"Tell me that Otah's come hack with Nayiit, the Galts all conquered and

the world hack the way it was."

"Yes," Kiyan said. Her eyes lost their focus and her hand slipped hack

to her side of the table. Liat regretted being so glib, regretted

letting the moment's compassion fade. "Yes, it would be pretty to think so.

Liat took her leave. The palaces were alive with servants and slaves,

the messengers of the merchant houses and the utkhaiem keeping the life

of the court active. Liat walked through the wide halls with their

distant tiled ceilings and down staircases of marble wide enough for

twenty men to walk abreast. Sweet perfumes filled the air, though their

scents brought her no comfort. The world was as bright as it had been

before she'd come to Machi, the voices lifted in song as merry and

sweet. It was only a trick of her mind that dulled the colors and broke

the harmonics. It was only the thought of her boy lying dead in some

green and distant field and the dull pain behind her eyes.

When she reached the physicians, she found the man she sought speaking

with Eiah. A young man lay naked on the wide slate table beside the

pair. His face was pale and damp with sweat; his eyes were closed. His

nearer leg was purple with bruises and gashed at the side. The

physician-a man no older than Liat, but bald apart from a long gray

fringe of hair-was gesturing at the young man's leg, and Eiah was

leaning in toward him, as if the words were water she was thirsty for.

Liat walked to them softly, partly from the pain in her head, partly

from the hope of overhearing their discussion without changing it.

"There's a fever in the flesh," the physician said. "That's to be

expected. But the muscle."

Eiah considered the leg, more fascinated, Liat noticed, with the raw

wounds than with the man's flaccid sex.

"It's stretched," Eiah said. "So there's still a connection to stretch

it. He'll be able to walk."

The physician dropped the blanket and tapped the boy's shoulder.

"You hear that, Tamiya? The Khai's daughter says you'll be able to walk

again."

The boy's eyes fluttered open, and he managed a thin smile.

"You're correct, Eiah-cha. The tendon's injured, but not snapped. Ile

won't be able to walk for several weeks. The greatest danger now is that

the wound where the skin popped open may become septic. NVe'll have to

clean it out and bandage it. But first, perhaps we have a fresh patient?"

Liat found herself disconcerted to move from observer to observed so

quickly. The physician's smile was distant and professional as a butcher

selling lamb, but Eiah's grin was giddy. Liat took a pose that asked

forbearance.

"I didn't mean to intrude," she said. "It's only that my head has been

troubling me. It aches badly, and I was wondering whether. .

"Come, sit down, Liat-kya," Eiah cried, grabbing Liat's hand and pulling

her to a low wooden seat. "Loya-cha can fix anything."

"I can't fix everything," the physician said, his smile softening a

degree-he was speaking now not only to a patient, but a friend of his

eager student and a fellow adult. "But I may be able to ease the worst

of it. Tell me when I've touched the places that hurt the worst."

Gently, the man's fingers swept over Liat's face, her temples, touching

here and there as gently as a feather against her skin. He seemed

pleased and satisfied with her answers; then he took her pulse on both

wrists and considered her tongue and eyes.

"Yes, I believe I can be of service, Liat-cha. Eiah, you saw what I did?"

Eiah took a pose of agreement. It was strange to see a girl so young and

with such wealth and power look so attentive, to see her care so clearly

what a man who was merely an honored servant could teach her. Liat's

heart went out to the girl.

"Make your own measures, then," the man said. "I have a powder I'll mix

for the patient, and we can discuss what you think while we clean the

gravel out of our friend "lamiya."

Eiah's touch was harder, less assured. Where the physician had hardly

seemed present, Eiah gave the impression of grabbing for something even

when pressing with the tips of her fingers. It was an eagerness Liat

herself had felt once, many years ago.

"You seem to be doing very well here," Liat said, her voice gentle.

"I know," the girl said. "Loya-cha's very smart, and he said I could

keep coming here until Mama-kya or the Khai said different. Can I see

your tongue, please?"

Liat let the examination be repeated, then when it was finished said,

"You must be pleased to have found something you enjoy doing."

"It's all right," Eiah said. "I'd still rather be married, but this is

almost as good. And maybe Papa-kya can find someone to marry me who'll

let me take part in the physician's house. I'll probably be married to

one of the Khaiem, after all, and Mama-kya's running the whole city now.

Everyone says so.

"It may be different later, though," Liat said, trying to imagine a Khai

allowing his wife to take a tradesman's work as a hobby.

"There may not be any Khaiem, you mean," Eiah said. "The Galts may kill

them all."

"Of course they won't," Liat said, but the girl's eyes met hers and Liat

faltered. There was so much of Otah's cool distance in a face that

seemed too young to look on the world so dispassionately. She was like

her father, prepared to pass judgment on the gods themselves if the

situation called her to do it. Comfortable lies had no place with her.

Liat looked down. "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps there won't be."

"Here, now," the physician said. "Take this with you, Liat-cha. Pour it

into a bowl of water and once it's dissolved, drink the whole thing. It

will he bitter, so drink it fast. You'll likely want to lie down for a

hand or two afterward, to let it work. But it should do what needs doing."

Liat took the paper packet and slipped it into her sleeve before taking

a pose of gratitude.

"We should have a lunch in the gardens again," Eiah said. "You and Uncle

Nlaati and me. Loya-cha would come too, except he's a servant."

Liat felt herself blush, but the physician's wry smile told her it was

not the first such pronouncement he'd been subjected to.

"Perhaps you should wait for another day," he said. "Liat-cha had a

headache, remember."

"I know that," Eiah said impatiently. "I meant tomorrow."