there are hound to be any number of them going to Cetani and back. It's
not such a long journey, really."
"Good. Then it won't take too long for us to get there."
"You're going hack," Liat said.
Nayiit sighed and gathered himself visibly.
"Fine," he said. "Make your argument. Convince me."
Liat looked at her hands. It was the same problem she'd fought all
through the long winter. Each time she'd come close to speaking the
truth, something had held her hack. Secrets. It all came back to
secrets, and if she spoke her fears to Nayiit, it would mean telling him
things that only she knew, things that she had hoped might die with her.
"Is it about my father?" he said, and his voice was so gentle, Liat felt
tears gathering in her eyes.
"In a way," she said.
"I know he's at the court of Machi," Nayiit said. "There's no reason for
me to fear him, is there? Everything you've said of him-"
"No, Maati would never hurt you. Or me. It's just ... it was so long
ago. And I don't know who he's become since then."
Nayiit leaned forward, taking her hands in his.
"I want to meet him," he said. "Not because of who he was to you, or who
he is now. I want to meet him because he's my father. Ever since Tai
came, I've been thinking about it. About what it would be for me to walk
away from my boy and not come hack. About choosing something else over
my family."
"It wasn't like that," Liat said. "Maati and I were . .
"I've come this far," he said gently. "You can't send me hack now."
"You don't understand," she said.
"You can explain to me while I pack our things."
In the end, of course, he won. She had known he would. Nayiit could be
as soft and gentle and implacable as snowfall. He was his father's son.
The calls of gulls grew louder as they neared the shore, the scent of
smoke more present. The docks were narrower than the seafront of
Saraykeht. A ship that put in here for the winter had to prepare itself
to he icebound, immobile. 'T'rade was with the eastern islands and
Yalakeht; it was too far from the summer cities or Bakta or Galt for
ships to come from those distant ports.
The streets were black cobbles, and ice still haunted the alleys where
shadows held the cold. Nayiit carried their crate strapped across his
back. The wide leather belt cut into his shoulders, but he didn't
complain. He rarely complained about anything, only did what he thought
best with a pleasant smile and a calm explanation ready to hand.
Liat stopped at a firekeeper's kiln to ask directions to the compound of
House Radaani and was pleased to discover it was nearby. Mother and son,
they walked the fog-shrouded streets until they found the wide arches
that opened to the courtyard gardens of the Radaani, torches flickering
and guttering in the damp air. A boy in sodden robes rushed up and
lifted the crate from Nayiit's back to his own. Liat was about to
address him when another voice, a woman's voice lovely and low as a
singer's, came from the dim.