"All the years I should have done this," he murmured to himself.
"Putting my boy to bed."
lie softly closed the door to his apartments. The night was deep and
dark, stars shining like diamonds on velvet, and a distant, eerie green
aurora dancing far to the North. Maati stopped at the library proper,
tucked the book he needed into his sleeve, and then-though the urge to
find Cehunai instantly was hard to resist-made his way to the palaces,
and to the apartments that Otah had given Liat.
A servant girl showed him into the main chamber. The only light was the
fire in the grate, the shadows of flame dancing on the walls and across
Liat's brow as she stared into them. Her hair was disarrayed, wild as a
bird's nest. Her hands were in claws, trembling.
"I haven't ... I haven't found-"
"He's fine," Maati said. "He's in my apartments, asleep."
Liat's cry startled him. She didn't walk to him so much as flow through
the air, and her arms were around Maati's shoulders, embracing him. And
then she stepped hack and struck his shoulder hard enough to sting.
"How long has he been there?"
"Since the army came hack," Maati said, rubbing his bruised flesh. "EIe
brought books that they salvaged from the Dai-kvo. I was looking them
over when-"
"And you didn't send me a runner? There are no servants in the city who
you could have told to come to me? I've been sitting here chewing my own
heart raw, afraid he was dead, afraid he was still out with Otah chasing
the Galts, and he was at your apartments talking about books?"
"He's fine," Maati said. "I put a blanket over him and came to you. But
he'll need food. Soup. Some wine. I thought you could take it to him."
Liat wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.
"He's all right?" she asked. Her voice had gone small.
"I Ic's exhausted and hungry. But it's nothing a few days' rest won't heal."
"And ... his heart? You talked with him. Is he ... ?"
"I don't know, sweet. I'm not his mother. 'lake him soup. "talk with
him. You'll know him better than I can."
Liat nodded. There were tears on her cheeks, but Nlaati knew it was only
the fear working its way through. Seeing their boy would help more than
anything else.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I'he poet's house."
The night air was chill, both numbing his skin and making him more
acutely aware of it. Summer was failing, autumn clearing its throat. The
few men and women Nlaati passed seemed to haunt the palaces, more spirit
than flesh. They took poses of deference to him, more formal or less
depending upon their stations, but the stunned expressions spoke of a
single thought. The news from the broken army had spread, and everyone
knew that the I)ai-kvo was gone, the Galts triumphant. With even the
last glow of twilight long vanished, the paths were dimmer than usual,
lanterns unlit, torches burned to coal. The great halls and palaces
loomed, the glimmering from behind closed shutters the only sign that
they had not been abandoned. Twists of dry herbs tied with mourning