who would kill a good man to protect the innocent, and become willing to
let a nation die if it meant protecting his own. Likely it had been the
moment he'd first seen Eiah squirming on Kiyan's breast.
"Do you know?" Otah asked. "How it happened, I mean."
"Only guesses," Liat said. "If you wanted to tell me ..."
"Thank you," Otah said with a sigh, "but maybe it's best to leave that
buried. It's all finished now, and there's no undoing any of it."
"Perhaps you're right."
"We will need to talk about Nayiit," Otah said. "Not now. Not with ..."
lie nodded to the sleeping girl.
"I understand," Liat said and brushed her hair back from her eyes. "I
don't mean any harm, "Iani. I wouldn't hurt you or your family. I didn't
come here ... I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't had to."
The door swung open, a gust of cool air coming from it, and Maati stood
triumphantly in the frame. He held a small hook hound in blue silk as if
it were a trophy of war.
"(;or the bastard!" he said, and walked over to Otah, presenting it over
one arm like a sword. "For you, Most High, and your son."
Over Nlaati's shoulder, Otah could see Liat look away. Utah only took
the hook, adopted a pose of thanks, and turned to gently shake Eiah's
shoulder. She grunted, her brow furrowing.
"It's time to come home, Eiah-kya," Otah said. "Come along."
`M'wake," Eiah protested, but slowly. Rubbing her eyes with the hack of
one hand, she rose.
They said their good nights, and Otah led his daughter out, closing the
door to Maati's apartments behind them. The night had grown cool, and
the stars had occupied the sky like a conquering army. Otah laid his arm
across Eiah's shoulder, hers under it, around his ribs. She leaned into
him as they walked. Night-blooming flowers scented the air, soft as
rain. 't'hey were just coming in sight of the entrance of the First
Palace when Eiah spoke, her voice still abstracted with sleep.
"Nayiit-cha's yours, isn't he, Papa-kya?"
LIA'r WOKE IN DIM MOONLIGII"1 ; THE NIGHT CANDLE IHAD GONE OUT OR ELSE
they hadn't bothered to light it. She couldn't recall which. Beside her,
Nlaati mumbled something in his sleep, as he always had. Liat smiled at
the dim profile on the pillow beside her. He looked younger in sleep,
the lines at his mouth softened, the storm at his brow calmed. She
resisted the urge to caress his cheek, afraid to wake him. She had taken
lovers in the years since she'd returned to Saraykeht. A half-dozen or
so, each a man whose company she had enjoyed, and all of whom she could
remember fondly.
She thought, sometimes, that she'd reversed the way women were intended
to love. Butterfly flirtations, flitting from one man to another, taking
none seriously, were best kept by the young. Had she taken her casual
lovers as a girl, they would have been exciting and new, and she would
have known too little to notice that they were empty. Instead, Liat had
lost her heart twice before she'd seen twenty summers, and if those
loves were gone-even this one, sleeping now at her side-the memory of
them was there. Once, she had told herself the world was nothing if she