Shadow and Betrayal (76 page)
Read Shadow and Betrayal Online
Authors: Daniel Abraham
Danat Machi arrived like a hero. The streets were filled 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 sung 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.
‘Sister,’ he said, smiling into her eyes. ‘I can’t say how glad I am to see you.’
‘Danat-kya,’ she said, and then failed.
‘How are things with our father?’
The sorrow that was called for here was at least easier than the feigned delight. She saw it echoed in Danat’s eyes. So close to him, she could see the angry red in the whites of his eyes, the pallor in his skin. He was wearing paint, she realized. Rouge on his cheeks and lips and some warm-toned powder to lend his skin the glow of health. Beneath it, he was sallow. She wondered if he’d grown sick, and whether there was some slow poison that might be blamed for his death.
‘He has been looking forward to seeing you,’ she said.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. And I hear that you’re to become a Vaunyogi. I’m pleased for you. Adrah’s a good man.’
‘I love him,’ she said, surprised to find that in some dim way it was still truth. ‘But how are you, brother? Are you . . . are things well with you?’
For a moment, Danat seemed about to answer. She thought she saw something weaken in him, his mouth losing its smile, his eyes looking into a darkness like the one she carried. In the end, he shook himself and kissed her forehead, then turned again to the crowd and made his way to the Khai’s palace, greeting and rejoicing with everyone who crossed his path. And it was only the beginning. Danat and their father would be closeted away for a time, then the ritual welcome from the heads of the families of the utkhaiem. And then festivities and celebrations, feasts and dances and revelry in the streets and palaces and teahouses.
Idaan made her way to the compound of the Vaunyogi, and to Adrah and his father. The house servants greeted her with smiles and poses of welcome. The chief overseer led her to a small meeting room in the back. If it seemed odd that this room - windowless and dark - was used now in the summer when most gatherings were in gardens or open pavilions, the overseer made no note of it. Nothing could have been more different from the mood in the city than the one here; like a winter night that had crept into summer.
‘Has House Vaunyogi forgotten where it put its candles?’ she asked, and turned to the overseer. ‘Find a lantern or two. These fine men may be suffering from their drink, but I’ve hardly begun to celebrate.’
The overseer took a pose that acknowledged the command and scampered off, returning immediately with his gathered light. Adrah and his father sat at a long stone table. Dark tapestries hung from the wall, red and orange and gold. When the doors were safely closed behind them, Idaan pulled out one of the stools and sat on it. Her gaze moved from the father’s face to the son’s. She took a pose of query.
‘You seem distressed,’ she said. ‘The whole city is loud with my brother’s glory, and you two are skulking in here like criminals.’
‘We have reason to be distressed,’ Daaya Vaunyogi said. She wondered whether Adrah would age into the same loose jowls and watery eyes. ‘I’ve finally reached the Galts. They’ve cooled. Killing Oshai’s made them nervous, and now with Danat back . . . we expected to have the fighting between your brothers to cover our . . . our work. There’s no hope of that now. And that poet hasn’t stopped hunting around, even with the holes Oshai poked in him.’
‘The more reason you have to be distressed,’ Idaan said, ‘the more important that you should not seem it. Besides, I still have two living brothers.’
‘Ah, and you have some way to make Danat die at Otah’s hand?’ the old man said. There was mockery in his voice, but there was also hope. And fear. He had seen what she had done, and perhaps now he thought her capable of anything. She supposed that would be something worthy of his hope and fear.
‘I don’t have the details. But, yes. The longer we wait, the more suspicious it will look when Danat and the poet die.’
‘You still want Maati Vaupathai dead?’ Daaya asked.
‘Otah is locked away, and the poet’s digging. Maati Vaupathai isn’t satisfied to blame the upstart for everything, even if the whole city besides him is. There are three breathing men between Adrah and my father’s chair. Danat, Otah, and the poet. I’ll need armsmen, though, to do what I intend. How many could you put together? They would have to be men you trust.’
Daaya looked at his son, as if expecting to find some answer there, but Adrah neither spoke nor moved. He might very nearly not have been there at all. Idaan swallowed her impatience and leaned forward, her palms spread on the cool stone of the table. One of the candles sputtered and spat.
‘I know a man. A mercenary lord. He’s done work for me before and kept quiet,’ Daaya said at last. He didn’t seem certain.
‘We’ll free the upstart and slit the poet’s throat,’ Idaan said. ‘There won’t be any question who’s actually done the thing. No sane person would doubt that it was Otah’s hand. And when Danat rides out to find him, our men will be ready to ride with him. That will be the dangerous part. You’ll have to find a way to get him apart from anyone else who goes.’
‘And the upstart?’ Daaya asked.
‘He’ll go where we tell him to go. We’ll just have saved him, after all. There will be no reason to think we mean him harm. They’ll all be dead in time for the wedding, and if we do it well, the joy that is our bonding will put us as the clear favorites to take the chair. That should be enough to push the Galts into action. Adrah will be Khai before the harvest.’
Idaan leaned back, smiling in grim satisfaction. It was Adrah who broke the silence, his voice calm and sure and unlike him.
‘It won’t work.’
Idaan began to take a pose of challenge, but she hesitated when she saw his eyes. Adrah had gone cold as winter. It wasn’t fear that drove him, whatever his father’s weakness. There was something else in him, and Idaan felt a stirring of unease.
