A Betrayal in Winter (lpq-2) (38 page)

anyone. The I)ai-kvo has been scrupulous about removing himself from

these things."

"A man may voice an opinion," Adrah said, an edge in his voice, "without

shouting on street corners."

"And what opinion would you voice, Cehmai-cha?"

Cehmai stood silent, his breath deep and fast. With every impotent

thread of his will, he wished Adrah away. His hands were drawn toward

Idaan, and he felt himself lean toward her like a reed in the wind. And

yet her lover's eyes were on him, holding him back as effectively as chains.

"Whatever opinion you should choose," he said.

Idaan smiled, but there was more in her face than pleasure. Her jaw

shifted forward, her eyes brightened. There was rage beneath her calm,

and Cehmai felt it in his belly like an illness. The silence stretched

out for three long breaths, four, five....

"Love," Adrah said in a voice without affection. "I know our good

fortune at this unexpected ally is overwhelming, but-"

"I didn't want to take any action until I spoke to you," Cehmai said.

"That's why I had Adrah-cha bring me here. I hope I haven't given offense."

"Of course not, Cehmai-cha," she said. "But if you can't take my

husband's word for my mind, whose could you trust? Who could know me

better than he?"

"I would still prefer to discuss it with you," Cehmai said, packing as

much meaning into the words as he could without sounding forced. "It

will have some influence over the shape your life takes, and I wouldn't

wish to guess wrong."

A spark of amusement flashed in her eyes, and she took a pose of

gratitude before turning to Adrah.

"Leave us, then."

"Leave you ..."

"Certainly he can't expect a woman to speak her mind openly with her

husband floating above her like a hunting hawk. If Cehmai-cha is to

trust what I say, he must see that I'm free to do my own will, ne?"

"It might be best," Cchmai agreed, trying to make his voice

conciliatory. "If it wouldn't disturb you, Adrah-kya?"

Adrah smiled without even the echo of pleasure.

"Of course," he said. "I've arrangements to see to. The wedding is

almost upon us, you know. There's so much to do, and with the mourning

week ... I do regret that the Khai did not live long enough to see this

day come."

Adrah shook his head, then took a pose of farewell and retreated,

closing the door behind him. When they were alone, Idaan's face shifted,

naked venom in her stare.

"I'm sorry," Cehmai began, but Idaan cut him off.

"Not here. Gods only know how many servants he's set to listening. Come

with me."

Idaan took him by the arm and led him through the door Adrah had used,

then down a long corridor, and up a flight of winding stairs. Cehmai

felt the warmth of her hand on his arm, and it felt like relief. She was

here, she was well, she was with him. The world could be falling to

pieces, and her presence would make it bearable.

She led him through a high hall and out to an open garden that looked

down over the city. There were six or seven floors between them and the

streets below. Idaan Leaned against the rail and looked down, then back

at him.

"So he's gotten to you, has he?" she asked, her voice gray as ashes.

"No one's gotten to me. If Adrah had wanted me to bray like a mule and

paint my face like a whore's before he'd take me to you, I'd have been a

stranger sight than this."

And, almost as if it was against her will, Idaan laughed. Not long, and

not deep, hardly more than a faint smile and a fast exhalation, but it

was there. Cehmai stepped in and pulled her body to his. He felt her

start to push him back, hesitate, and then her cheek was pressed to his,

her hair filling his breath with its scent. He couldn't say if the tears

between them were hers or his or both.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why did you go? Why didn't you come to me?"

"I couldn't," she said. "There was ... there's too much."

"I love you, Idaan. I didn't say it before because it wasn't true, but

it is now. I love you. Please let me help."

Now she did push him away, holding one arm out before her to keep him at

a distance and wiping her eyes with the sleeve of the other.

"Don't," she said. "Don't say that. You ... you don't love me, Cehmai.

You don't love me, and I do not love you."

"Then why are we weeping?" he asked, not moving to dry his own cheek.

"Because we're young and stupid," she said, her voice catching. "Because

we think we can forget what happens to things that I care for."

"And what's that?"

"I kill them," she said, her voice soft and choking. "I cut them or I

poison them or I turn them into something wrong. I won't do that to you.

You can't be part of this, because I won't do that to you."

Cehmai didn't step toward her. Instead, he pulled back, walked to the

edge of the garden and looked out over the city. The scent of flowers

and forge-smoke mixed. "You're right, Idaan-kya. You won't do that. Not

to me. You couldn't if you tried."

"Please," she said, and her voice was near him. She had followed. "You

have to forget me. Forget what happened. It was ..."

"Wrong?"

For a breath, he waited.

"No," she said. "Not wrong. But it was dangerous. I'm being married in a

few days time. Because I choose to be. And it won't be you on the other

end of the cord."

"Do you want me to support Adrah for the Khai's chair?"

"No. I want you to have nothing to do with any of this. Go home. Find

someone else. Find someone better."

"I can love you from whatever distance you wish-"

"Oh shut up," Idaan snapped. "Just stop. Stop being the noble little boy

who's going to suffer in silence. Stop pretending that your love of me

started in anything more gallant than opening my robes. I don't need

you. And if I want you ... well, there are a hundred other things I want

and I can't have them either. So just go."

He turned, surprised, but her face was stony, the tears and tenderness

gone as if they'd never been.

