and her return to the arms of Saraykeht-held a powerful nostalgia for
her. Alone in the world with only a son barely halfway to manhood, she
had expected struggle and pain and the emptiness that she had always
thought must accompany a woman without a man.
The truth had been a surprise. Certainly the emptiness and struggle and
pain had attended their travels. She and Nayiit had spent nights
huddling under waxed-cloth tarps while chill rain pattered around them.
They had eaten cheap food from low-town firekeepers. She had learned
again all she'd known as a girl of how to mend a robe or a boot. And she
had discovered a competence she had never believed herself to possess.
Before that, she had always had a lover by whom to judge herself. With a
son, she found herself stronger, smarter, more complete than she had
dared pretend.
The journey to Nantani had been a chance for her to relive that, one
last time. Her son was a man now, with a child of his own. There
wouldn't be many more travels, just the two of them. So she had put
aside any doubts, welcomed him, and set off to discover what she could
about Riaan Vaudathat, son of a high family of the Nantani utkhaiem and
missing poet. She had expected the work to take a season, no more. They
would be back in the compound of House Kyaan in time to spend the autumn
haggling over contracts and shipping prices.
And now it was spring, and she saw no prospect of sleeping in a bed she
might call her own any time soon. Nayiit had not complained when it
became clear that their investigation would require a journey to the
village of the Dai-kvo. As a woman, Liat was not permitted beyond the
low towns approaching it. She would need a man to do her business within
the halls of the Dai-kvo's palaces. They had hooked passage to Yalakeht,
and then upriver. They had arrived at mid-autumn and hardly finished
their investigation before Candles Night. So far North, there had been
no ship hack to Saraykeht, and Liat had taken apartments for them in the
narrow, gated streets of Yalakeht for the winter.
In the long, dark hours she had struggled with what she knew, and with
the thaw and the first ships taking passages North, she had prepared to
travel to Amnat-Tan, and then Cetani. And then, though the prospect made
her sick with anxiety, Nlachi.
A shout rose on the deck above them-a score of men calling out to each
other-and the ship lurched and boomed. Nayiit blinked awake, looked over
at her, and smiled. He always had had a good smile.
"Have I missed anything?" he asked with a yawn.
"We've reached the low towns outside Amnat-Tan," Liat said. "We'll be
docked soon."
Nayiit swung his legs around, planting them on the deck to keep his
hammock from rocking. He looked ruefully around the tiny cabin and sighed.
"I'll start packing our things, then," he said.
"Pack them separate," she said. "I'll go the rest of the way myself. I
want you back in Saraykeht."
Nayiit took a pose that refused this, and Liat felt her jaw tighten.
"We've had this conversation, Mother. I'm not putting you out to walk
the North Road by yourself."