"Maati-kvo," she said. "I'm worried. Eiah has been so strange since we
left the school, don't you think? All the hours she's spent writing on
those tablets. I don't think it's good for her."
"I'm sure she's fine," Maati said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
"And giving silver to those Galts," Vanjit said, her voice creeping
higher. "I don't know what she means by that. Do you?"
Large Kae came in from a dark corridor and motioned them to follow.
Maati almost had to pull Vanjit to get her attention. She glared at
Large Kae's back as they walked.
"It seems to me," Vanjit continued, "that Eiah is forgetting who are her
allies and who are her enemies. I know you love her, Maati-kvo, but you
can't let that blind you. You can't ignore the truth."
"I won't, Vanjit-kya," Maati said. The room was on the first floor.
Fresh rushes on the floor. A small cot of stretched canvas. Oak shutters
closed against the daylight. "You leave this to me. I'll see to it."
Large Kae left, murmuring something about seeing to the animals. When
the door closed behind her, Vanjit let the blanket fall and set the
andat on the cot. It cooed and burbled, waving its hands and grinning
toothlessly. It was a parody of infantile delight, and seeing Vanjit's
smilepleasure and fear and anger all in the smallest stretching of her
lipsmade Maati's flesh crawl.
"You have to do something," she said. "Eiah-kya can't be trusted with
the andat. You wouldn't ..."
The baby shrieked and flopped to its side, trying to lower itself to the
floor. Vanjit moved forward and lifted it back up before she went on.
"You wouldn't let someone you can't trust bind the andat. You wouldn't
do that."
"Certainly, I'd try not to," Maati said.
"That's a strange answer."
"I'm not a god. I use the judgment I have. It isn't as if I can see into
someone's heart."
"But if you think Eiah can't be trusted," Vanjit said, anger growing in
her voice, "you will stop her. You have to."
Who am I speaking to? he wondered. The girl? The andat? Does Vanjit know
what she's saying?
"Yes," Maati said slowly. "If she isn't fit to be a poet to wield the
andat, it would be my duty to see that she does not. I will stop her.
But I have to be sure. I can't do this thing until I'm sure there's
nothing I can do that will mend her."
"Mend her?" Vanjit said and took a pose that scorned the thought.
"I won't kill someone unless there is no other way."
Vanjit stepped back, her face going pale. The andat's gaze shifted from
one to the other and back, its eyes shining with unfeigned delight.
"I never said to kill her," Vanjit said, her voice soft.
"Didn't you?" Maati said as if making it an accusation. "You're sure of
that?"
He turned and left the room, his hands trembling, his heart racing.
He'd been an idiot. He'd slipped. Perhaps making him say more than he'd
intended had been the point; perhaps the andat had guessed that it could