‘I can’t see why not,’ Idaan said, her voice still strong and sure.
‘Killing the poet and freeing Otah would be simple enough to manage. But the other. No. It supposes that Danat would lead the hunt himself. He wouldn’t. And if he doesn’t, the whole thing falls apart. It won’t work.’
‘I say that he would,’ Idaan said.
‘And I say that your history planning these schemes isn’t one that inspires confidence,’ Adrah said and stood. The candlelight caught his face at an angle, casting shadows across his eyes. Idaan rose, feeling the blood rushing into her face.
‘I was the one who saved us when Oshai fell,’ she said. ‘You two were mewling like kittens, and crying despair—’
‘That’s enough,’ Adrah said.
‘I don’t recall you being in a position to order me when to speak and when to be silent.’
Daaya coughed, looking from one to the other of them like a lamb caught between wolf and lion. The smile that touched Adrah’s mouth was thin and unamused.
‘Idaan-kya,’ Adrah said, ‘I am to be your husband and the Khai of this city. Sit with that. Your plan to free Oshai failed. Do you understand that? It
failed
. It lost us the support of our backers, it killed the man most effective in carrying out these unfortunate duties we’ve taken on, and it exposed me and my father to risk. You failed before, and this scheme you’ve put before us now would also fail if we did as you propose.’
failed
. It lost us the support of our backers, it killed the man most effective in carrying out these unfortunate duties we’ve taken on, and it exposed me and my father to risk. You failed before, and this scheme you’ve put before us now would also fail if we did as you propose.’
Adrah began to pace slowly, one hand brushing the hanging tapestries. Idaan shook her head, remembering some epic she’d seen when she was young. A performer in the role of Black Chaos had moved as Adrah moved now. Idaan felt her heart grow tight.
‘It isn’t that it’s without merit - the shape of it generally is useful, but the specifics are wrong. If Danat is to grab what men he can find and rush out into the night, it can’t be because he’s off to avenge a poet. He would have to be possessed by some greater passion. And it would help if he were drunk, but I don’t know that we can arrange that.’
‘So if not Maati Vaupathai . . .’ she began, and her throat closed.
Cehmai, she thought. He means to kill Cehmai and free the andat. Her hands balled into fists, her heart thudded as if she’d been sprinting. Adrah turned to face her, his arms folded, his expression calm as a butcher in the slaughterhouse.
‘You said there were three breaths blocking us. There’s a fourth. Your father.’
No one spoke. When Idaan laughed, it sounded shrill and panicked in her own ears. She took a pose that rejected the suggestion.
‘You’ve gone mad, Adrah-kya. You’ve lost all sense. My father is dying. He’s dying, there’s no call to . . .’
‘What else would enrage Danat enough to let his caution slip? The upstart escapes. Your father is murdered. In the confusion, we come to him, a hunting party in hand, ready to ride with him. We can put it out today that we’re planning to ride out before the end of the week. Fresh meat for the wedding feast, we’ll say.’
‘It won’t work,’ Idaan said, raising her chin.
‘And why not?’ Adrah replied.
‘Because I won’t let you!’
She spun and grabbed for the door. As she hauled it open, Adrah was around her, his arms pressing it shut again. Daaya was there too, his wide hands patting at her in placating gestures that filled her with rage. Her mind left her, and she shrieked and howled and wept. She clawed at them both and kicked and tried to bite her way free, but Adrah’s arms locked around her, lifted her, tightened until she lost her breath and the room spun and grew darker.
She found herself sitting again without knowing when she’d been set down. Adrah was raising a cup to her lips. Strong, unwatered wine. She sipped it, then pushed it away.
‘Have you calmed yourself yet?’ Adrah asked. There was warmth in his voice again, as if she’d been sick and was only just recovering.
‘You can’t do it, Adrah-kya. He’s an old man, and . . .’
Adrah let the silence stretch before he leaned toward her and wiped her lips with a soft cloth. She was trembling, and it annoyed her. Her body was supposed to be stronger than that.
‘It will cost him a few days,’ Adrah said. ‘A few weeks at most. Idaan-kya, his murder is the thing that will draw your brother out if anything will. You said it to me, love. If we falter, we fail.’
He smiled and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Daaya was at the table, drinking wine of his own. Idaan looked into Adrah’s dark eyes, and despite the smiles, despite the caresses, she saw the hardness there. I should have said no, she thought. When he asked if I had taken another lover, I shouldn’t have danced around it. I should have said no.
She nodded.
‘We can make it quick. Painless,’ Adrah said. ‘It will be a mercy, really. His life as it is now can hardly be worth living. Sick, weak. That’s no way for a proud man to live.’
She nodded again. Her father. The simple pleasure in his eyes.
‘He wanted so much to see us wed,’ she murmured. ‘He wanted so much for me to be happy.’
Adrah took a pose that offered sympathy, but she wasn’t such a fool as to believe it. She rose shakily to her feet. They did not stop her.
‘I should go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be expected at the palaces. I expect there will be food and song until the sun comes up.’
Daaya looked up. His smile was sickly, but Adrah took a pose of reassurance and the old man looked away again.
‘I’m trusting you, Idaan-kya,’ Adrah said. ‘To let you go. It’s because I trust you.’
‘It’s because you can’t lock me away without attracting attention. If I vanish, people will wonder why, and my brother not the least. We can’t have that, can we? Everything must seem perfectly normal.’
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