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