cleaned it up and wrapped it. We'll know in a couple days whether he'll

have to have it off."

"We'll know?" Utah asked. "They're having you decide the fate of men's

elbows?"

He saw a dark glitter where his daughter's eyes cracked just slightly

open. "Dorin-cha will tell me, and then we'll both know."

"She's been quite the asset, they say," Kiyan said. ""I'he matrons keep

trying to send her away, and she keeps coming back. They tell her it's

unseemly for her to he there, but the physicians seem flattered that

she's interested."

"I like it," Eiah said, her voice slurring. "I don't want to stop. I

want to help."

"You don't have to stop," Utah said. "I'II see to it."

""I'hank you, Papa-kya," Eiah murmured.

"Off to your bed," Kivan said, gently shaking Eiah's knee. "You're

already half-dreaming."

Eiah frowned and grunted, but then came to her feet. She stumbled over

to Utah, genuine exhaustion competing with the theatrics of being tired,

and threw her arms around his neck. I ier hair smelled of the vinegar

the physicians used to wash down their slate tables. He put his arms

around her. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. His baby girl,

his daughter. Ile would see her tomorrow, and then he would march out

into the gods only knew what.

"tomorrow, he told himself, I will see her again tomorrow. This won't he

the last time. Not yet. He kissed her forehead and let her go.

Eiah tottered to her mother for another kiss, another hug, and then they

were alone. Kiyan gently plucked the papers from his hands and put them

back on the desk.

"I'm not certain that worked as a punishment," Otah said. "We're halfway

to raising a physician."

"It lets her feel she's useful," Kiyan said as she pulled him to the

couch. He sat at her side. "It's normal for her to want to feel she's in

control of something. And she isn't squeamish. I'll hand her that much."

"I hope feeling useful is enough," Otah said. "She's got her own will,

and I don't think she'd be past following it over a cliff if it led her

there."

He saw Kiyan read his deeper meaning. I hope we are all still here to

worry about it.

"We do as well by them as we can, love," she said.

"I think about Idaan," Otah said.

Kiyan took his hand.

"Eiah isn't your sister. She isn't going to do the things she did," she

said. "And more to the point, you aren't your father."

For a moment, he was consumed by memories: the father he had met only

once, the sister who had engineered the old man's murder. Hatred and

violence and ambition had destroyed his family once. He supposed it was

inevitable that he should fear it happening again. Otah raised Kiyan's

hand to his lips, and then sighed.

"I have to go to Danat. I haven't seen him yet. Go with me?"

"He's asleep already, love. We stopped in on our way here. He won't wake

before morning. And you'll have to find different stories to read to him

next time. Everything you left there, he's read to himself. Our boy's

going to grow up a scholar at this rate."

Otah nodded, pushing aside a moment's guilt over the relief he felt.

Seeing Danat was one less thing, even if it was more important than most

of the others he'd already done. And there would be tomorrow. 't'here

would at least be tomorrow.

"How is he?"

"His color is better, but he has less energy. The fever is gone for now,

but he still coughs. I don't know. No one does."

"Can he travel?"

Kiyan turned. Her gaze darted across his face as if he were a book that

she was trying to read. Her hands took a querying pose.

"I've been thinking," Otah said. "Planning."

"For if you're killed," Kiyan said. Her voice made it plain she'd been

thinking of it as well.

""I'he mines. If I don't come hack, I want you to take to the mines in

the North. Cehmai will go with you, and he knows them better than

anyone. If you can, take the children and as much gold as you can carry

and head west. Sinja and the others will he there somewhere, working

whatever contract they've taken. "They'll protect you."

"You're sending me to him?" Kiyan asked softly.

"Only if I don't come hack."

"You will."

"Still," Otah said. "If. . ."

"If," Kiyan agreed and took his hand. "Then, a long moment later, "We

were never lovers, he and I. Not the way ..."

Otah put a finger to her lips, and she went quiet. There were tears in

her eyes, and in his.

"Let's not open that again," he said.

"You could come away too. We could all leave quietly. The four of us and

a fast cart."

"And spend our lives on a beach in Bakta," Otah said. "I can't. I have

this thing to do. My city."

"I know. But I had to say it, just so I know it was said."

Otah looked down. His hands looked old-the knuckles knobbier than he

thought of them, the skin looser. They weren't an old man's hands, but

they weren't a young man's any longer. When he spoke, his voice was low

and thoughtful.

"It's strange, you know. I've spent years chafing under the weight of

being Khai Mach], and now that it's harder than it ever was, now that

there's something real to lose, I can't let go of it. 'T'here was a man

once who told me that if it were a choice between holding a live coal in

my hare fist or letting a city of innocent people die, of course I would

do my best to stand the pain. That it was what any decent man would do."

"Don't apologize," Kiyan said.

"Was I apologizing?"

"Yes," she said. "You were. You shouldn't. I'm not angry with you, and

there's nothing to blame you for. They all think you've changed, you

know, but this is who you've always been. You were a poor Khai Machi

because it didn't matter until now. I understand; I'm just frightened to

death, love. It's nothing you can spare me."

"Nlaati could be wrong," Otah said. "The Galts may be busy rolling over

the Westlands and none of it anything to do with Stone-MadeSoft. I may

arrive at the 1Jai-kvo's village and be laughed all the way back North."