""They won't all fit," Ifiat said. "We can put them in the tunnels, but

then there's no place for all of us to go when winter comes. "There's

too many of them, and they can't have carried enough food to see them

through until spring. And we're stretched thin as it is."

"We'll stretch thinner," Kiyan said.

The rest of the day was a single long emergency, events and needs and

decisions coming in waves and overlapping each other like the scales of

a snake. Liat found herself at the large and growing camp that was

forming as the refugees of Cetani reached the bridge. "Thankfully, the

bridge was only the width of eight men walking abreast, and it kept the

flow of humanity and cattle and carts to a speed that was almost

manageable. Liat only had to school herself not to look across the water

to the larger, shapeless mass of people still waiting to cross. Liat

motioned them to different places, the ones too frail or ill to survive

another night in the open, the ones robust enough that they might he put

to work. 'T'here were old men, children, babes hanging in their mothers'

exhausted arms.

Liat felt as if she were being asked to engineer a new city of tents and

cook fires. They came in the hundreds. In the thousands. Night had

fallen before the last man crossed, and Liat could see fires on the far

side, camps made by those who'd given tip hope of crossing today. Liat

sat on the smooth stone rail at the bridge's end and let the aches in

her feet and back and legs complain to her. It had been an excruciating

day, and the work was far from ended. But at least the refugees were in

tents sent out from Machi, safe from the cold. The food carts of Machi

had also come out from the city, making their way through the crowds

with garlic sausages and honeyed almonds and bowls of noodles and beef.

There were even songs. Over the constant frigid rushing of the water,

there was the sound of flutes and drums and voices. The temptation to

close her eyes was unbearable, and yet. And yet.

I want to be a good man, he'd said. And I'm not.

With a sigh she began the long trek back to the city, to the palaces, to

Kiyan and Maati and the bathhouses and her bed. The city, as she passed

through its streets, was alive. The refugees of Cetani had not all

waited in the camp. Or perhaps Kiyan had meant to start bringing them

into the city. Whatever the intention had been, they had come, and Machi

had poured itself out to make them welcome, to offer them food and wine

and comfort, to pull news and gossip from them. The sun was gone, and

the darkness was cold, and yet the city was full as a street fair. And

as chaotic.

She found Kiyan in the palaces looking as exhausted as she herself felt.

Otah's wife waved her near to the long, broad table. Wives of the

utkhaiem were consulting one another, writing figures on paper, issuing

orders to wide-eyed servants. It was like the middle of a trading

company at the height of the cotton harvest, and Liat found it strangely

comforting.

"It can be done," Kiyan said. "It won't be pleasant, but it can be done.

I've had word from the Poinyat that we can use their mines, and I'm

expecting the Daikani any time now."

"The mines?" Liat said. The exhaustion made her slow to understand.

"We'll have to put people in them. They're deep enough to stay warm.

It's like living in the tunnels under the city, only rougher. The ones

in the plain will even have their own water. There's food and sewage to

worry about, but I've sent Jaini Radaani to speak with the engineers,

and if she can't convince them to find a solution, I'll be quite surprised."

"That's good," Liat said. "Things at the bridge are under control. We've

set up a tent for the physicians down there, and there's food enough.

There will be more tomorrow, but I think they've all been seen to."

"Gods, Liat-cha. You look like death and you're cold. Let me have

someone see you to the baths, get you warm. Have you eaten?"

She hadn't, but she pushed the thought aside.

"I need something from you, Kiyan-cha."

"Ask."

"Nayiit. He needs ... something. He needs something to do. Something

that he can he proud of. Ile came back from the battle ..."

"I know," Kiyan said. "I know what happened there. It was in Otah's letter."

"He needs to help," I,iat said, surprised at the pleading tone of her

own voice. She hadn't known she felt so desperate for him. "Ile needs to

matter."

Kiyan nodded slowly, then leaned close and kissed Liat's cheek. The

woman's lips felt almost hot against Liat's chilled skin.

"I understand, Liat-kya," she said. "Go and rest. I'll see to it. I

promise , you.

Weeping with fatigue, Liat found her way to her apartments, to her

bedchamber, to her bed. Her belly ached with hunger, but she only drank

the full carafe of water the servants had left at her bedside. By the

time her body learned that it had been tricked, she would already be

asleep. She closed her eyes for a moment before pulling off her robes

and woke, still dressed, in the morning. The light sifted through the

shutters, pressing in at the seams. The night candle was a lump of spent

wax, and the air didn't smell of the dying wick. There was something,

though. Pork. Bread. Liat sat up, her head light.

She stripped off yesterday's robes, sticky with sleep sweat, and pulled

on a simple sitting robe of thick gray wool. When she stepped out to the

main rooms, Kiyan was still arranging the meal on its table.

"Thick slices of pink-white meat, bread so fresh it still steamed, trout

baked with lemon and salt, poached pears on a silver plate. And a teapot

that smelled of white tea and honey. Liat's stomach woke with a sharp pang.

"°I'hey told me you hadn't eaten last night," she said. "Either of you.

I thought I might bring along something to keep you breathing."

"Kiyan-cha . . ." Liat began, then broke off and simply took a pose of

gratitude. Kiyan smiled. She was a beautiful woman, and age was treating

her gently. The intelligence in her eyes was matched by the humor. Otah

was lucky, Liat thought, to have her.

"It's a trick, really," Kiyan said. "I've come pretending to be a

servant girl, when I actually want to speak with Nayiit. If he's awake."

"I am."

His voice came from the shadows of his bedchambers. Nayiit stepped out.

His hair pointed in a hundred directions. His eyes were red and puffy. A

thin sprinkling of stubble cast a shadow on his jaw. Kiyan took a pose

of greeting. He returned it.