stools that creaked when sat upon and resisted any attempt to rise. The
cheese was rich and fragrant, the bread only mildly stale, and the topic
a council of war.
"If we do find her," Idaan said, answering Otah's voiced concerns, "I'm
not sure what we do with her. Can she be made to see reason?"
"A month ago, I'd have said it was possible," Eiah said. "Not simple,
but possible. I'm half-sorry we didn't kill her in her sleep when we
were still at the school."
"Only half?" Danat asked.
"There's Galt," Eiah said. "As it stands now, she's the only one who can
put it back. It's harder for her to do that dead."
Danat looked chagrined, and, as if sensing it, Idaan put a hand on his
shoulder. Eiah squeezed Ana's hand, then gently bent it at the wrist, as
if testing something.
"She's alone. She's hurt and she's sad. I'm not saying that's all
certain to work in our favor," Maati said, "but it's something." Otah
thought he sounded petulant, but none of the others appeared to hear it
that way.
Eiah's voice cut the conversation like a blade. Even before he took the
sense of the words, Otah was halfway to his feet.
"How long?" Eiah asked.
Her hands were around Ana's wrists, her fingers curled as if measuring
the girl's pulses. Eiah's face was pale.
"Ah," Idaan said. "Well. Sitting those two together was a mistake."
"Tell me," Eiah said. "How far along?"
"A third, perhaps," Ana said softly.
"We hadn't mentioned it to the men," Idaan said. "I understand the first
ones don't always take."
It took him less than a breath to understand.
"Ah," Otah said, a hundred tiny signs falling into place. Ana's weeping
at the school, her avoidance of Danat, the way she'd kept to herself in
the mornings and eaten with Idaan.
"What?" Danat asked, baffled.
"I'm pregnant," Ana said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact, her cheeks
as bright as apples with her blush. The whole boat seemed to breathe in
at once.
"And how long has this been going on?" Otah demanded, shifting his gaze
to the dumbstruck Danat at his feet. His son blinked up,
uncomprehending. It was as if Otah had asked in an unknown language.
"You're joking," Idaan said. "You have a boy who's just ended his
twentieth summer and a girl not two years younger, an escort of
professional armsmen as chaperone, and a steamcart with private quarters
built on its back. What did you expect would happen?"
"But," Otah began, then found he wasn't sure what he intended to say.
She's blinded, or They aren't wed, or Farrer Dasin will say it's my
fault for not keeping better watch over them. Each impulse seemed more
ridiculous than the last.
"I'm going to be a father," Danat said as if testing out the words. He
turned to look up at Otah and started to grin. "You're going to be a