Read Online A Betrayal in Winter (lpq-2) by Daniel Abraham - Free Book Online

he said. "I expect the
    order of the Khai will suffice."
     
    "I wouldn't only be doing it as a favor to you, Maati-kvo," Cehmai said.
    The honorific took Maati by surprise, but the young poet didn't seem to
    notice his reaction. "Baarath is a friend of mine, and sometimes you
    have to protect your friends from themselves. You know?"
     
    Maati took a pose that was an agreement and looked into the flames.
    Sometimes men could be their own worst enemies. That was truth. He
    remembered the last time he had seen Otah-kvo. It had been the night
    Maati had admitted what Liat had become to him and what he himself was
    to her. His old friend's eyes had gone hard as glass. Heshai-kvo, the
    poet of Saraykeht, had died just after that, and Maati and Liat had left
    the city together without seeing Otah-kvo again.
     
    The betrayal in those dark eyes haunted him. He wondered how much the
    anger had festered in his old teacher over the years. It might have
    grown to hatred by now, and Maati had come to hunt him down. The fire
    danced over the coal, flames turning the black to gray, the stone to
    powder. He realized that the boy poet had been speaking, and that the
    words had escaped him entirely. Maati took a pose of apology.
     
    "My mind wandered. You were saying?"
     
    "I offered to come by at first light," Cehmai said. "I can show you
    where the good teahouses are, and there's a streetcart that sells the
    best hot eggs and rice in the city. Then, perhaps, we can brave the
    library?"
     
    "That sounds fine. Thank you. But now I think I'd best unpack my things
    and get some rest. You'll excuse me."
     
    Cehmai bounced up in a pose of apology, realizing for the first time
    that his presence might not be totally welcome, and Maati waved it away.
    They made the ritual farewells, and when the door closed, Maati sighed
    and rose. He had few things: thick robes he had bought for the journey
    north, a few hooks including the small leatherbound volume of his dead
    master's that he had taken from Saraykeht, a packet of letters from
    Liat, the most recent of them years old now. The accumulated memories of
    a lifetime in two bags small enough to carry on his hack if needed. It
    seemed thin. It seemed not enough.
     
    He finished the tea and almond cakes, then went to the window, slid the
    paper-thin stone shutter aside, and looked out into the darkness. Sunset
    still breathed indigo into the western skyline. The city glittered with
    torches and lanterns, and to the south the glow of the forges of the
    smith's quarter looked like a brush fire. The towers rose black against
    the stars, windows lit high above him where some business took place in
    the dark, thin air. Maati sighed, the night cold in his face and lungs.
    All these unknown streets, these towers, and the lacework of tunnels
    that ran beneath the city: midwinter roads, he'd heard them called. And
    somewhere in the labyrinth, his old friend and teacher lurked, planning
    murder.
     
    Maati let his imagination play a scene: Otah-kvo appearing before him in
    the darkness, blade in hand. In Maati's imagination, his eyes were hard,
    his voice hoarse with anger. And there he faltered. He might call for
    help and see Otah captured. He might fight him and end the thing in
    blood. He might accept the knife as his due. For a dream with so vivid a
    beginning, Maati could not envision the end.
     
    He closed the shutter and went to throw another black stone onto the
    fire. His indulgence had turned the room chilly, and he sat on the
    cushion near the fire as the air warmed again. His legs didn't fold as
    easily as Cehmai's had, but if he shifted now and again, his feet didn't
    go numb. He found himself thinking fondly of Cehmai-the boy was easy to
    befriend. Otah-kvo had been like that, too.
     
    Maati stretched and wondered again whether, if all this had been a song,
    he would have sung the hero's part or the villain's.
     
    No ONE HAD EVER SEEN IDAAN'S REBELLIONS AS HUNGER. THA'1' HAD BEEN