Kiyan chewed these and Maati poured himself a howl of wine. It was

good-rich and deep and clean. He lifted the bottle but she shook her head.

"He'll be joining us, then?"

"No. We're just waiting a moment to be sure we're not leading anyone to

him."

"Very professional," he said.

"Actually I'm new to all this. But I take advice well."

She had a good smile. Maati felt sure that this was the woman Otah had

told him about that day in the gardens when Otah had left in chains. The

woman he loved and whom he'd asked Maati to help protect. He tried to

see Liat in her-the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek. There was

nothing. Or perhaps there was something the two women shared that was

simply beyond his ability to see.

As if feeling the weight of his attention, Kiyan took a querying pose.

Maati shook his head.

"Reflecting on ages past," he said. "That's all."

She seemed about to ask something when a soft knock came at the door and

the keep appeared, carrying a bundle of cloth. Kiyan stood, accepted the

bundle, and took a pose that expressed her gratitude only slightly

hampered by her burden. The keep left without speaking, and Kiyan pulled

the cloth apart-two thin gray hooded cloaks that would cover their robes

and hide their faces. She handed one to Maati and pulled the other on.

When they were both ready, Kiyan dug awkwardly in her doubled sleeve for

a moment before coming out with four lengths of silver that she left on

the table. Seeing Maati's surprise, she smiled.

"We didn't ask for the food and wine," she said. "It's rude to underpay."

"The grapes were sour," Maati said.

Kiyan considered this for a moment and scooped one silver length hack

into her sleeve. They didn't leave through the front door or out to the

alley, but descended a narrow stairway into the tunnels beneath the

city. Someone-the keep or one of Kiyan's conspirators-had left a lit

lantern for them. Kiyan took it in hand and strode into the black

tunnels as assured as a woman who had walked this maze her whole life.

Maati kept close to her, dread pricking at him for the first time.

The descent seemed as deep as the mines in the plain. The stairs were

worn smooth by generations of footsteps, the path they traveled

inhabited by the memory of men and women long dead. At length the stairs

gave way to a wide, tiled hallway shrouded in darkness. Kiyan's small

lantern lit only part way up the deep blue and worked gold of the walls,

the darkness above them more profound than a moonless sky.

The mouths of galleries and halls seemed to gape and close as they

passed. Nlaati could see the scorch marks rising up the walls where

torches had been set during some past winter, the smoke staining the

tiles. A breath seemed to move through the dim air, like the earth exhaling.

The tunnels seemed empty except for them. No glimmer of light came from

the doors and passages they passed, no voices however distant competed

with the rustle of their robes. At a branching of the great hallway,

Kiyan hesitated, then bore left. A pair of great brass gates opened onto

a space like a garden, the plants all designed from silk, the birds

perched on the branches dead and dust-covered.

"Unreal, isn't it?" Kiyan said as she picked her way across the sterile

terrain. "I think they must go a little mad in the winters down here.

All those months without seeing the sunlight."

"I suppose," Maati said.

After the garden, they went down a series of corridors so narrow that

Maati could place his palms on both walls without stretching. She came

to a high wooden doorway with brass fittings that was barred from

within. Kiyan passed the lantern to Maati and knocked a complex pattern.

A scraping sound spoke of the bar being lifted, and then the door swung

in. Three men with blades in their hands stood. The center one smiled,

stepped back and silently gestured them through.

Lanterns filled the stone-walled passage with warm, buttery light and

the scent of burnt oil. There was no door at the end, only an archway

that opened out into a wide, tall space that smelled of sweat and damp

wool and torch smoke. A storehouse, then, with the door frames stuffed

with rope to keep out even a glimmer of light.

Half a dozen men stopped their conversations as Kiyan led him across the

empty space to the overseer's office-a shack within the structure that

glowed from within.

Kiyan opened the office door and stood aside, smiling encouragement to

Maati as he stepped past her and into the small room. A desk. Four

chairs. A stand for scrolls. A map of the winter cities nailed to the

wall. Three lanterns. And Otah-kvo rising now from his seat.

He was still thin, but there was an energy about him-in the way he held

his shoulders and his hands. In the way he moved.

"You're looking well for a dead man," Maati said.

"Feeling better than expected, too," Otah said, and a smile spread

across his long, northern face. "Thank you for coming."

"How could I not?" Maati drew one of the chairs close to him and sat,

his fingers laced around one knee. "So you've chosen to take the city

after all?"

Otah hesitated a moment, then sat. He rubbed the desktop with his open

palm-a dry sound-and his brow furrowed.

"I don't see my option," he said at last. "That sounds convenient, I

know. But ... You said before that you'd realized I had nothing to do

with Biitrah's death and your assault. I didn't have a part in Danat's

murder either. Or my father's. Or even my own rescue from the tower,

come to that. It's all simply happened up to now. And I didn't know

whether you still believed me innocent."

Maati smiled ruefully. There was something in Otah's voice that sounded

like hope. Maati didn't know his own heart-the resentment, the anger,

the love of Otah-kvo and of Liat and the child she'd borne. He couldn't

say even what they all had to do with this man sitting across his

appropriated desk.

"I do," Maati said at last. "I've been looking into the matter, but I

suppose you know that if you've had me watched."

"Yes. That's one reason I wanted to speak to you."

"There are others?"

"I have a confession to make. I'd likely be wiser to keep quiet until

this whole round is finished, but ... I've lied to you, Maati. I told

you that I'd been with a woman in the east islands and failed to father

a child on her. She ... she wasn't real. That never happened."