"I'm going to lose my mind if I stay here. I have to do something," he

said. Stone-Made-Soft didn't respond, so Cehmai tightened the straps of

his boots, stood, and pulled his robes into place. "Stay here."

"All right."

Cehmai paused at the door, one foot already outside, and turned hack.

"Does nothing bother you?" he asked the andat.

"Being," Stone-Made-Soft suggested.

The palaces were still draped with rags of mourning cloth, the dry,

steady beat of the funeral drum and the low wailing dirges still the

only music. Cehmai took poses of greeting to the utkhaiem whom he

passed. At the burning, they had all worn pale mourning cloth. Now, as

the week wore on, there were more colors in the robes-here a mix of pale

cloth and yellow or blue, there a delicate red robe with a wide sash of

mourning cloth. No one went without, but few followed the full custom.

It reminded Cehmai of a snow lily, green tinder the white and budding,

swelling, preparing to burst out into new life and growth, new conflict

and struggle. The sense of sorrow was slipping from Machi, and the sense

of opportunity was coming forth.

He found he could not say whether that reassured or disgusted him.

Perhaps both.

Idaan was, of course, not at her chambers. The servants assured him that

she had been by-she was in the city, she hadn't truly vanished. Cehmai

thanked them and continued on his way to the palace of the Vaunyogi. He

didn't allow himself to think too deeply about what he was going to do

or say. It would happen soon enough anyway.

A servant brought him to one of the inner courtyards to wait. An apple

tree stood open to the air, its fruits unpecked by birds. Still unripe.

Cehmai sat on a low stone bench and watched the branches bob as sparrows

landed and took wing. His mind was deeply unquiet. On the one hand, he

had to see Idaan, had to speak with her at least if not hold her against

him. On the other, he could not bring himself to love Adrah Vaunyogi

only because she loved him. And the secret he held twisted in his

breast. Otah Machi lived....

"Cehmai-cha."

Adrah was dressed in full mourning robes. His eyes were sunken and

bloodshot, his movements sluggish. He looked like a man haunted. Cehmai

wondered how much sleep Adrah had managed in these last days. He

wondered how many of those late hours had been spent comforting Idaan.

The image of Idaan, her body entwined with Adrah's, flashed in his mind

and was pressed away. Cehmai took a pose of grect- i ng.

"I'm pleased you've come," Adrah said. "You've considered what I said?"

"Yes, Adrah-cha. I have. But I'm concerned for Idaan-cha. I'm told she's

been by her apartments, but I haven't been able to find her. And now,

with the mourning week almost gone ..

"You've been looking for her, then?"

"I wished to offer my condolences. And then, after our conversation, I

thought it would he wise to consult her on the matter as well. If it

were not her will to go on living in the palaces after all that's

happened, I would feel uncomfortable lending my support to a cause that

would require it."

Adrah's eyes narrowed, and Cchmai felt a touch of heat in his checks. He

coughed, looked down, and then, composed once again, raised his eyes to

Adrah. He half expected to see rage there, but Adrah seemed pleased.

Perhaps he was not so obvious as he felt. Adrah sat on the bench beside

him, leaning in toward him as if they were intimate friends.

"But if you could satisfy yourself that this is what she would wish,

you're willing? You would back me for her sake?"

"It's what would be best for the city," Cehmai said, trying to make it

sound more like agreement than denial. "The sooner the question is

resolved, the better we all are. And Idaan-cha would provide a sense of

continuity, don't you think?"

"Yes," Adrah said. "I think she would."

They sat silent for a moment. The sense that Adrah knew or suspected

something crept into Cehmai's throat, drawing it tight. Ile tried to

calm himself; there was ultimately nothing Adrah could do to him. He was

the poet of Machi, and the city itself rode on his shoulders and on

Stone-Made-Soft. But Adrah was about to marry ldaan, and she loved him.

"There was quite a bit Adrah might yet do to hurt her.

"We're allies, then," Adrah said at last. "You and I. We've become allies."

"I suppose we have. Provided Idaan-cha ..

"She's here," Adrah said. "I'll take you to her. She's been here since

her brother died. We thought it would be best if she were able to grieve

in private. But if we need to break into her solitude now in order to

assure her future for the rest of her life, I don't think there's any

question what the right thing is to do."

"I don't ... I don't mean to intrude."

Adrah grinned and slapped him on the back. He rose as he spoke.

"Never concern yourself with that, Cehmai-kya. You've come to our aid on

an uncertain day. Think of us as your family now."

"That's very kind," Cehmai said, but Adrah was already striding away,

and he had to hurry to keep pace.

He had never been so far into the halls and chambers that belonged to

the Vaunyogi before. The dark stone passageways down which Cehmai was

led seemed simpler than he had expected. The halls, more sparely

furnished. Only the statuary-bronze likenesses of emperors and of the

heads of the Vaunyogi-spoke of the wealth of a high family of the

utkhaiem, and these were displayed in the halls and courtyards with such

pride that they seemed more to point out the relative spareness of their

surroundings than to distract from it. Diamonds set in brass.

Adrah spoke little, but when he did, his voice and demeanor were

pleasant enough. Cehmai felt himself watched, evaluated. There was some

reason that Adrah was showing him these signs of a struggling family-the

worn tapestry, the great ironwork candleholders filled with half a

hundred candles of tallow instead of wax, the empty incense burners, the

long stairway leading up to the higher floors that still showed the

marks where cloth runners had once softened the stone corners and no

longer did-but Cehmai couldn't quite fathom it. In another man, at

another time, it would have been a humbling thing to show a poet through

a compound like this, but Adrah seemed anything but humble. It might

have been a challenge or a play for Cehmai's sympathy. Or it might have

been a boast. My house has little, and still Idaan chose me.

They stopped at last at a wide door-dark wood inlaid with bone and black