appeared from amid the throng and embraced him, tears of joy in the
man's eyes.
Through the press of the crowd, Maati saw Eiah standing alone. Her
expression was cold. Maati pulled back from his grinning companion and
struggled toward her. He heard Vanjit talking high and fast behind him,
but couldn't make out the words. There were too many voices layered over it.
"Apparently we've decided not to travel quietly," Eiah said in tone of
cold acid.
"Get the others," he said. "I'll prepare the cart. We can leave in the
night."
"You think anyone here is going to sleep tonight?" Eiah said. "There's a
baby. A full-blooded child of the cities, and Vanjit the mother. If the
gods themselves walked in the door right now, they'd have to wait for a
room. They'll think it's to do with me. The physician who has found a
way to make women bear. They'll hound me like I've stolen their teeth."
"I'm sorry," Maati said.
"Word of this is going to spread. Father's going to hear of it, and when
he does, he'll be on our heels."
"Why would he think it was you?"
"Galt went blind, and he headed west. For Pathai. For me," Eiah said.
"He can't know you're part of this," Maati said.
"Of course he can," Eiah said. "I am, and he isn't dim. I didn't think
it was a problem when no one knew who or where we were."
A round of cheering broke out, and the wayhouse keeper appeared as if
from nowhere, two bottles of wine in each hand. Vanjit had been ushered
to a seat by the fire grate. Clarity-of-Sight was in her arms, beaming
at everyone who came close. Vanjit's cheeks were flushed, but she seemed
pleased. Proud. Happy.
"This was my mistake," Maati said. "My failure as much as anything. I
distracted her from the thing. It has more freedom when her mind is
elsewhere."
Eiah turned her head to look at him. There was nothing soft in her eyes.
Maati drew himself up, frowning. Anger bloomed in his breast, but he
couldn't say why or with whom.
"Why is it so important to you," Eiah asked, "that nothing she does be
wrong?"
And with a sensation that was almost physical, Maati knew what he had
been trying for months to ignore. A wave of vertigo shook him, but he
forced himself to speak.
"Because she should never have become a poet," he said. "She's too young
and too angry and more than half mad. And that beast on her lap? We gave
it to her."
Eiah's startled expression lasted only a moment before something both
resignation and weariness took its place. She kissed Maati's cheek. They
stood together, a silence within the storm. He had said what she had
already known, and she too had wished it was not truth.
Large Kae and Small Kae quietly prepared the cart and horses. While the
wayhouse and every man and woman within running distance came to pay
homage to child, mother, and physician, Irit and Maati packed their