something deeper-some drug mixed with the wine. Someone needed to see
Maati back to his apartments, needed to see that he was cared for. On
another night, Cehmai would have done it.
"Idaan," he said. "She must have been here. They're burning her brother
and her father. She had to attend the ceremony."
"She did." Nlaati agreed. "I saw her."
"Where's she gone?"
"With her man, I think. He was there beside her," Maati said. "I don't
know where they went."
"Are you going to he all right, Maati-kvo?"
Nlaati seemed to think about this, then nodded once and turned hack to
watch the pyre burning. The brown leather hook had fallen to the ground
by the wineskin, and the andat retrieved it and put it back in Maati's
sleeve. As they walked away, Cehmai took a pose of query.
"I didn't think he'd want to lose it," the andat said.
"So that was a favor to him?" Cehmai said. Stone-Made-Soft didn't reply.
They walked toward the women's quarters and Idaan's apartments. If she
was not there, he would go to the Vaunyogi's palace. He would say he was
there to offer condolences to Idaan-cha. That it was his duty as poet
and representative of the Dai-kvo to offer condolences to Idaan Machi on
this most sorrowful of days. It was his duty. Gods. And the Vaunyogi
would be chewing their own livers out. They'd contracted to marry their
son to the Khai 1MIachi's sister. Now she was no one's family.
"Maybe they'll cancel the arrangement," Stone-Made-Soft said. "It isn't
as if anyone would blame them. She could come live with us."
"You can be quiet now," Cehmai said.
At Idaan's quarters, the servant boy reported that Idaan-cha had been
there, but had gone. Yes, Adrah-cha had been there as well, but he had
also gone. The unease in the boy's manner made Cehmai wonder. Part of
him hoped that they had been fighting, those two. It was despicable, but
it was there: the desire that he and not Adrah Vaunyogi be the one to
comfort her.
He stopped next at the palace of the Vaunyogi. A servant led him to a
waiting chamber that had been dressed in pale mourning cloth fragrant
from the cedar chests in which it had been stored. The chairs and
statuary, windows and floors were all swathed in white rags that
candlelight made gold. The andat stood at the window, peering out at the
courtyard while Cehmai sat on the front handspan of a seat. Every breath
he took here made him wonder if coming had been a mistake.
The door to the main hall swung open. Adrah Vaunyogi stepped in. His
shoulders rode high and tight, his lips thin as a line drawn on paper.
Cehmai stood and took a pose of greeting which Adrah mirrored before he
closed the door.
"I'm surprised to sec you, Cchmai-cha," Adrah said, walking forward
slowly, as if unsure what precisely he was approaching. Cehmai smiled to
keep his unease from showing. "My father is occupied. But perhaps I
might be able to help you?"
"You're most kind. I came to offer my sympathies to ldaan-cha. I had
heard she was with you, and so ..."