"Together, the three men stepped to Maati's worktable. 'T'hree men, and
one other that was something else.
2
Liat Chokavi had never seen seawater as green as the bays near
Amnat-Tan. The seafront at Saraykeht had always taken its color from the
sky-gray, blue, white, yellow, crimson, pink. The water in the far North
was different entirely; green as grass and numbing cold. She could no
more see the fish and seafloor here than read pages from a closed hook.
These waters kept their secrets.
A low fog lay on the hay; the white and gray towers of the low town
seemed to float upon it. In the far distance, the deep blue spire of the
Khai Amnat-Tan's palace seemed almost to glow, a lantern like a star
fallen to earth. Even the sailors, she noticed, would pause for a moment
at their work and admire it. It was the great wonder of Amnat-'Ian,
second only to the towers of Machi as the signature of the winter
cities. It would take them days more to reach it; the ports and low
towns were a good distance downriver of the city itself.
The wind smelled of smoke now-the scent of the low town coming across
the water, adding to the smells of salt and fish, crab and unwashed
humanity. They would reach port by midday. She turned and went down the
steps to their cabin.
Nayilt swung gently in his hammock, his eyes closed, snoring lightly.
Liat sat on the crate that held their belongings and considered her son;
the long face, the unkempt hair, the delicate hands folded on his belly.
He had made an attempt at growing a heard in their time in Yalakeht, but
it had come in so poorly he'd shaved it off with a razor and cold
seawater. Her heart ached, listening to him sleep. The workings of House
Kyaan weren't so complex that it could not run without her immediate
presence, but she had never meant to keep Nayiit so long from home and
the family he had only recently begun.
The news had reached Saraykeht last summer-almost a year ago now. It had
hardly been more than a confluence of rumors-a Galtic ship in Nantani
slipping away before its cargo had arrived, a scandal at the [)a[-kvo's
village, inquiries discreetly made about a poet. And still, as her
couriers arrived at the compound, Liat had felt unease growing in her.
"There were few enough people who knew as she did that the house she ran
had been founded to keep watch on the duplicity of the Gaits. Fewer
still knew of the books she kept, as her mentor Amat Kyaan had before
her, tracking the actions and strategies of the Galtic houses among the
Khaiem, and it was a secret she meant to keep. So when tales of a
missing poet began to dovetail too neatly with stories of Galtic
intrigue in Nantani, there was no one whom she trusted the task to more
than herself. She had been in Saraykeht for ten years. She decided to
leave again the day that Nayiit's son Tai took his first steps.
Looking back, she wondered why it had been so easy for Nayiit to come
with her. He and his wife were happy, she'd thought. The baby boy was
delightful, and the work of the house engaging. When he had made the
offer, she had hidden her pleasure at the thought and made only slight
objections. The truth was that the years they had spent on the road when