become Khai Machi. The utkhaiem and the poets wouldn't support him."

"It's hatred now," Danat said. "He's doing it from hatred."

"Perhaps," Idaan said. Out on the lake, a bird skimmed the shining

surface of the water, then shrieked and plunged in, rising moments later

with a flash of living silver in its claws. A quarter moon was in the

sky-white crescent showing through the blue. The lake smelled colder

than it was, and the wind tugged at her hair and the reeds alike. Danat

sighed.

"Was it hard killing Kaiin?" Idaan asked.

Danat looked at her, as if shocked that she had asked. She met his gaze,

her eyes fixed on his until he turned away.

"Yes," he said. "Yes it was. I loved him. I miss them both."

"But you did the thing anyway."

He nodded. Idaan stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. His

stubble tickled her lips, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her

hand as she walked away, trying to stop the sensation. At ten paces she

put an arrow to her bow, drew back the string. Uanat was still looking

out over the water. Passionlessly, she judged the wind, the distance.

The arrow struck the back of his head with a sound like an axe splitting

wood. Danat seemed at first not to notice, and then slowly sank to the

ground. Blood soaked the collar of his robes, the pale cloth looking

like cut meat by the time she walked back to him. She knelt by him, took

his hand in her own, and looked out over the lake.

She was singing before she knew she intended to sing. In her

imagination, she had screamed and shrieked, her cries calling the

hunters hack to her, but instead she sang. It was an old song, a

lamentation she'd heard in the darkness of the tunnels and the cold of

winter. The words were from the Empire, and she hardly knew what they

all meant. The rising and falling melody, aching and sorrowful, seemed

to fill her and the world.

Two hunters approached her at last, unsure of themselves. She had not

seen them emerge from the trees, and she didn't look at them now as she

spoke.

"My brother has been murdered by Otah or one of his agents," she said.

"While we were waiting for you."

The hunters looked at one another. For a long, sick moment, she thought

they might not believe her. She wondered if they would be loyal enough

to the Vaunyogi to overlook the crime. And then the elder of them spoke.

"We will find him, Idaan-cha," the man said, his voice trembling with

rage. "We'll send for the others and turn every stone on this mountain

until we find him."

"It won't bring back my father. Or Danat. There won't be anyone to stand

at my wedding."

She broke off, half surprised to find her sobs unfeigned. Gently, she

cradled the corpse of her brother to her, feeling the blood soak her robes.

"I'll gather his horse," another of the hunters said. "We can strap him

to it-"

"No," Idaan said. "You can give him to me. I'll carry him home."

"It's a long ride back to the city. Are you sure that-"

"I'll carry him home. He'd have done the same if our places were

reversed," she said. "It is the way of our family."

In the end, they draped him over her mount's haunches. The scent of the

blood made him skittish, but Idaan held control firmly, cooing in the

animal's ears, coaxing and demanding. When she could think of nothing

else, she sang to the beast, and the dirges possessed her. She felt no

sorrow, no regret. She felt no triumph. It was as if she was in the

moment of grace between the blow and the pain. In her mind were only the

sounds of the songs and of an arrow splitting bone.

THE FARMSTEAD WAS SET HACK A SHORT WALK FROM THE ROAD. A CREEK RAN

beside it, feeding, no doubt, into the river that was even now carrying

dead men down to the main channel. The walls were as thick as a man's

outstretched arm with a set of doors on both the inside and outside

faces. On the second story, snow doors had been opened, letting in the

summer air. Trees stood in close, making the house seem a part of the

landscape. The horses were kept in the stables on the ground floor,

hidden from casual observers.

Amiit led Otah up the stairs and into a bright, simple room with a

table, a few rough wooden chairs, an unlit lantern and a wide, low

cabinet. Roast chicken, fresh cheese, and apples just on the edge of

ripeness had been laid out for them. Sharpened by Otah's hunger and

relief and wonder, the smell of them was wonderful. Amiit gestured

toward the table, then opened the cabinet and took out two earthenware

mugs and flasks of wine and water. Otah took a leg from the chicken and

hit into it-the flesh tasted of tarragon and black pepper. He closed his

eyes and grinned. Nothing had ever in his life tasted so good.

Amiit chuckled.

"You've grown thinner, old friend," Amiit said as he poured himself wine

and Otah a mixture of wine and water. "You'd think accommodations in

Machi would he better."

"What's going on, Amiit-cha?" Otah asked, taking the proffered drink.

"Last I heard, I was going to be either executed as a criminal or

honorably killed in the succession. This ...... he gestured at the room

with his mug. "This wasn't suggested as an option."

"It wasn't approved by the Khaiem, that's truth," Amiit said. He sat

across from Otah and picked up one of the apples, turning it over slowly

as he spoke, inspecting it for worm holes. "The fact is, I only know

half of what's going on in Nlachi, if that. After our last talk-when you

were first coming up here-I thought it might be best to put some plans

in motion. In case an opportunity arose, you understand. It would be

very convenient for House Siyanti if one of their junior couriers became

the Khai Machi. It didn't seem likely at the time. But ..."

He shrugged and hit into the apple. Otah finished the chicken and took

one of the fruits himself. Even watered, the wine was nearly too strong

to drink.

"We put out men and women to listen," Amiit went on. "To gather what

information we could find. We weren't looking for anything in

particular, you understand. Just an opportunity."

"You were looking to sell information of me to the Khai in return for a

foothold in Machi," Otah said.

"Only as a last resort," Amiit agreed. "It's business. You understand."

"But they found me instead," Otah said. The apple was sweet and chalky

and just slightly bitter. Amiit pushed a platter of cheese toward him.

""That looked bleak. It's truth. And that you'd been in our pay seemed