And there was very little time.

  I--Ic was relying now on the competence of his enemies. 'There would be

  only a brief window between the time when it became clear who would take

  the prize and the actual naming of the Khai Machi. In that moment, Maati

  would know who had engineered all this, who had used Otah-kvo as a

  cover, who had attempted his own slaughter. And if he were wise and

  lucky and well-positioned, he might be able to take action. Enlisting

  Cchmai in his service was only a way to improve the chances of setting a

  lever in the right place.

  "The concern our kind brother of Saya brings up is a wise one to

  consider," a sallow-faced scion of the Daikani said. "The days arc

  indeed growing shorter, and the time for preparation is well upon us.

  There are roofs that must be made ready to hold their burden of snow.

  There arc granaries to be filled and stocks to be prepared. There are

  crops to be harvested, for men and beasts both."

  "I didn't know the Khai did all that," a familiar voice whispered. "He

  must have been a very busy man. I don't suppose there's anyone could

  take up the slack for him?"

  Baarath shifted down and sat beside Maati. He smelled of wine, his

  cheeks were rosy, his eyes too bright. But he had an oilcloth cone

  filled with strips of fried trout that he offered to Maati, and the

  distraction was almost welcome. Maati took a bit of the fish.

  "What have I missed?" Baarath said,

  "The Vaunyogi appear to be a surprise contender," Maati said. "They've

  been mentioned by four families, and praised in particular by two

  others. I think the Vaunani and Kamau are feeling upset by it, but they

  seem to hate each other too much to do anything about it."

  "That's truth," Baraath said. "Ijan Vaunani came to blows with old

  Kamau's grandson this afternoon at a teahouse in the jeweler's quarter.

  Broke his nose for him, I heard."

  "Really?"

  Baarath nodded. The sallow man droned on half forgotten now as Baarath

  spoke close to Maati's ear.

  "There are rumors of reprisal, but old Kaman's made it clear that anyone

  doing anything will he sent to tar ships in the Westlands. They say he

  doesn't want people thinking ill of the house, but I think it's his last

  effort to keep an alliance open against Adrah Vaunyogi. It's clear

  enough that someone's bought little Adrah a great deal more influence

  than just sleeping with a dead man's daughter would earn."

  Baarath grinned, then coughed and looked concerned.

  "Don't repeat that to anyone, though," he said. "Or if you do, don't say

  it was me. It's terribly rude, and I'm rather drunk. I only came up here

  to sober up a bit."

  "Yes, well, I came up to keep an eye on the process, and I think it's

  more likely to put your head on a pillow than clear it."

  Baarath chuckled.

  "You're an idiot if you came here to see what's happening. It's all out

  in the piss troughs where a man can actually speak. Didn't you know

  that? Honestly, Maati-kya, if you went to a comfort house, you'd spend

  all your time watching the girls in the front dance and wondering when

  the fucking was supposed to start."

  Maati's jaw went tight. When Baarath offered the fish again, Maati

  refused it. The sallow man finished, and an old, thick-faced man rose,

  took the pulpit, announced himself to be Cielah Pahdri, and began

  listing the various achievements of his house dating back to the fall of

  the Empire. Maati listened to the recitation and Baraath's overloud

  chewing with equal displeasure.

  He was right before, Maati told himself. Baarath was the worst kind of

  ass, but he wasn't wrong.

  "I assume," Maati said, "that `piss troughs' is a euphemism."

  "Only half. Most of the interesting news comes to a few teahouses at the

  south edge of the palaces. They're near the moneylenders, and that

  always leads to lively conversations. Going to try your luck there?"

  "I thought I might," Maati said as he rose.

  "Look for the places with too many rich people yelling at each other.

  You'll be fine," Baarath said and went back to chewing his trout.

  Maati took the steps two at a time, and slipped out the rear of the

  gallery into a long, dark corridor. Lanterns were lit at each end, and

  Maati strode through the darkness with the slow burning runout of

  annoyance that the librarian always seemed to inspire. He didn't see the

  woman at the hallway's end until he had almost reached her. She was

  thin, fox-faced, and dressed in a simple green robe. She smiled when she

  caught his eye and took a pose of greeting.

  "Maati-cha?"

  Maati hesitated, then answered her greeting.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I seem to have forgotten your name."

  "We haven't met. My name is Kiyan. Itani's told me all about you."

  It took the space of a breath for him to truly understand what she'd

  said and all it meant. The woman nodded confirmation, and Maati stepped

  close to her, looking back over his shoulder and then down the corridor

  behind her to be sure they were alone.

  "We were going to send you an escort," the woman said, "but no one could

  think of how to approach you without seeming like we were assassins. I

  thought an unarmed woman coming to you alone might suffice."

  "You were right," he said, and then a moment later, "That's likely na7ve

  of me, isn't it?"

  "A hit."

  "Please. Take me to him."

  Twilight had soaked the sky in indigo. In the east, stars were peeking

  over the mountain tops, and the towers rose up into the air as if they

  led up to the clouds themselves. Maati and the woman walked quickly; she

  didn't speak, and he didn't press her to. His mind was busy enough

  already. They walked side by side along darkening paths. Kiyan smiled

  and nodded to those who took notice of them. Maati wondered how many

  people would be reporting that he had left the council with a woman. He

  looked back often for pursuers. No one seemed to be tracking them, but

  even at the edge of the palaces, there were enough people to prevent him

  from being sure.

  They reached a teahouse, its windows blazing with light and its air rich

  with the scent of lemon candles to keep off the insects. The woman

  strode up the wide steps and into the warmth and light. The keep seemed

  to expect her, because they were led without a word into a back room

  where red wine was waiting along with a plate of rich cheese, black

  bread, and the first of the summer grapes. Kiyan sat at the table and

  gestured to the bench across from her. Maati sat as she plucked two of

  the small bright green grapes, bit into them and made a face.

  "Too early?" he asked.

  "Another week and they'll be decent. Here, pass me the cheese and bread."

  Kiyan chewed these and Maati poured himself a howl of wine. It was

  good-rich and deep and clean. He lifted the bottle but she shook her head.

  "He'll be joining us, then?"

 
"No. We're just waiting a moment to be sure we're not leading anyone to

  him."

  "Very professional," he said.

  "Actually I'm new to all this. But I take advice well."

  She had a good smile. Maati felt sure that this was the woman Otah had

  told him about that day in the gardens when Otah had left in chains. The

  woman he loved and whom he'd asked Maati to help protect. He tried to

  see Liat in her-the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek. There was

  nothing. Or perhaps there was something the two women shared that was

  simply beyond his ability to see.

  As if feeling the weight of his attention, Kiyan took a querying pose.

  Maati shook his head.

  "Reflecting on ages past," he said. "That's all."

  She seemed about to ask something when a soft knock came at the door and

  the keep appeared, carrying a bundle of cloth. Kiyan stood, accepted the

  bundle, and took a pose that expressed her gratitude only slightly

  hampered by her burden. The keep left without speaking, and Kiyan pulled

  the cloth apart-two thin gray hooded cloaks that would cover their robes

  and hide their faces. She handed one to Maati and pulled the other on.

  When they were both ready, Kiyan dug awkwardly in her doubled sleeve for