Oshai shook his head.
"The Khai's Master of Blades keeps the keys," Oshai said. "The cages
can't be opened without him. If you meant me to leave with you, you
didn't think this through very well."
Adrah whispered a curse, but Oshai's eyes were on Idaan. He smiled
thinly, his eyes dead as a fish's. He saw it when she understood, and he
nodded, stepped back from the bars, and opened his arms like a man
overwhelmed by the beauty of a sunrise. Idaan's first arrow took him in
the throat. There were two others after that, but she thought they
likely didn't matter. The first shouts of the watch echoed. The smoke
was thickening. Idaan walked away, down the route she had meant to take
when the prisoners were free. She'd meant to free them all, adding to
the chaos. She'd been a fool.
"What have you done?" Daaya Vaunyogi demanded once they were safely away
in the labyrinth. "What have you done?"
Idaan didn't bother answering.
Back in the garden, they sank the blades and the cloaks in a fountain to
lie submerged until Adrah could sneak back in under cover of night and
get rid of them. Even with the dark hoods gone, they all reeked of
smoke. She hadn't foreseen that either. Neither of the men met her eyes.
And yet, Oshai was beyond telling stories to the utkhaiem. So perhaps
things hadn't ended so badly.
She gave her farewells to Daaya Vaunyogi. Adrah walked with her hack
through the evening-dimmed streets to her rooms. That the city seemed
unchanged struck her as odd. She couldn't say what she had expected-what
the day's events should have done to the stones, the air-but that it
should all be the same seemed wrong. She paused by a beggar, listening
to his song, and dropped a length of silver into the lacquered box at
his feet.
At the entrance to her rooms, she sent her servants away. She did not
wish to be attended. They would assume she smelled of sex, and best that
she let them. Adrah peered at her, earnest as a puppy, she thought. She
could see the distress in his eyes.
"You had to," he said, and she wondered if he meant to comfort her or
convince himself. She took a pose of agreement. He stepped forward, his
arms curving to embrace her.
"Don't touch me," she said, and he stepped hack, paused, lowered his
arms. Idaan saw something die behind his eyes, and felt something wither
in her own breast. So this is what we are, she thought.
"Things were good once," he said, as if willing her to say and they will
be again. The most she could give him was a nod. They had been good
once. She had wanted and admired and loved him once. And even now, a
part of her might love him. She wasn't sure.
The pain in his expression was unbearable. Idaan leaned forward, kissed
him briefly on the lips, and went inside to wash the day off her skin.
She heard his footsteps as he walked away.
Her body felt wrung out and empty. There were dried apples and sugared
almonds waiting for her, but the thought of food was foreign. Gifts had
arrived throughout the day-celebrations of her being sold off. She