laid out, the ink stains on the arms of the chairs-that gave evidence to
Maati's presence. The faintest hint, a wisp of musk slight as pale
smoke, was the thing that had brought back the flood of memory. For a
powerful moment, she saw again the small house she'd lived in after she
and Maati had left Saraykeht; the yellow walls and rough, wooden floor,
the dog who had lived in the street and only ever been half tamed by her
offerings of sausage ends from the kitchen window, the gray spiders that
had built their webs in the corners. The particular scent of her old
lover's body brought back those rooms. She knew him better by that than
to see him again in the flesh.
But perhaps that wasn't true. When he blinked fast and uncertainly, when
his head leaned just slightly forward and a smile just began to bloom on
his lips, she could see him there, beneath that flesh. The man she had
known and loved. The man she'd left behind.
"Liat?" he said. "You ... you're here?"
She took a pose of affirmation, surprised to find her hands trembling.
Maati stepped forward slowly, as if afraid a sudden movement might
startle her into flight. Liat swallowed to loosen the knot in her throat
and smiled.
"I would have written to warn you I was coming," she said, "hut by the
time I knew I was, I'd have raced the letter. I'm ... I'm sorry if ..."
But he touched her arm, his fingers on the cloth just above her elbow.
His eyes were wide and amazed. As if it were natural, as if it had been
a week or a day and not a third of their lives, Liat put her arms around
him and felt him enclose her. She had told herself that she would hold
back, he careful. She was the head of House Kyaan, a woman of business
and politics. She knew how to be hardhearted and cool. There was no
reason to think that she would he safe here in the farthest city from
her home and facing again the two lovers of her childhood. The years had
worked changes on them all, and she had parted with neither of them on
good terms.
And yet the tears in her eyes were simple and sincere and as much joy as
sorrow, and the touch of Maati's body against her own-strange and
familiar both-wasn't awkward or unwelcome. She kissed his cheek and drew
back enough to see his still wonder-filled face.
"Well," she said at last. "It's been a while. It's good to see you
again, Maati-kya. I wasn't sure it would be, but it is."
"I thought I'd never see you again," he said. "I thought, after all this
time ... My letters ..."
"I got them, yes. And it's not as if court gossip didn't tell everyone
in the world where you were. The last succession of Machi was the
favorite scandal of the season. I even saw an epic made from it. The boy
who took your part didn't look a thing like you," she said, and then, in
a lower voice, "I meant to write hack to you, even if it was only to
tell you that I'd heard. That I knew. But somehow I never managed. I
regret that. I've always regretted that. It only seemed so ... complex."
"I thought perhaps ... I don't know. I don't know what I thought."
She stood silently in his arms the space of another breath, part of her
wishing that this moment might suffice; that the relief she felt at