escalating unreliability. The story took on a rhythm as he told it, the
words putting themselves in order as if he had practiced it all before.
Idaan didn't speak, but her listening was intense, drawing detail from
him almost against his will.
It was as if he were telling himself what had happened, offering a kind
of confession to the empty night, Idaan Machi-of all people in the
world, Idaan Machi-as his intercessor.
He reached the end-Vanjit's discovery of the poison, her escape, his
decision to find help. Somewhere in the course of things, he'd let
himself slip to the ground, sitting with his legs stuck out before him
and the stone paving leaching the warmth from his body. Idaan squatted
beside him. He imagined that the manner of her listening had softened,
as if silences could differ like speech.
"I see," she said. "Well. Who'd have thought this would become worse?"
"You led him to us," Maati said.
"I did my best," Idaan agreed. "It's been years since I put my hand to
this kind of work. I'm out of practice, but I did what I could."
"All to regain his imperial favor," Maati said. "I would never have
guessed that you'd become his toady."
"Actually, I started it to protect Cehmai," Idaan said as if he had
offered her no insult. "With you stirring up the mud, I was afraid for
him. I wanted Otah to know that he wasn't part of it. And then, once I
was at the court ... well, I had amends to make to Danat."
"The boy?"
"No. The one he's named for," Idaan said. She heaved a great sigh. "But
back to the matter at hand, eh? I understand how hard and confusing it
is to love someone you hate. I really do. And if you call me his toady
again, I swear by all the gods there ever were, I'll disjoint your
fingers. Understood?"
"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," Maati said. "I wanted to
heal the world, not ... not this."
"Plans go awry," Idaan said. "It's their nature. I'm going back in. Join
us when you're ready. I'll get something warm for you to drink."
Maati sat alone, growing colder. Behind him, the wayhouse ticked as the
day's heat radiated away. An owl gave its low coo to the world, and the
darkness around him seemed to lessen. He could make out the paving
stones, the outline of the stable, the high branches rising toward the
stars like thin fingers. Maati rested his head against the wall and let
his eyes close.
The trembling had stopped. The anger was less immediate, chagrin slowly
taking its place. He heard Eiah's calm voice, as solid as stone, from
within. He should be with her. He should be at her side. She shouldn't
have to face them by herself. He rose, grunting, and lumbered inside,
his knees aching.
Otah was sitting in a low wooden chair, his fingers pressed to his lips
in thought. He glanced up as Maati stepped into the room but made no
other acknowledgment. Eiah, speaking, gestured to the space between Otah
and Danat. Her voice had neither rancor nor apology, and Maati was
reminded again why he admired her.