feel his heartbeat in his neck, and his ribs seemed too small for his
breath. He waited for the warning yell to come-armsmen with drawn blades
or the short, simple pain of an arrow in his breast. Generations of his
uncles had spilled their blood, spat their last breaths perhaps here,
under these arches. He was not immune. Irani Noygu would not protect
him. He controlled himself as best he could, and when he reached the
gardens, boughs shielding him from the eyes of the palaces, he bolted.
IDAAN SAT AT THE OPEN SKY DOORS, HER LEGS HANGING OUT OVER THE VOID, and
let her gaze wander the moonlit valley. The glimmers of the low towns to
the south. The Daikani mine where her brother had gone to die. The
Poinyat mines to the west and southeast. And below the soles of her bare
feet, Machi itself: the smoke rising from the forges, the torches and
lanterns glimmering in the streets and windows smaller and dimmer than
fireflies. The winches and pulleys hung in the darkness above her, long
lengths of iron chain in guides and hooks set in the stone, ready to be
freed should there be call to haul something tip to the high reaches of
the tower or lower something down. Chains that clanked and rattled,
uneasy in the night breeze.
She leaned forward, forcing herself to feel the vertigo twist her
stomach and tighten her throat. Savoring it. Scoot forward a few inches,
no more effort really than standing from a chair, and then the sound of
wind would fill her ears. She waited as long as she could stand and then
drew hack, gasping and nauseated and trembling. But she did not pull her
legs back in. That would have been weakness.
It was an irony that the symbols of Machi's greatness were so little
used. In the winter, there was no heating them-all the traffic of the
city went in the streets, or over the snows, or through the networks of
tunnels. And even in summer, the endless spiraling stairways and the
need to haul up any wine or food or musical instruments made the gardens
and halls nearer the ground more inviting. The towers were symbols of
power, existing to show that they could exist and little enough more. A
boast in stone and iron used for storage and exotic parties to impress
visitors from the other courts of the Khaiem. And still, they made Idaan
think that perhaps she could imagine what it would he to fly. In her way
she loved them, and she loved very few things these days.
It was odd, perhaps that she had two lovers and still felt alone. Adrah
had been with her for longer, it felt, than she had been herself. And so
it had surprised her that she was so ready to betray him in another
man's bed. Perhaps she'd thought that by being a new man's lover, she
would strip off that old skin and become innocent again.
Or perhaps it was only that Cehmai had a sweet face and wanted her. She
was young, she thought, to have given tip flirtation and courtship.
She'd been angry with Adrah for embarrassing Cchmai at the dance. She'd
promised herself never to be owned by a man. And also, killing Biitrah
had left a hunger in her-a need that nothing yet had sated.
She liked Cehmai. She longed for him. She needed him in a way she
couldn't quite fathom, except to say that she hated herself less when
she was with him.
"Idaan!" a voice whispered from the darkness behind her. "Conic away