and his own role in it. There was a strength in him, and an acceptance.
"I understand," he said.
"Do You?"
"No.'
"He is of a good house, their bloodlines-"
"And he's well off and likely to oversee his family's house when his
father passes. And he's a good enough man, for what he is. It isn't that
I can't imagine why he would choose to marry you, or you him. But, given
the context, there are other questions."
"I love him," Idaan said. "We have planned to do this for ... we have
been lovers for almost two years."
Cehmai sat beside a brazier, and looked at her with the patience of a
man studying a puzzle. The coals had burned down to a fine white ash.
"And you've come to be sure I never speak of what happened the other
night. To tell me that it can never happen again."
The sense of vertigo returned, her feet held over the abyss.
"No," she said.
"You've come to stay the night?"
"If you'll have me, yes."
The poet looked down, his hands laced together before him. A cricket
sang, and then another. The air seemed thin.
"Idaan-kya, I think it might be better if-"
"Then lend me a couch and a blanket. If you ... let me stay here as a
friend might. We are friends, at least? Only don't make me go back to my
rooms. I don't want to be there. I don't want to be with people and I
can't stand being alone. And I ... I like it here."
She took a pose of supplication. Cehmai rose and for a moment she was
sure he would refuse. She almost hoped he would. Scoot forward, no more
effort than sitting up, and then the sound of wind. But Cehmai took a
pose that accepted her. She swallowed, the tightness in her throat
lessening.
"I'll be hack. The shutters ... it might be awkward if someone were to
happen by and see you here."
"Thank you, Cehmai-kya."
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, neither passionate nor chaste,
then sighed again and went to the back of the house. She heard the
rattle of wood as he closed the windows against the night. Idaan looked
at her hands, watching them tremble as she might watch a waterfall or a
rare bird. An effect of nature, outside herself. The andat shifted and
turned to look at her. She felt her brows rise, daring the thing to
speak. Its voice was the low rumble of a landslide.
"I have seen generations pass, girl. I've seen young men die of age. I
don't know what you are doing, but I know this. It will end in chaos.
For him, and for you."
Stone-Made-Soft went silent again, stiller than any real man, not even
the pulse of breath in it. She glared into the wide, placid face and
took a pose of challenge.
"It that a threat?" she asked.
The andat shook its head once-left, and then right, and then still as if