at the hack, stirring like something half asleep, a dread that seemed
wrapped tip with Maati Vaupathai staring drunk into the fire.
One of them, Maati had said, meaning the high families of the utkhaiem.
One of them would benefit. Unless Cehmai took a hand and put his own
lover's husband in the chair. That wasn't the sort of thing that could
have been planned for. No scheme for power could include the supposition
that Cehmai would fall in love with Idaan, or that her husband would ask
his aid, or that his guilt and affection would drive him to give it. It
was the kind of thing that could come from nowhere and upset the perfect
plan.
If it wasn't Otah Machi who had engineered all this bloodletting, then
some other viper was in the city, and the prospect of Adrah Vaun yogi
taking the prize away by marrying Idaan and wooing the poets would drive
the killer mad. And even if it was Otah Machi, he might still hope to
take his father's place. Adrah's rise would threaten that claim as well.
"You're thinking too hard," the andat said.
"Thinking never hurt anyone."
"So you've all said," the andat sighed.
She wasn't at the ceremony. She wasn't at her quarters. Cehmai and
Stone-Made-Soft walked together through the gardens and pavilions, the
courtyards and halls and passages. Mourning didn't fill the streets and
towers the way celebration had. The dry music of the funeral drums
wasn't taken up in the teahouses or gardens. Only the pillar of smoke
blotting out the stars stood testament to the ceremony. 'twice, Cehmai
took them past his own quarters, hoping that Idaan might be there
waiting for him, but without effect. She had vanished from the city like
a bird flying up into darkness.
His OLD NOTES WERE GONE, I?F'I' IN A PACKET IN HIS ROOMS. KAIIN AND
Danat were forgotten, and instead, Maati had fresh papers spread over
the library table. Lists of the houses of the utkhaicm that might
possible succeed in a bid to become the next Khai. Beside them, a fresh
ink brick, a pen with a new bronze nib, and a pot of tea that smelled
rich, fresh cut, and green. Summer tea in the winter cities. Maati
poured himself a bowl, then blew across the pale surface, his eyes going
over the names again.
According to Baarath, who had accepted his second apology with a grace
that had surprised him, the most likely was Kamau-a family that traced
its bloodline back to the Second Empire. They had the wealth and the
prestige. And, most important, an unmarried son in his twenties who was
well-respected and active in the court. "Then the Vaunani, less wealthy,
less prestigious, but more ruthless. Or possibly the Radaani, who had
spent generations putting their hands into the import and export trade
until almost every transaction in the city fed their coffers. They were
the richest of the utkhaiem, but apparently unable to father males.
There were seventeen daughters, and the only candidates for the Khai's
chair were the head of the house, his son presently overseeing a trading
venture in Yalakeht, and a six-year-old grandson.
And then there were the Vaunyogi. Adrah Vaunyogi was a decent candidate,
largely because he was young and virile, and about to be married to