"There is another option," Eiah said, her pearl-gray eyes focused on
nothing. "I had a binding prepared. Wounded. If I can manage it, we
would have another way to heal the damage done to Galt."
Ana turned toward Eiah's voice, raw hope on her face. Maati almost felt
sorry to dash it.
"No," he said. "It can't be done. Even if you knew it well enough to
perform it blind, we hadn't looked over the most recent version. And
Vanjit ruined the notes."
"But if Galt could be given its eyes again . . ." Danat said.
"Vanjit could take them away again," Maati said. "Clarity-of-Sight and
Wounded could go back and forth until eventually Eiah tried to heal
someone just as Vanjit tried to blind them, and then the gods alone know
what would happen. And that matters less than the fact that Eiah would
die if she tried the thing."
"You don't know that," Idaan said.
"I'm not willing to take the risk," Maati said.
Otah listened, his brow furrowed, his gaze shifting now and again to the
fire. It wasn't until morning that Maati and the others learned what the
Emperor was thinking.
The morning light transformed the wayhouse. With the shutters all
opened, the benches and tables and soot-stained walls seemed less
oppressive. The fire still smoked, but the breeze moving through the
rooms kept the air fresh and clear, if cold. The wayhouse keeper had
prepared duck eggs and peppered pork for their morning meal, and tea
brewed until it was rich with taste and not yet bitter.
They were not all there. Ashti Beg and the two Kaes had stayed up after
many of the others had faded into their restless sleep. Maati had
slipped into dream with the sound of their voices in his ears, and none
of them had yet risen. Danat and Otah were sitting at the same table,
looking like a painter's metaphor of youth and age. Eiah and Idaan
shared his own table, and he did not know where the Galtic girl had gone.
"She didn't blind Maati. Why?" Otah asked, gesturing at Maati as if he
were an exhibit at an audience rather than a person. "Why spare him and
not the others?"
"Well, for Eiah it's clear enough," Danat said around a mouthful of
pork. "She didn't want another poet binding the andat. As long as
Vanjit's the only one, she's ... well, the only one."
"And the two Kaes," Eiah said, "so that they couldn't follow her."
"Yes," Idaan said, "but that's not the question. 117hy notMaati?"
"Because . . ." Maati began, and then fell short. Because she cared for
him more? Because she didn't fear him? Nothing he could think of rang true.
"I think she wants to be found," Otah said. "I think she wants to be
found, in specific, by Maati."
Idaan grunted appreciatively. Eiah frowned and then nodded slowly.
"Why would she want that?" Maati asked.
"Because your attention is the mark of status," Eiah answered. "You are
the teacher. The Dai-kvo. Which of us you choose to give your time to
determines who is in favor and who isn't. And she wants to show herself
that she can take you from me."