carved shells. Her face was painted, her lips widened and red, her eyes
touched by kohl. Maati hadn't even known she'd brought paints and
baubles to the school. She had never worn them before, but this morning,
she looked like the daughter of a Khai. When no one was looking, he took
a pose of congratulation to Eiah. She replied with an inclination of the
head and a tiny smile that admitted the change was her doing.
"How did you sleep, Vanjit-cha?" Maati asked as she swept the hem of her
robe aside and sat next to him.
She took his hand and squeezed it, but didn't answer his question. Large
Kae brought her a bowl of tea, Irit a helping of the grain and butter
already covered with apple. Vanjit took a pose of thanks somewhat
hampered by the food and drink.
While they all ate, the conversation looped around the one concern they
all shared. The Galts, the Emperor, the weather, the supplies Eiah had
brought from Pathai, the species of insect peculiar to the dry lands
around the school. Anything was a fit topic except Vanjit's binding and
the fear that lay beneath all their merriment and pleasure.
Vanjit alone seemed untouched by care. She was beautiful and, for the
first time since Maati had met her, comfortable in her beauty. Her
laughter seemed genuine and her movements relaxed. Maati thought he was
seeing confidence in her, the assurance of a woman who was about to do a
thing she had no thought might be beyond her. His opinion didn't change
until after all the bowls had been gathered and rinsed, the cored apples
and spilled grain swept up and carried away to the pit in the back of
the school, when she took him by the hand and led him gently aside.
"I wanted to thank you," she said as they reached the bend of the wide
hallway.
"I can't see I've done anything worth it," he said. "If anything, I
should be offering you ..."
There were tears brimming in her eyes, the shining water threatening her
kohl. Maati took the end of his sleeve and dabbed her eyes gently. The
brown cloth came away stained black.
"After Udun," Vanjit began, then paused. "After what the Galts did to my
brothers ... my parents. I thought I would never have a family again. It
was better that there not be anyone in my life that I cared for enough
that it would hurt me to lose them."
"Ah, now. Vanjit-kya. You don't need to think of that now."
"But I do. I do. You are the closest thing I've had to a father. You are
the most dedicated man I have ever known, and it has been an honor to be
allowed a place in your work. And I've broken the promise I made myself.
I will miss you."
Maati took a pose that both disagreed and asked for clarification.
Vanjit smiled and shook her head, the beads and shells in her braids
clicking like claws on stone. He waited.
"We both know that the chances are poor that I'll see the sunset," she
said. Her voice was solemn and composed. "This grammar we've made is a
guess. The forces at play are deadlier than fires or floods. If I were
someone else, I wouldn't wager a length of copper on my chances if you
offered me odds."