murderers-"
"I don't," Maati said. "I have a suspicion, but nothing more than that.
Not yet. And if we don't uncover them quickly, they'll likely have Adrah
named Khai Machi and have the resources of the whole city to find you
and kill you for crimes that everyone outside this warehouse assumes you
guilty of."
They sat in silence for the space of three breaths.
"Well," Otah-kvo said, "it appears we have some work to do then. But at
least we've an idea where to look."
IN HER DREAM, II)AAN WAS AT A CELEBRATION. FIRE BURNED IN A RING ALL
around the pavilion, and she knew with the logic of dreams that the
flames were going to close, that the circle was growing smaller. They
were all going to burn. She tried to shout, tried to warn the dancers,
but she could only croak; no one heard her. 't'here was someone there
who could stop the thing from happening-a single man who was Cehmai and
Otah and her father all at once. She beat her way through the bodies,
trying to find him, but there were dogs in with the people. The flames
were too close already, and to keep themselves alive, the women were
throwing the animals into the fire. She woke to the screams and howls in
her mind and the silence in her chamber.
The night candle had failed. The chamber was dim, silvered by moonlight
beyond the dark web of the netting. The shutters along the wall were all
open, but no breath of air stirred. Idaan swallowed and shook her head,
willing the last wisps of nightmare into forgetfulness. She waited,
listening to her breath, until her mind was her own again. Even then she
was reluctant to sleep for fear of falling into the same dream. She
turned to Adrah, but the bed at her side was empty. He was gone.
"Adrah?"
"There was no answer.
Idaan wrapped herself with a thin blanket, pushed aside the netting and
stepped out of her bed-her new bed. Her marriage bed. The smooth stone
of the floor was cool against her bare feet. She walked through the
chambers of their apartments-hers and her husband'ssilently. She found
him sitting on a low couch, a bottle beside him. A thick earthenware
bowl on the floor stank of distilled wine. Or perhaps it was his breath.
"You aren't sleeping?" she asked.
"Neither arc you," he said. The slurred words were half accusation.
"I had a dream," she said. "It woke me."
Adrah lifted the bottle, drinking from its neck. She watched the
delicate shifting mechanism of his throat, the planes of his cheeks, his
eyes closed and as smooth as a man asleep. Her fingers twitched toward
him, moving to caress that familiar skin without consulting him on her
wishes. Coughing, he put down the wine, and the eyes opened. Whatever
beauty had been in him, however briefly, was gone now.
"You should go to him," Adrah said. Perversely, he sounded less drunk
now. Idaan took a pose of query. Adrah waved it away with the sloshing
bottle. "The poet boy. Cehmai. You should go to him. See if you can get
more information."
"You don't want me here?"