his own tongue, he was so jealous of me."
"Poor Noichi. I half did it to annoy him, you know."
"And the other half?"
"Because I wanted to," she said. "And then it was weeks before you came
hack for another."
"I was afraid you'd laugh at me. I went to sleep every night thinking
about you, and woke up every morning just as possessed. Can you imagine
only being afraid that someone would laugh at you?"
"Now? No."
"Do you remember the night we both went to the inn. With the little dog
out front?"
"The one that danced when the keep played flute? Yes."
Idaan smiled. It had been a tiny animal with gray hair and soft, dark
eyes. It had seemed so delighted, rearing up on its hind legs and
capering, small paws waving for balance. It had seemed happy. She wiped
away the tear before it could mar her kohl, then remembered that her
eyes were only her eyes now. In her mind, the tiny dog leapt and looked
at her. It had been so happy and so innocent. She pushed her own heart
out toward that memory, pleading with the cold world that the pup was
somewhere out there, still safe and well, trusting and loved as it had
been that day. She didn't bother wiping the tears away now.
"We were other people then," she said.
They were silent again. After a moment, Idaan went to sit on the floor
beside Adrah. I Ic put his arm across her shoulder, and she leaned into
him, weeping silently for too many things for one mind to hold. He
didn't speak until the worst of the tears had passed.
"Do they bother you?" he asked at last, his voice low and hoarse.
"Who?"
"'I'hem," he said, and she knew. She heard the sound of the arrow again,
and shivered.
"Yes," she said.
"Do you know what's funny? It isn't your father who haunts me. It should
be, I know. He was helpless, and I went there knowing what I was going
to do. But he isn't the one."
Idaan frowned, trying to think who else there had been. Adrah saw her
confusion and smiled, as if confirming something for himself. Perhaps
only that she hadn't known some part of him, that his life was something
different from her own.
"When we went in for the assassin, Oshal. There was a guard. I hit him.
With a blade. It split his jaw. I can still see it. Have you ever swung
a thin bar of iron into hard snow? It felt just like that. A hard, fast
arc and then something that both gave way and didn't. I remember how it
sounded. And afterward, you wouldn't touch me."
"Adrah ..."
He raised his hands, stopping anything that might have been sympathy.
Idaan swallowed it. She had no right to pardon him.
"Men do this," Adrah said. "All over the world, in every land, men do
this. They slaughter each other over money or sex or power. The Khaiem
do it to their own families. I never wondered how. Even now, I can't