"You sound as though you were fond of it," Nayiit said, only halfteasing.
"We were friendly enough, in our fashion," Maati said. "We wouldn't have
been if things had gone by the I)ai-kvo's plan. If I'd become the poet
of Saraykeht, Seedless would have bent himself to destroying me just the
way he had to Ileshai-kvo."
"Have you ever tried to bind one of the andat?"
"Once. When Heshai died, I had the mad thought that I could somehow
retrieve Seedless. I had IIcshai-kvo's notes. Still have them, for that.
I even began the ceremonies, but it would never have worked. What I had
was too much like what Heshai had done. It would have failed, and I'd
have paid its price."
"And then I suppose I would never have been horn," Nayiit said.
"You would have," Nlaati said, solemnly. "Liat-kya didn't know she was
carrying you when she stopped me, but she was. I thought about it,
afterward. About binding another of the andat, I mean. I even spent part
of a winter once doing the basic work for one I called Returning
to-True. I don't know what I would have done with it, precisely. Unbent
things, I suppose. I'd have been brilliant repairing axles. But my mind
was too fuzzy. There were too many things I meant, and none of them
precisely enough."
The musicians ended their song and stood to a roar of approving voices
and bowls of wine bought by their admirers. One of the old men walked
through the house with a lacquer begging box in his hand. Maati fumbled
in his sleeve, came out with two lengths of copper, and tossed them into
the box with a satisfying click.
"And then, I also wasn't in the Dai-kvo's best graces," Maati continued.
"After Saraykeht ... Well, I suppose it's poor etiquette to let your
master die and the andat escape. I wasn't blamed outright, but it was
always hanging there. The memory of it."
"It can't have helped that you brought back a lover and a child," Nayiit
said.
"No, it didn't. But I was very young and very full of myself. It's not
easy, being told that you are of the handful of men in the world who
might be able to control one of the andat. "lends to create a sense of
being more than you are. I thought I could do anything. And maybe I
could have, but I tried to do everything, and that isn't the same." He
sighed and ate a pea pod. Its flesh was crisp and sweet and tasted of
spring. When he spoke again, he tried to make his voice light and
joking. "I didn't wind up doing a particularly good job of either endeavor."
"It seems to me you've done well enough," Nayiit said as he waved at the
serving boy for more wine. "You've made yourself a place in the court
here, you've been able to study in the libraries here, and from what
Mother says, you've found something no one else ever has. That alone is
more than most men manage in a lifetime."
"I suppose," Maati said. He wanted to go on, wanted to say that most men
had children, raised them up, watched them become women and men. He
wanted to tell this charming boy who stood now where Maati himself once
had that he regretted that he had not been able to enjoy those simple
pleasures. Instead, he took another handful of pea pods. He could tell