their autonomy, he would closet himself with his sister and begin the

work that couldn't be safely trusted to others: tracking Maati and

whatever enemy among the courts of the utkhaiem had been supporting him.

10

Dawn crept over the school. The dark walls gained detail; the fragile

lacing of frost burned away almost before it was visible. Birdsong that

had begun in darkness grew in volume and complexity. The countless stars

faded into the pale blue and rose of the east. Maati Vaupathai walked

the perimeter of the school, his memory jogged with every new corner he

turned. Here was the classroom where he'd first heard of the andat.

There, the walkway where an older boy had beaten him for not taking the

proper stance. The stables, empty now but for the few animals Eiah had

brought, which Maati had made the younger boys clean with their bare

hands after he had been elevated to the black robes of the older boys.

Ever since his return, Maati had suffered moments when his mind would

spiral back through time, unearthing memories as fresh as yesterday.

This morning in particular, the past seemed present. He walked past the

long-dead echoes of boys crying in their cots, the vanished scent of the

caustic soap they'd used to wash the stone floors, the almostforgotten

smell of young bodies and old food and misery. And then, just as memory

threatened to sweep him away, he heard one of the girls. Large Kae

singing, Irit's laughter, anything. The walls themselves shifted. The

school became something new again, never seen in the world. Women poets,

working together as the risen sun washed the haze from the air.

When he stepped into the kitchen, the warmth of the fire and the damp of

the steam made him feel like he was walking into summer. Eiah and Ashti

Beg sat at the wide table, carving apples into slivers. An iron pot of

rough-ground wheat, rice, and millet burped to itself over the fire. The

gruel was soft and rich with buttercream and honey.

"Maati-kvo!" Small Kae called, and he took a pose of welcome that the

others matched. "There's fresh tea in the green pot. And that bowl there

is clean. The blue one."

"Eiah was just telling us about the news from Pathai," Ashti Beg said.

"Little that there was of it," Eiah said. "Nothing to compare with what

you were all doing here."

"Nothing we did while you were away is going to compare with what we'll

do next," Small Kae said. Her face was bright, her smile taut. She

covered her fear with an unwillingness to conceive of defeat. Maati

poured himself the tea. It smelled like fresh-picked leaves.

"Have we seen Vanjit?" he asked and lowered himself to a cushion beside

the fire. He grunted only a little bit.

"Not yet," Eiah said. "Large Kae went to wake her."

"Perhaps it would be better to let her sleep," Small Kae said. "It is

her day, after all. It seems rude to make demands on her just because we

all want to share it with her."

Eiah smiled, but her gaze was on Maati. A private conversation passed

between them, no longer than three heartbeats together. More would be

decided today than Vanjit and Clarity-of-Sight. Likely they all knew as

much, but no one would say the words. Maati filled a fresh bowl with the

sweet grain, holding it out for Ashti Beg to cover with apple. He didn't

answer Eiah's unspoken question: What will we do if she fails?

Vanjit arrived before he had finished half the bowl. She wore a robe of

deep blue shot with red, and her hair was woven with glass beads and

carved shells. Her face was painted, her lips widened and red, her eyes

touched by kohl. Maati hadn't even known she'd brought paints and

baubles to the school. She had never worn them before, but this morning,

she looked like the daughter of a Khai. When no one was looking, he took

a pose of congratulation to Eiah. She replied with an inclination of the

head and a tiny smile that admitted the change was her doing.

"How did you sleep, Vanjit-cha?" Maati asked as she swept the hem of her

robe aside and sat next to him.

She took his hand and squeezed it, but didn't answer his question. Large

Kae brought her a bowl of tea, Irit a helping of the grain and butter

already covered with apple. Vanjit took a pose of thanks somewhat

hampered by the food and drink.

While they all ate, the conversation looped around the one concern they

all shared. The Galts, the Emperor, the weather, the supplies Eiah had

brought from Pathai, the species of insect peculiar to the dry lands

around the school. Anything was a fit topic except Vanjit's binding and

the fear that lay beneath all their merriment and pleasure.

Vanjit alone seemed untouched by care. She was beautiful and, for the

first time since Maati had met her, comfortable in her beauty. Her

laughter seemed genuine and her movements relaxed. Maati thought he was

seeing confidence in her, the assurance of a woman who was about to do a

thing she had no thought might be beyond her. His opinion didn't change

until after all the bowls had been gathered and rinsed, the cored apples

and spilled grain swept up and carried away to the pit in the back of

the school, when she took him by the hand and led him gently aside.

"I wanted to thank you," she said as they reached the bend of the wide

hallway.

"I can't see I've done anything worth it," he said. "If anything, I

should be offering you ..."

There were tears brimming in her eyes, the shining water threatening her

kohl. Maati took the end of his sleeve and dabbed her eyes gently. The

brown cloth came away stained black.

"After Udun," Vanjit began, then paused. "After what the Galts did to my

brothers ... my parents. I thought I would never have a family again. It

was better that there not be anyone in my life that I cared for enough

that it would hurt me to lose them."

"Ah, now. Vanjit-kya. You don't need to think of that now."

"But I do. I do. You are the closest thing I've had to a father. You are

the most dedicated man I have ever known, and it has been an honor to be

allowed a place in your work. And I've broken the promise I made myself.

I will miss you."

Maati took a pose that both disagreed and asked for clarification.

Vanjit smiled and shook her head, the beads and shells in her braids

clicking like claws on stone. He waited.

"We both know that the chances are poor that I'll see the sunset," she

said. Her voice was solemn and composed. "This grammar we've made is a

guess. The forces at play are deadlier than fires or floods. If I were

someone else, I wouldn't wager a length of copper on my chances if you