understood the depths he'd touched upon. And Cehmai had also been the

one to encourage bringing the work to the Dai-kvo's attention. All

Athai's enthusiasm and hyperbole paled beside a few thoughtful words

from Cchmai.

Maati stayed awhile, talking and laughing, comparing impressions of

Athai now that he'd left. And then he took his leave, walking slowly

enough that he didn't become short of breath. Fourteen, almost fifteen

years ago, he'd come to Machi. The black stone roadways, the constant

scent of the coal smoke billowing up from the forges, the grandeur of

the palaces and the hidden city far beneath his feet had become his home

as no other place ever had before. He strode down pathways of crushed

marble, under archways that flowed with silken banners. A singing slave

called from the gardens, a simple melody of amazing clarity and longing.

He turned down a smaller way that would take him to his apartments

behind the library.

Nlaati found himself wondering what he would do if the I)ai-kvo truly

thought his discovery had merit. It was an odd thought. He had spent so

many years now in disgrace, first tainted by the death of his master

Heshai, then by his choice to divide his loyalty between his lover and

son on the one hand and the Dai-kvo on the other. And then at last his

entrance into the politics of the court, wearing the robes of the poet

and supporting Otah Machi, his old friend and enemy, to become Khai

Machi. It had been simple enough to believe that his promotion to the

ranks of the poets had been a mistake. He had, after all, been gifted

certain insights by an older boy who had walked away from the school:

Otah, before he'd been a laborer or a courier or a Khai. Maati had

reconciled himself to a smaller life: the library, the companionship of

a few friends and those lovers who would bed a disgraced poet halfway to

fat with rich foods and long, inactive hours.

After so many years of failure, the thought that he might shake off that

reputation was unreal. It was like a dream from which he could only hope

never to wake, too pleasant to trust in.

Eiah was sitting on the steps when he arrived, frowning intently at a

moth that had lighted on the back of her hand. Her face was such a clear

mix of her parents-Kiyan's high cheeks, Otah's dark eyes and easy smile.

Maati took a pose of greeting as he walked up, and when Eiah moved to

reply, the moth took wing, chuffing softly through the air and away. In

flight, the wings that had been simple brown shone black and orange.

"Athai's gone then?" she asked as Maati unlocked the doors to his

apartments.

"He's likely just over the bridge by now."

Maati stepped in, Eiah following him without asking or being asked. It

was a wide room, not so grand as the palaces or so comfortable as the

poet's house. A librarian's room, ink blocks stacked beside a low desk,

chairs with wine-stained cloth on the arms and hack, a small bronze

brazier dusted with old ash. Maati waved Eiah off as she started to

close the door.

"Let the place air out a bit," he said. "It's warm enough for it now.

And what's your day been, Eiah-kya?"

"Father," she said. "He was in a mood to have a family, so I had to stay

in the palaces all morning. He fell asleep after midday, and Mother said

I could leave."

"I'm surprised. I wasn't under the impression Otah slept anymore. He

always seems hip-deep in running the city."

Eiah shrugged, neither agreeing nor voicing her denial. She paced the

length of the room, squinting out the door at nothing. Maati folded his

hands together on his belly, considering her.

"Something's bothering you," he said.

The girl shook her head, but the frown deepened. Maati waited until,

with a quick, birdlike motion, Eiah turned to face him. She began to

speak, stopped, and gathered herself visibly.

"I want to be married," she said.

Maati blinked, coughed to give himself a moment to think, and leaned

forward in his chair. The wood and cloth creaked slightly beneath him.

Eiah stood, her arms crossed, her gaze on him in something almost like

accusation.

"Who is the boy?" Maati said, regretting the word boy as soon as it left

his mouth. If they were speaking of marriage, the least he could do was

say man. But Eiah's impatient snort dismissed the question.

"I don't know," she said. "Whoever."

"Anyone would do?"

"Not just anyone. I don't want to be tied to some low town firekeeper. I

want someone good. And I should be able to. Father doesn't have any

other daughters, and I know people have talked with him. But nothing

ever happens. How long am I supposed to wait?"

hlaati rubbed a palm across his cheeks. This was hardly a conversation

he'd imagined himself having. He turned through half a hundred things he

might say, approaches he might take, and felt a blush rising in his cheeks.

"You're voting, Eiah-kya. I mean ... I suppose it's natural enough for a

young woman to ... he interested in men. Your body is changing, and if I

recall the age, there are certain feelings that it's ..."

Eiah looked at him as if he'd coughed up a rat.

"Or perhaps I've misunderstood the issue," he said.

"It's not that," she said. "I've kissed lots of boys."

The blush wasn't growing less, but Nlaati resolved to ignore it.

"Ah," he said. "Well, then. If it's that you want apartments of your

own, something outside the women's quarters, you could always-"

""Ialit Radaani's being married to the third son of the Khai Pathai,"

Eiah said, and then a heartbeat later, "She's half a year younger than I

am."

It was like feeling a puzzle box click open in his fingers. He

understood precisely what was happening, what it meant and didn't mean.

He rubbed his palms against his knees and sighed.

"And she gloats about that, I'd bet," he said. Eiah swiped at her

betraying eyes with the back of a hand. "After all, she's younger and

lower in the courts. She must think that she's got proof that she's

terribly special."

Eiah shrugged.

"Or that you aren't," Maati continued, keeping his voice gentle to

lessen the sting of the words. "That's what she thinks, isn't it?"

"I don't know what she thinks."

"Well, then tell me what you think."

"I don't know why he can't find me a husband. It isn't as if I'd have to

leave. There's marriages that go on for years before anyone does