might speak well of him in people's memory. It was a small thing, of
course. In the minds of the witnesses, it had been clear that she would
be the daughter of a Khai only very briefly and merely sister to the
Khai was a lower status. House Vaunyogi was buying something whose value
would soon drop. It must be a love match, they would say, and pretend to
be touched. She wondered if it wouldn't be bettercleaner-to simply burn
the city and everyone in it, herself included. Let a hot iron clean and
seal it like searing a wound. It was a passing fantasy, but it gave her
comfort.
A knock came, and she arranged her robes before unlocking the door.
Adrah stood, his house servants behind him. He had not changed out of
his ritual robes.
"Idaan-kya," he said, "I was hoping you might come have a bowl of tea
with my father."
"I have gifts to present to your honored father," Idaan said, gesturing
to a cube of cloth and bright paper the size of a boar. It was already
lashed to a carrying pole. "It is too much for me. Might I have the aid
of your servants?"
Two servants had already moved forward to lift the burden.
Adrah took a pose of command, and she answered with one of acquiescence,
following him as he turned and left. They walked side by side through
the gardens, not touching. Idaan could feel the gazes of the people they
passed, and kept her expression demure. By the time they reached the
palaces of the Vaunyogi, her cheeks ached with it. Idaan and Adrah
walked with their entourage through a hall of worked rosewood and
mother-of-pearl, and to the summer garden where Daaya Vaunyogi sat
beneath a stunted maple tree and sipped tea from a stone bowl. His face
was weathered but kindly. Seeing him in this place was like stepping
into a woodcut from the Old Empire-the honored sage in contemplation.
The gift package was placed on the table before him as if it were a meal.
Adrah's father put down his bowl and took a pose that dismissed the
servants.
"The garden is closed," he said. "We have much to discuss, my children
and I."
As soon as the doors were shut and the three were alone, his face fell.
He sank back to his seat like a man struck by fever. Adrah began to
pace. Idaan ignored them both and poured herself tea. It was overbrewed
and bitter.
"You haven't heard from them, then, Daaya-cha?"
"The Galts?" the man said. "The messengers I send come back empty
handed. When I went to speak to their ambassador, they turned me away.
Things have gone wrong. The risk is too great. They won't hack us now."
"Did they say that?" Idaan asked.
Daaya took a pose that asked clarification. Idaan leaned forward,
holding back the snarl she felt twisting at her lip.
"Did they say they wouldn't back us, or is it only that you fear they
won't?"
"Oshai," Daaya said. "He knows everything. He's been my intermediary
from the beginning. If he tells what he knows-"