had still to do. He sensed the change in her thoughts and stepped hack,
his hands moving restlessly. She smoothed her hair, suddenly aware of
the streaks of gray at her temple.
"Can I get something for you?" Maati said. "It's simple enough to call a
servant in from the palaces. Or I have some distilled wine here."
"Wine will do," she said, and sat.
He went to a low cabinet beside the fire grate, sliding the wooden panel
back and taking out two small porcelain bowls and a stoppered bottle as
he spoke.
"I've had company recently. He's only just left. I don't usually live in
this disorder."
"I'm not sure I believe that," she said, wryly. Maati chuckled and shrugged.
"Oh, I don't clean it myself. It would he a hundred times worse than
this. Otah-kvo's been very kind in loaning me servants. He has more than
he has places for."
The name was like a cold breath, but Liat only smiled and accepted the
bowl that Nlaati held out to her. She sipped the wine-strong, peppery,
and warm in her throat-to give herself a moment. She wasn't ready yet
for the pleasure to end.
"The world's changed on us," she said. It was a platitude, but Maati
seemed to take some deeper meaning from it.
"It has," he said. "And it'll keep on changing, I think. When I was a
boy, I never imagined myself here, and I can't say for certain what I'll
be doing when next summer comes. The new Dal-kvo ..."
He shook his head slowly and sipped his wine for what Liat guessed was
much the same reason she had. The silence between them grew. Maati
cleared his throat.
"How is Nayiit?" he asked, careful, Liat noticed, to use the boy's name.
Not our son, but Nayiit.
She told him about the work of House Kyaan, and Nayiit's role as an
overseer. The stories of how he had made the transition from the child
of the head of the house to an overseer in his own right. His courtship,
his marriage, the child. Maati closed the door, lit a fire in the grate,
and listened.
It was odd that of all the subjects she had to bring to the table,
Nayiit should be the easiest. And Maati listened to it all, laughing or
rapt, delighted and also sorrowful, longing to have been part of
something that was already gone. Her words were like rain in a desert;
he absorbed them, cherished them. She found herself searching for
more-anecdotes of Nayiit and his friends, his early lovers, the city,
anything. She searched for them and offered them up, part apology, part
sacrifice. The candles had grown visibly shorter before he asked whether
Nayiit had stayed in Saraykeht, and Liat reluctantly shook her head.
"I've left him at the wayhouse," she said. "I wasn't certain how this
would go, between us. I didn't want him to be here if it was bad."
Mlaati's hands started to move toward some pose-a denial, perhaps-then
faltered. His eyes locked on hers. "There were decades in them. She felt
tears welling up.
"I'm sorry," she said. "If that's worth anything, I am sorry, Maatikya."