"Liat Chokavi?"
"Yes."
"Kiyan Machi, first wife of the Khai Machi, extends her invitation. If
you would he so kind, I will take you to her."
"Now?" Liat asked, but of course it was now. She waved away the question
even before the servant boy could recover from the surprise of being
asked in so sharp a tone. When he turned, spine straight and stiff with
indignation, she followed him.
They found Otah's wife standing on a balcony overlooking a great hall.
Her robes were delicate pink and yellow, and they suited her skin. Her
head was turned down, looking at the wide fountain that took up the hall
below, the sprays of water reaching up almost to the high domed ceiling
above. The servant boy took a pose of obeisance before her, and she
replied with one that both thanked and dismissed him. Her greeting of
Liat was only a nod and a smile, and then Kiyan's attention turned back
to the fountain.
There were children playing in the pool-splashing one another or
running, handy-legged, through water that reached above their knees and
would only have dampened half of Liat's own calves. Some wore robes of
cotton that clung to their tiny bodies. Some wore loose canvas trousers
like a common laborer's. They were, Liat thought, too young to be
utkhaiem yet. They were still children, and free from the bindings that
would hold them when there was less fat in their cheeks, less joy in
their movement. But that was only sentiment. The children of privilege
knew when they were faced with a child of the lower orders. 'T'hese
dancing and shouting in the clean, clear water could dress as they saw
fit because they were all of the same ranks. 'T'hese were the children
of the great houses, brought to play with the one boy, there, in the
robe. The one deep in disagreement with the petulant-looking girl. The
one who had eyes and mouth the same shape as Utah's.
Liat looked up and found Kiyan considering her. The woman's expression
was unreadable.
""['hank you for coming," Kiyan said over the sounds of falling water
and shrieking children.
"Of course," Liat said. She nodded down at the boy. "That's I)anat- cha?"
"Yes. lie's having a good day," she said. "Then, "Please, come this way."
Liat followed her through a doorway at the balcony's rear and into a
small resting room where Kiyan sat on a low couch and motioned Liat to
do the same. The sounds of play were muffled enough to speak over, but
they weren't absent. Liat found them oddly comforting.
"I heard that Nayiit-cha chose to go with the men," Kiyan said.
"Yes," Liat said, and then stopped, because she didn't know what more
there was to say.
"I can't imagine that," Kiyan said. "It's hard enough imagining Utah
going, but he's my husband. Tie's not my son."
"I understand why he went. Nayiit, I mean. But his father asked the Khai
to take care of him."
Kiyan looked tip, confused for a moment, then nodded.
"Maati, you mean?"