Three bowls were set out, each with rice and strips of browned meat.
Cehmai was also pouring out small measures of rice wine from a bone
carafe. It was, Maati supposed, an acknowledgment of the occasion and
likely as much extravagance as Cehmai's resources would allow. Maati
took a pose that offered thanks and requested permission to join the
table. Cehmai responded with one of acceptance and welcome, but his
movements were slow. Maati couldn't tell if it was from exhaustion or
thought. Idaan added neither word nor pose to the conversation; her
expression was unreadable.
"I've been thinking," Cehmai said. "Your plan. I have a few questions
about it."
"Anything," Maati said.
"Would your scheme to undo what Sterile did include restoring the Galts?"
Maati took a strip of the meat from his bowl. The flesh was pleasantly
rich and well-salted. He chewed slowly to give himself time to think,
but his hesitation was answer enough.
"I don't think I can join you," Cehmai said. "This battle I've ... I've
lost my taste for it."
Maati felt his own frown like an ache.
"Reconsider," he said, but Cehmai shook his head.
"I've given too much of my life to the world already. I'd like to keep
the rest of my years for myself. No more great struggles, no more cities
or nations or worlds resting on what I do or don't do. What I have here
is enough."
Maati wiped his fingers on his sleeve and took a pose of query that
bordered on accusation. Cehmai's eyes narrowed.
"Enough for what?" Maati demanded. "Enough for the pair of you? It'll be
more than enough before many years have passed. It'll be too much. How
much do you work in a day? Raising your own food, tending your crop and
your animals, making food and washing your robes and gathering wood for
your fires? Does it give you any time at all to think? To rest?"
"It isn't as easy as living in the courts, that's truth," Cehmai said.
His smile was the same as ever, even set in this worn face. "There are
nights it would be good to leave the washing to a servant."
"It won't get easier," Maati said. "You'll get older. Both of you. The
work will stay just as difficult, and you'll get tired faster. When you
take sick, you'll recover slowly. One or the other of you will strain
something or break an old bone or catch fever, and your children won't
be there to care for you. The next farm over? His children won't be
there for you either. Or the next. Or the next."
"He's not wrong, love," Idaan said. Maati blinked. Of all the people in
the world, Idaan was the last he'd expected support from.
"I know all that," Cehmai said. "It doesn't mean that I should go back
to being a poet."
"What else would you do?" Maati said. "Sell the land rights? Who is
there to buy them? Take up some new trade? Who will there be to teach
you? Binding the andat is the thing you've trained for. Your mind is
built for the work. These girls ... you should see them. The dedication,
the engagement, the drive. If this thing can be done, they will do it.