him and felt him enclose her. She had told herself that she would hold

back, he careful. She was the head of House Kyaan, a woman of business

and politics. She knew how to be hardhearted and cool. There was no

reason to think that she would he safe here in the farthest city from

her home and facing again the two lovers of her childhood. The years had

worked changes on them all, and she had parted with neither of them on

good terms.

And yet the tears in her eyes were simple and sincere and as much joy as

sorrow, and the touch of Maati's body against her own-strange and

familiar both-wasn't awkward or unwelcome. She kissed his cheek and drew

back enough to see his still wonder-filled face.

"Well," she said at last. "It's been a while. It's good to see you

again, Maati-kya. I wasn't sure it would be, but it is."

"I thought I'd never see you again," he said. "I thought, after all this

time ... My letters ..."

"I got them, yes. And it's not as if court gossip didn't tell everyone

in the world where you were. The last succession of Machi was the

favorite scandal of the season. I even saw an epic made from it. The boy

who took your part didn't look a thing like you," she said, and then, in

a lower voice, "I meant to write hack to you, even if it was only to

tell you that I'd heard. That I knew. But somehow I never managed. I

regret that. I've always regretted that. It only seemed so ... complex."

"I thought perhaps ... I don't know. I don't know what I thought."

She stood silently in his arms the space of another breath, part of her

wishing that this moment might suffice; that the relief she felt at

Maati's simple, unconsidered acceptance might stand in for all that she

had still to do. He sensed the change in her thoughts and stepped hack,

his hands moving restlessly. She smoothed her hair, suddenly aware of

the streaks of gray at her temple.

"Can I get something for you?" Maati said. "It's simple enough to call a

servant in from the palaces. Or I have some distilled wine here."

"Wine will do," she said, and sat.

He went to a low cabinet beside the fire grate, sliding the wooden panel

back and taking out two small porcelain bowls and a stoppered bottle as

he spoke.

"I've had company recently. He's only just left. I don't usually live in

this disorder."

"I'm not sure I believe that," she said, wryly. Maati chuckled and shrugged.

"Oh, I don't clean it myself. It would he a hundred times worse than

this. Otah-kvo's been very kind in loaning me servants. He has more than

he has places for."

The name was like a cold breath, but Liat only smiled and accepted the

bowl that Nlaati held out to her. She sipped the wine-strong, peppery,

and warm in her throat-to give herself a moment. She wasn't ready yet

for the pleasure to end.

"The world's changed on us," she said. It was a platitude, but Maati

seemed to take some deeper meaning from it.

"It has," he said. "And it'll keep on changing, I think. When I was a

boy, I never imagined myself here, and I can't say for certain what I'll

be doing when next summer comes. The new Dal-kvo ..."

He shook his head slowly and sipped his wine for what Liat guessed was

much the same reason she had. The silence between them grew. Maati

cleared his throat.

"How is Nayiit?" he asked, careful, Liat noticed, to use the boy's name.

Not our son, but Nayiit.

She told him about the work of House Kyaan, and Nayiit's role as an

overseer. The stories of how he had made the transition from the child

of the head of the house to an overseer in his own right. His courtship,

his marriage, the child. Maati closed the door, lit a fire in the grate,

and listened.

It was odd that of all the subjects she had to bring to the table,

Nayiit should be the easiest. And Maati listened to it all, laughing or

rapt, delighted and also sorrowful, longing to have been part of

something that was already gone. Her words were like rain in a desert;

he absorbed them, cherished them. She found herself searching for

more-anecdotes of Nayiit and his friends, his early lovers, the city,

anything. She searched for them and offered them up, part apology, part

sacrifice. The candles had grown visibly shorter before he asked whether

Nayiit had stayed in Saraykeht, and Liat reluctantly shook her head.

"I've left him at the wayhouse," she said. "I wasn't certain how this

would go, between us. I didn't want him to be here if it was bad."

Mlaati's hands started to move toward some pose-a denial, perhaps-then

faltered. His eyes locked on hers. "There were decades in them. She felt

tears welling up.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If that's worth anything, I am sorry, Maatikya."

"For what?" he asked, and his tone said that he could imagine a number

of answers.

"That you weren't a part of his life until now."

"It was my choice as much as yours. And it will be good to see him again."

He heaved a sigh and pressed the stopper back into the bottle's neck.

The sun was long gone, and a cold breeze, thick with the perfume of

night-flowering gardens, raised bumps on her arms. Only the air. Not dread.

"You haven't asked me why I've come," she said.

He chuckled and leaned back against his couch. His cheeks were ruddy

from the candlelight and wine. His eyes seemed to glitter.

"I was pretending it was for me. Mending old wounds, making peace,"

Maati said. The anger she'd seen was there now, swimming beneath the

pleasant, joking surface. She wondered if she'd waited too long to come

to the issue. She should have asked before she'd told him Nayiit was in

the city, before the sour memories came back.

Maati took a pose of query, inviting her to share her true agenda.

"I need your help," Liat said. "I need an audience with the Khai."

"You want to talk to Otah-kvo? You don't need my help for that. You

could just-"

"I need you to help me convince him. To argue my case with me. We have

to convince him to intercede with the Dai-kvo."

Maati's eyes narrowed, and his head tilted like that of a man

considering a puzzle. Liat felt herself starting to blush. She'd had too

much of the wine, and her control wasn't all it should be.

"Intercede with the Dai-kvo?" he said.

"I've been following the world. And the Galts. It was what Amat Kyaan