tea-and-milk color he remembered. Otah sighed as he sat across from her.

Outside, the wind murmured.

"I'm not," he said. "Only tired."

"I knew you wouldn't end as a seafront laborer," she said.

"Yes, well . . ." Otah shook his head and sipped from the howl. It was

strong wine, and it left his mouth feeling clean and his chest warm.

"It's time we spoke about Nayiit."

Liat nodded, took a long drink, and held the cup out for more. Otah poured.

"It's all my fault," she said as she sat hack. "I should never have

brought him here. I never saw it. I never saw you in him. He was always

just himself. If I'd known that ... that he resembled you quite so

closely, I wouldn't have."

"Late for that," Otah said.

Liat sighed her agreement and looked up at him. It was hard to believe

that they had been lovers once. The girl he had known hack then hadn't

had gray in her hair, weariness in her eyes. And the boy he'd been was

as distant as snow in summer. Yes, two people had kissed once, had

touched each other, had created a child who had grown to manhood. And

Otah remembered some of those moments nowshowering at the barracks while

she spoke to him, the ink blocks at the desk in her cell at the compound

of House Wilsin, the feel of a young body pressed against his own, when

his flesh had also been new and unmarked. If those days long past had

been foolish or wrong, the only evidence was the price they both paid

now. It hadn't seemed so at the time.

"I've been thinking of it," Liat said. "I haven't told him. I wasn't

sure how you wanted to address the problem. But I think the wisest thing

to do is to speak with him and with Maati, and then have Nayiitkya take

the brand. I know it's not something done with firstborn sons, but it's

still a repudiation of his right to become Khai. It will make it clear

to the world that he doesn't have designs on your chair."

"'T'hat isn't what I'd choose," Otah said. His words were slow and

careful. "I'm afraid my son may die."

She caught her breath. It was hardly there, no more than a tremor in the

air she took in, but he heard it.

"Itani," she said, using the name of the boy he'd been in Saraykeht,

"please. I'll swear on anything you choose. Nayiit's no threat to Danat.

It was only the Galts that brought us here. I'm not looking to put my

son in your chair...."

Otah put down his bowl and took a pose that asked for her silence. Her

face pale, she went quiet.

"I don't mean that," he said softly. "I mean that I don't ... Gods. I

don't know how to say this. Danat's not well. His lungs are fragile, and

the winters here are bad. We lose people to the cold every year. Not

just the old or the weak. Young people. Healthy ones. I'm afraid that

Danat may dic, and there'll be no one to take my place. The city would

tear itself apart."

"But ... you want ..."

"I haven't done a good job as Khai. I haven't been able to put the

houses of the utkhaiem together except in their distrust of me and

resentment of Kiyan. There's been twice it came near violence, and I

only held the city in place by luck. But keeping Machi safe is my

responsibility. I want Nayiit unbranded, in case ... in case he becomes

my successor.

Liat's mouth hung open, her eyes were wide. A stray lock of hair hung

down the side of her face, three white hairs dancing in and out among

the black. He felt the faint urge-echo of a habit long forgotten-to

brush it back.

"'There," Otah said and picked up his wine bowl. "There, I've said it."

"I'm sorry," Liat said, and Otah took a pose accepting her sympathy

without knowing quite why she was offering it. She looked down at her

hands. The silence between them was profound but not uncomfortable; he

felt no need to speak, to fill the void with words. Liat drank her wine,

Otah his. The wind muttered to itself and to the stones of the city.

"It's not a job I'd want," Liat said. "Khai NIachi."

"It's all power and no freedom," Otah said. "If Nayiit were to have it,

he'd likely curse my name. There are a thousand different things to

attend to, and every one of them as serious as bone to someone. You

can't do it all."

"I know how it feels," Liat said. "I only have a trading house to look

after, and there's days I wish that it would all go away. Granted, I

have men who work the books and the negotiations and appeals before the

low judges and the utkhaiem ..

"I have all the low judges and the utkhaiem appealing to me," Otah said.

"It's never enough."

""I'here's always the descent into decadence and self-absorption," Liat

said, smiling. It was only half a joke. "They say the Khai Chaburi- 'Ian

only gets sober long enough to bed his latest wife."

"Tcnipting," Otah said, "but somewhere between taking the chair to

protect Kiyan and tonight, it became my city. I came from here, and even

if I'm not much good at what I do, I'm what they have."

""That makes sense," Liat said.

"Does it? It doesn't to me."

Liat put down her bowl and rose. He thought her gaze spoke of

determination and melancholy, but perhaps the latter was only his own.

She stepped close and kissed him on the check, a firm peck like an aunt

greeting a favorite nephew.

"Amat Kyaan would have understood," she said. "I won't tell Nayiit about

this. If anyone asks, I'll deny it unless I hear differently from you."

""I'hank you, Liat-cha."

She stepped back. Otah felt a terrible weariness bearing him down, but

forced a charming smile. She shook her head.

""Thank you, Most High."

"I don't think I've done anything worth thanking me."

"You let my son live," Liat said. "That was one of the decisions you had

to make, wasn't it?"

She took his silence as an answer, smiled again, and left him alone.

Otah poured the last of the wine from carafe to howl, and then watched

the light die in the west as he finished it; watched the stars come out,

and the full moon rise. With every day, the light lasted longer. It

would not always. High summer would come, and even when the days were at

their warmest, when the trees and vines grew heavy with fruit, the

nights would already have started their slow expansion. He wondered

whether Danat would get to play outside in the autumn, whether the boy

would be able to spend a long afternoon lying in the sunlight before the

snows came and drove them all down to the tunnels. He was raising a