expression, and Idaan sneered at it. Adrah fluttered like a bird in the
corner of her vision.
"Say," Idaan said. "Because I asked you twice, tell me what's happened.
And do it now."
"The upstart," the girl said. ""They've caught him."
Idaan stepped back, dropping her hand. The girl's eyes were wide. The
air of excitement and pleasure were gone. Adrah put a hand on Idaan's
shoulder, and she pushed it away.
"He was here," the girl said. "In the palaces. The visiting poet caught
him, and they're bringing him before the Khai."
Idaan licked her lips. Otah Machi was here. He had been here for the
gods only knew how long. She looked at Adrah, but his expression spoke
of an uncertainty and surprise as deep as her own. And a fear that
wasn't entirely about their conspiracy.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Choya," the girl said.
Idaan took a pose of abject apology. It was more than a member of the
utkhaiem would have normally presented to a servant, but Idaan felt her
guilt welling up like blood from a cut.
"I am very sorry, Choya-cha. I was wrong to-"
"But that isn't all," the servant girl said. "A courier came this
morning from 'Ian-Sadar. He'd been riding for three weeks. Kaiin Machi
is dead. Your brother Danat killed him, and he's coming hack. The
courier guessed he might be a week behind him. I)anat Machi's going to
he the new Khai Machi. And Idaan-cha, he'll be back in the city in time
for your wedding!"
On one end, the chain ended at a cube of polished granite the color of
soot that stood as high as a man's waist. On the other, it linked to a
rough iron collar around Otah's neck. Sitting with his back to the
stone-the chain was not so long that he could stand-Otah remembered
seeing a brown bear tied to a pole in the main square of a low town
outside'lan-Sadar. Dogs had been set upon it three at a time, and with
each new wave, the men had wagered on which animal would survive.
Armsmen stood around him with blades drawn and leather armor, stationed
widely enough apart to allow anyone who wished it a good view of the
captive. Beyond them, the representatives of the utkhaiem in fine robes
and ornate jewelry crowded the floor and two tiers of the balconies that
rose up to the base of the domed ceiling far above him. The dais before
him was empty. Otah wondered what would happen if he should need to
empty his bladder. It seemed unlikely that they would let him piss on
the fine parquet floor, but neither could he imagine being led away
decorously. He tried to picture what they saw, this mob of nobility,
when they looked at him. He didn't try to charm them or play on their
sympathies. He was the upstart, and there wasn't a man or woman in the
hall who wasn't delighted to see him debased and humiliated.
The first of the servants appeared, filing out from a hidden door and
spacing themselves around the chair. Otah picked out the brown poet's
robe, but it was Cchmai with the bulk of his andat moving behind him.
Maati wasn't with him; Cehmai was speaking with a woman in the robes of