"What are you trying to protect me from?" he asked.

"The answer to that question, among other things," she said. "I want you

away from me, Cehmai. I want you elsewhere. If you love me as much as

you claim, you'll respect that."

"But-"

"You'll respect it."

Cehmai had to think, had to pick the words as if they were stuck in mud.

The confusion and distress rang in his mind, but he could see what any

protests would bring. He had walked away from her, and she had followed.

Perhaps she would again. That was the only comfort here.

"I'll leave you," he said. "If it's what you want."

"It is. And remember this: Adrah Vaunyogi isn't your friend. Whatever he

says, whatever he does, you watch him. He will destroy you if he can."

"He can't," Cehmai said. "I'm the poet of Machi. The worst he can do to

me is take you, and that's already done."

That seemed to stop her. She softened again, but didn't move to him, or

away.

"Just be careful, Cehmai-kya. And go."

Cehmai's leaden hands took a pose of acceptance, but he did not move.

Idaan crossed her arms.

"You also have to be careful. Especially if Adrah wants to become Khai

Machi," Cehmai said. "It's the other thing I came for. The body they

found was false. Your brother Otah is alive."

He might have told her that the plague had come. Her face went pale and

empty. It was a moment before she seemed able to draw a breath.

"What ... ?" she said, then coughed and began again. "How do you know that?"

"If I tell you, will you still send inc away?"

Something washed through Idaan's expression-disappointment or depair or

sorrow. She took a pose that accepted a contract.

"Tell me everything," Idaan said.

Cehmai did.

Idaan walked through the halls, her hands clenched in fists. Her body

felt as if a storm were running through it, as if flood waters were

washing out her veins. She trembled with the need to do something, but

there was nothing to be done. She remembered seeing the superstitious

dread with which others had treated the name Otah Machi. She had found

it amusing, but she no longer knew why.

She had made Cehmai repeat himself until she was certain that she'd

understood what he was saying. It had taken all the pain and sorrow of

seeing him again and put it aside. Cehmai had meant to save her by it.

Adrah was in the kitchens, talking with his father's house master. She

took a pose of apology and extracted him, leading him to a private

chamber, pulling closed the shutters, and sliding home the door before

she spoke. Adrah sat in a low chair of pale wood and red velvet as she

paced. The words spilled out of her, one upon another as she repeated

the story Cehmai had told her. Even she could hear the tones of panic in

her voice.

"Fell me," she said as the news came to its end. ""Fell me it's not

true. Nell me you're sure he's dead."

"He's dead. It's a mistake. It has to be. No one knew when he'd he

leaving the city. No one could have rescued him."

"'Tell me that you know!"

Adrah scowled.

"How would I do that? We hired men to free him, take him away, and kill

him. They took him away, and his body floated hack down the river. But I

wasn't there, I didn't strangle him myself. I can't keep these men from

knowing who's paid their fee and also be there to hold their hands,

Idaan. You know that."

Idaan put her hands to her mouth. Her fingers were shaking. It was a

dream. It was a sick dream, and she would wake from it. She would wake

up, and none of it would have been true.

"He's used us," she said. "Otah's used us to do his work."

"What?"

"Look at it! We've done everything for him. We've killed them all. Even

... even my father. We've done everything he would have needed to do. He

knew. He knew from the start. He's planned for everything we've done."

Adrah made an impatient sound at the back of his throat.

"You're imagining things," he said. "He can't have known what we were

doing, or how we would do it. He isn't a god, and he isn't a ghost."

"You're sure of that, are you? We've fallen into his trap, Adrah! It's a

trap!"

"It is a rumor started by Cehmai'Iyan. Or maybe it's Maati Vaupathai

who's set you a trap. He could suspect us and say these things to make

us panic. Or Cehmai could."

"He wouldn't do that," Idaan said. "(:ehmai wouldn't do that toto us."

"TO you, you mean," Adrah said, pulling the words out slow and bitter.

Idaan stopped her pacing and took a pose of query, her gaze locked on

Adrah's. As much challenge as question. Adrah leaned hack in his chair,

the wood creaking tinder his weight.

"He's your lover, isn't he?" Adrah said. "This limp story about wanting

to offer condolences and being willing to back my claim only if he could

see you, could speak with you. And you sending me away like I was a

puppy you'd finished playing with. Do you think I'm dim, Idaan?"

Her throat closed, and she coughed to loosen it, only the cough didn't

end. It became laughter, and it shook her the way a dog might shake a

rat. It was nothing about mirth, everything about violence. Adrah's face

went red, and then white.

"This?" Idaan finally managed to stammer. "This is what we're going to

argue about?"

"Is there something else you'd prefer?"

"You're about to live a life filled with women who aren't me. You and

your father must have a list drawn up of allies we can make by taking

their daughters for wives. You have no right to accuse me of anything."

"That was your choice," he said. "We agreed when we started this ...

this landslide. It would he the two of us, together, no matter if we won

this or lost."

"And how long would that have lasted after you took my father's place?"

she asked. "Who would I appeal to when you broke your word?"

Adrah rose to his feet, stepping toward her. His hand open flat, pointed

toward her like a knife.

"That isn't fair to me. You never gave me the chance to fail you. You

assumed it and went on to punish me as though it had happened."