herself. He would forgive her absence once this was all finished. All
would be well.
And yet, when Adrah looked up to her, when their gaze met, it was like
looking at a stranger. He was beautiful: his hair fresh cut, his robes
of jeweled silk. He was her husband, and she no longer knew him.
Daaya stepped down, glittering, and Adaut Kamau rose. If, as the
gossipmongers had told, the wasps had been meant to keep old Kamau
silent that day, this would be the moment when something more should
follow. The galleries became suddenly quiet as the old man stepped to
the stage. Even from across the hall, Idaan could see the red weal on
his face where the sting had marked him.
"I had intended," he said, "to speak in support of Ghiah Vaunani in his
urging of caution and against hasty decision. Since that time, however,
my position has changed, and I would like to invite my old, dear friend
Porsha Radaani to address the council."
With nothing more than that, old Kamau stepped down. Idaan leaned
forward, looking for the green and gray robes of the Radaani. And there,
moving between the tables, was the man striding toward the speaker's
dais. Adrah and his father were bent together, speaking swiftly and
softly. Idaan strained to hear something of what they said. She didn't
notice how tight she was holding the rail until her fingers started to
ache with it.
Radaani rose up in the speaker's pulpit, looking over the council and
the galleries for the space of a half-dozen breaths. His expression was
considering, like a man at a fish market judging the freshest catch.
Idaan felt her belly tighten. Below her and across the hall, Radaani
lifted his arms to the crowd.
"Brothers, we have come here in these solemn times to take the fate of
our city into our hands," he intoned, and his voice was rich as cream.
"We have suffered tragedy and in the spirit of our ancestors, we rise to
overcome it. No one can doubt the nobility of our intentions. And yet
the time has come to dissolve this council. There is no call to choose a
new Khai Machi when a man with legitimate claim to the chair still lives."
The noise was like a storm. Voices rose and feet stamped. On the council
floor, half the families were on their feet, the others sitting with
stunned expressions. And yet it was as if it were happening in some
other place. Idaan felt the unreality of the moment wash over her. It
was a dream. A nightmare.
"I have not stood down!" Radaani shouted. "I have not finished! Yes, an
heir lives! And he has the support of my family and my house! Who among
you will refuse the son of the Khai Machi his place? Who will side with
the traitors and killers that slaughtered his father?"
"Porsha-cha!" one of the men of the council said, loud enough to carry
over the clamor. "Explain yourself or step down! You've lost your mind!"
"I'll better that! Brothers, I give my place before you to the son of
the Khai and his one surviving heir!"
Had she thought the hall loud before? It was deafening. No one was left
seated. Bodies pressed at her hack, jostling her against the railing as
they craned and stretched for a glimpse of the man entering the chamber.