Shadowkill

2

Dinner with Daddy slipped by with nothing much happening.

It’d been a nothing much day, the day after the Nameday Party, chal and chapa dragging to work, sour in breath and spirit; Tinoopa’s eyes were red as alert signals and she didn’t want to talk about anything, just got grimly on with her business. Shadith took the hint the fifth time Tinoopa moved her aside so she could get something; she went to her room and played at escape for a while. The rest of the time she slept. Which was why her head was hammering right now and her own temper on a short leash.

Paynto was playing some kind of shepherd song on his flute, too many high notes; they were digging holes in her brain. She let her fingers find an accompaniment and tried to shut down her hearing.

Ghineeli chal slipped from the kitchen door, knelt beside Shadith, touched her arm. “When this is over,” she whispered, “Matja Allina says you don’t need to come to her tonight, feel free to do what you want.” She patted Shadith’s arm, slipped away.

Lovely. More hours looking at walls.

She glanced at the screen, sighed. The three Cagharadad were talking about shearing and problems with getting their goods offworld, getting the money back, wandering desultorily from topic to topic, none of it meaning anything, all of it embroidery on a tension growing between them, a tension that had nothing to do with what they were saying. She didn’t understand it and that put a cold shiver in her belly; she didn’t trust them, even Pirs, they could explode in any direction, any time.

They were drinking the bottle of brandy the Artwa had brought to celebrate the Name Day. Pirs was trying to enjoy himself, rapidly getting drunk; as usual, he was ignoring anything he didn’t want to know about. The Artwa was waiting to spring, spider in his hole; he wanted something and was sure he knew how to get it. Mingas simmered. She didn’t know him well enough to know how much of that was standard and how much aroused by whatever it was that waited for Pirs. His glass was still half full; he’d taken a sip at each toast, no more.

If Tinoopa was here, she’d say: Never trust a man who won’t get drunk with his own family.

The Artwa cleared his throat, looked at Mingas.

Mingas hurried around the table, pulled his father’s chair out as the Artwa stood.

“Help your brother,” Angakirs said, waited until Mingas was standing behind the Arring. “Pirs, I want to talk to you. Let’s go into your study.”

Pirs blinked. His eyes were clear, the blue as brilliant as ever. His face was slightly flushed, but he showed no other sign of how much brandy he’d consumed. “Study,” he said amiably. He didn’t move.

“Stand up,” the Artwa snapped at his son, annoyed because he’d misjudged Pirs’ capacity. “Take his arm, Mingas. Don’t just stand there, help him.”

Shadith kept playing because Paynto kept playing, same song over and over. He didn’t stop until the study door boomed shut, then he sighed, shook out his flute. “Another night killed,” he said. “Wonder when he’s going home?”

Impajin grunted. He stretched, shook himself. “Let’s get.”

They nodded at Shadith, left.

She stood, slipped her arm through the arranga’s carry strap, went out through the kitchen.

She sat on the bed, pulled her boots off. Balancing the left boot on her thighs, she slid her fingers into the slit and drew out the braincrystal knife. It was still there in spite of everything, overlooked in its incarnation as a stay stiffening the soft leather sides of the boot.

Since the Main Court had to be kept for the Name day party, the Artwa’s skimmer was parked outside the walls. Guarded, of course, but the guards were probably as drunk as Pirs by now, most of them anyway.

Might have a designated Drynose, might not. When the Cagharadads get out of the study…

She held the knife up, the candlelight shivering along the blade, then she sighed and eased it back into the boot and dropped that boot beside the other.

I could do it. They’re used to seeing me in there, I could get the papers, grab the skimmer, and run for Nirtajai.

But she knew she wouldn’t. A runaway chapa was one thing, a skimmer thief was something else. The Artwaes would stop a war to go after someone stupid enough to steal a skimmer, that’d be an attack where it hurt, an attack on their power. Even if she managed to reach Nirtajai and found a skipcom and got the call out, she’d still have to hang around until whoever was picking her up could get here.

Travel time, you can’t get around travel time.

She’d have to hide, to survive without allies and with a price on her head that would tempt an anchorite.

No. Too much downside. Well, you know what it is, Shadow, you just don’t want to face that long lone ride.

She thought about Rohant and the Dyslaera, winced quickly away from that. Omphalos had them. She had to do something about that. She couldn’t while she was still a prisoner here…

She flung herself around, face down on the bed. She didn’t want to think.

She reached and found a rodent burrowed into one of the walls of the study, teased it out, and sent it running from shadow to shadow until it was under a bookcase near where the three men were sitting.

She made it curl up there, nose on its forepaws, and listened through its ears.