sloping floor, representatives of all the high families sat on low
stools or cushions. Beyond them sat the emissaries of the trading
houses, the people of the city, and past them rank after rank of
servants and slaves. The air was rich with the smells of incense and
living bodies. Idaan looked out over the throng, though she knew proper
form called for her gaze to remain downcast. Across the dais from her,
Adrah knelt, his posture mirroring hers, except that his head was held
high. He was, after all, a man. His robes were deep red and woven gold,
his hair swept back and tied with bands of gold and iron like a child of
the Empire. He had never looked more handsome. Her lover. Her husband.
She considered him as she might a fine piece of metalwork or a
well-rendered drawing. As a likeness of himself.
His father sat beside him on a bench, dressed in jewels and rich cloth.
Daaya Vaunyogi was beaming with pride, but Idaan could see the unease in
the way he held himself. The others would sec only the patriarch of one
high family marrying his son into the blood of the Khaiem-it was reason
enough for excitement. Of all the people there, only Idaan would also
see a traitor against his city, forced to sit before the man whose sons
he conspired to slaughter and act as if his pet assassin was not locked
in a room with armsmen barring the way, his intended victim alive. Idaan
forced herself not to smirk at his weakness.
Her father spoke. His voice was thick and phlegmy, and his hands
trembled so badly that he took no formal poses.
"I have accepted a petition from House Vaunyogi. They propose that the
son of their flesh, Adrah, and the daughter of my blood, Idaan, be joined."
He waited while the appointed whisperers repeated the words, the hall
filled, it seemed, with the sound of a breeze. Idaan let her eyes close
for a long moment, and opened them again when he continued.
"This proposal pleases me," her father said. "And I lay it before the
city. If there is cause that this petition he refused, I would know of
it now.
The whisperers dutifully passed this new statement through the hall as
well. There was a cough from nearby, as if in preparation to speak.
Idaan looked over. There in the first rank of cushions sat Cehmai and
his andat. Both of them were smiling pleasantly, but Cehmai's eyes were
on hers, his hands in a pose of offering. It was the same pose he might
have used to ask if she wanted some of the wine he was drinking or a lap
blanket on a cold night. Here, now, it was a deeper thing. Would you
like me to stop this? Idaan could not reply. No one was looking at
Cehmai, and half the eyes in the chamber were on her. She looked down
instead, as a proper girl would. She saw the movement in the corner of
her eye when the poet lowered his hands.
"Very well," her father said. "Adrah Vaunyogi, come here before me."
Idaan did not look up as Adrah stood and walked with slow, practiced
steps until he stood before the Khai's chair. He knelt again, with his
head bowed, his hands in a pose of gratitude and submission. The Khai,
despite the grayness in his skin and the hollows in his cheeks, held
himself perfectly, and when he did move, the weakness did not undo the
grace of a lifetime's study. He put a hand on the boy's head.