windows and unsettled the fire in the grate.

"She's a poet," Eiah said. "She's the poet."

"Poets are human," Maati said. "We err. We can be petty on occasion.

Vindictive. Small. Her world has been turned on its head, and she hasn't

come yet to understand all that means. Well, of course she hasn't. I'd

have been more surprised if she'd never made a misstep."

"You don't think we have a problem then?" Eiah said.

"She's a reasonable girl. Given power, she's misbehaved once. Once."

Maati shook his head. "Once is as good as never."

"And if it becomes twice?" Eiah asked. "If it becomes every time?"

"It won't," Maati said. "That isn't who she is."

"But she's changed. You said it just now. The binding gave her power,

and power changes people."

"It changes their situation," Maati said. "It changes the calculations

of what things they choose to do. What they forbear. It doesn't change

their souls."

"I've cut through a hundred bodies, Uncle. I've never weighed out a

soul. I've never judged one. When I picked Vanjit, I hope I did the

right thing."

"Don't kill yourself with worry," Maati said. "Not yet, at any rate."

Eiah nodded slowly. "I've been thinking about who to send letters to.

I've picked half-a-dozen names. I'll hire a courier when we reach

Pathai. I won't be there long enough to bring back replies."

"That's fine," Maati said. "All we need is enough time to perfect Wounded."

Eiah took a pose that agreed and also ended the conversation. She walked

away into the darkened hall, her shoulders bent, her head bowed. Maati

felt a pang of guilt. Eiah was tired and sorrowful and more fearful than

she let on. He was sending her to announce to the world that she had

betrayed her father. He could have been gentler about her concerns over

Vanjit and Clarity-of-Sight. He didn't know why he'd been so harsh.

He made his evening ablutions and prepared himself to write a few pages

in his book, scratching words onto paper by the light of the fluttering

night candle, thanks in no small part to Vanjit. He was less than

surprised when a soft scratching came at his door.

Vanjit looked small and young. The andat held in the crook of her arm

looked around the dim room, gurgling to itself almost like a baby. Maati

gestured for her to sit.

"I heard Eiah-cha speaking to Ashti Beg," Vanjit said. "They're leaving?"

"Eiah is taking the cart to Pathai for supplies and to send off some

letters for me. Ashti Beg is going to help. That's all," he said.

"It's not because of me?"

"No, Vanjit-kya," Maati said warmly. "No. It was planned before anything

happened between you and Ashti-cha. It's only ... we need time. Eiah

needs time away from her binding to clear her mind. And we need to be

sure that the Emperor and his son can't make a half-Galtic heir before

we've done what needs doing. So we're asking help. Eiah is the daughter

of the Empire. Her word carries weight. If she tells a few people

well-placed in the utkhaiem what we've done and what we intend to do,

they can use their influence to stop the Galts. And then ..."

He gestured to Vanjit, to the school, to the wide plain of possibilities

that lay before them, if only they could gain the time. The andat cooed

and threw its own arms wide, in joy or possibly mockery.

"Why is he doing it?" Vanjit asked. "Why would he trade with those

people? Is he so in love with Galt?"

Maati took a long breath, letting the question turn itself in his mind.

It was the habit of years to lay any number of sins at Otah's feet. But,

reluctantly, not this.

"No," Maati said. "Otah-kvo isn't evil. Petty, perhaps. Misguided,

certainly. He sees that the Galts are strong, and we need strength. He

sees that their women can bear babes with our men, and he believes it's

the only hope of a new generation. He doesn't understand that what we've

broken, we can also repair."

"Given time," Vanjit said.

"Yes," Maati said with a sigh. "Given time to rebuild. Remake."

For a moment, he was in the cold warehouse in Machi, the andat Sterile

looking at him with her terrible, beautiful smile.

"It takes so long to build the world," he said softly, "and so very

little to break it. I still remember what it felt like. Between one

breath and the next, Vanjit-kya. I ruined the world in less than a

heartbeat."

Vanjit blinked, as if surprised, and then a half-smile plucked her lips.

Clarity-of-Sight quieted, looking at her as if she'd spoken. The andat

was as still as stone; even the pretense of breath had gone.

Maati felt unease stir in his belly.

"Vanjit? Are you well?" and when she didn't reply, "Fanjit?"

She started, as if she'd forgotten where she was and that he was there.

He caught her gaze, and she smiled.

"Fine. Yes, I'm fine," she said. There was a strange tone in her voice.

Something low and languid and relaxed. It reminded Maati of the

aftermath of sex. He took a pose that asked whether he had failed to

understand something.

"No, nothing," Vanjit said; and then not quite in answer to his

question, "Nothing's wrong."

15

Shortly after midday, Otah walked along the winding path that led from

the palaces themselves to the building that had once been the poet's

house. Since the first time he had come this way, little more than a

boy, many things had changed. The pathway itself was the white of

crushed marble with borders of oiled wood. The bridge that rose over the

pond had blackened with time; the grain of the wood seemed coarser. One

of the stands of trees which gave the poet's house its sense of

separation from the palaces had burned. White-oak seedlings had been

planted to replace them. The trees looked thin, awkward, and adolescent.

One day, decades ahead, they would tower over the path.

He paused at the top of the bridge's arch, looking down into the dark

water. Koi swam lazily under the surface, orange and white and gold

appearing from beneath lily pads and vanishing again. The man reflected

in the pond's surface looked old and tired. White hair, gray skin. Time

had thinned his shoulders and taken the roundness from his cheeks. Otah

put out his hand, and the reflection did as well, as if they were old

friends greeting each other.