a tinsmith, and still, here he was, the man stuck with the job.
He didn't recall picking up the map. And yet there it was, in his hands.
His eyes traced the paths he and his men might take. He and the men
Maati had called disposable. It wasn't the first time he'd wished
Sinja-cha were still in the city, if only to have the dispassionate eye
of a man who had actually fought in the field. Otah was an amateur at
war. He had the impression that it was a poor field for amateurs. He
traded the map for the lists of men and studied it again as if there
were a cipher hidden in it. He didn't notice when Kiyan and Eiah
arrived. When he looked up from his papers, they were simply there.
His wife was calm and collected, though he could see the strain in the
thinness of her lips and the tightness of her jaw. Her hair was grayer
now than the image of her in his mind. Her face seemed older. For a
moment, he was hack in the wayhouse she'd taken over from her father,
years ago in ildun. He was in her common room, listening to a flute
player fumble through old tunes that everyone knew, and wondering if the
lovely fox-faced woman serving the wine had meant to touch his hand when
she poured. From such small things are lives constructed. Something of
his thought must have shown in his face, because her fea tures softened
and something near a blush touched her cheeks as Eiah lowered herself to
a couch and collapsed. He noticed that her usual array of rings and
jewels were gone; but for the quality of her robe, she could have been a
merchant's daughter.
"You look spent, Eiah-kya," Utah said. "Then, to Kiyan, "What's she been
doing? Carrying stones tip the towers? And what's happened to jewelry?"
"Physicians don't wear metalwork," she said, as if he'd asked something
profoundly stupid. "Blood gets caught in the settings."
"She's been with them all day," Kiyan said.
" We had a boy come in with a crushed arm," Eiah said, her eyes closed.
"It was all bloody and the skin scraped off. It looked like something
from a butcher's stall. I could see his knuckle hones. l)orin-cha
cleaned it up and wrapped it. We'll know in a couple days whether he'll
have to have it off."
"We'll know?" Utah asked. "They're having you decide the fate of men's
elbows?"
He saw a dark glitter where his daughter's eyes cracked just slightly
open. "Dorin-cha will tell me, and then we'll both know."
"She's been quite the asset, they say," Kiyan said. ""I'he matrons keep
trying to send her away, and she keeps coming back. They tell her it's
unseemly for her to he there, but the physicians seem flattered that
she's interested."
"I like it," Eiah said, her voice slurring. "I don't want to stop. I
want to help."
"You don't have to stop," Utah said. "I'II see to it."
""I'hank you, Papa-kya," Eiah murmured.
"Off to your bed," Kivan said, gently shaking Eiah's knee. "You're
already half-dreaming."
Eiah frowned and grunted, but then came to her feet. She stumbled over
to Utah, genuine exhaustion competing with the theatrics of being tired,
and threw her arms around his neck. I ier hair smelled of the vinegar
the physicians used to wash down their slate tables. He put his arms
around her. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. His baby girl,
his daughter. Ile would see her tomorrow, and then he would march out
into the gods only knew what.
"tomorrow, he told himself, I will see her again tomorrow. This won't he
the last time. Not yet. He kissed her forehead and let her go.
Eiah tottered to her mother for another kiss, another hug, and then they
were alone. Kiyan gently plucked the papers from his hands and put them
back on the desk.
"I'm not certain that worked as a punishment," Otah said. "We're halfway
to raising a physician."
"It lets her feel she's useful," Kiyan said as she pulled him to the
couch. He sat at her side. "It's normal for her to want to feel she's in
control of something. And she isn't squeamish. I'll hand her that much."
"I hope feeling useful is enough," Otah said. "She's got her own will,
and I don't think she'd be past following it over a cliff if it led her
there."
He saw Kiyan read his deeper meaning. I hope we are all still here to
worry about it.
"We do as well by them as we can, love," she said.
"I think about Idaan," Otah said.
Kiyan took his hand.
"Eiah isn't your sister. She isn't going to do the things she did," she
said. "And more to the point, you aren't your father."
For a moment, he was consumed by memories: the father he had met only
once, the sister who had engineered the old man's murder. Hatred and
violence and ambition had destroyed his family once. He supposed it was
inevitable that he should fear it happening again. Otah raised Kiyan's
hand to his lips, and then sighed.
"I have to go to Danat. I haven't seen him yet. Go with me?"
"He's asleep already, love. We stopped in on our way here. He won't wake
before morning. And you'll have to find different stories to read to him
next time. Everything you left there, he's read to himself. Our boy's
going to grow up a scholar at this rate."
Otah nodded, pushing aside a moment's guilt over the relief he felt.
Seeing Danat was one less thing, even if it was more important than most
of the others he'd already done. And there would be tomorrow. 't'here
would at least be tomorrow.
"How is he?"
"His color is better, but he has less energy. The fever is gone for now,
but he still coughs. I don't know. No one does."
"Can he travel?"
Kiyan turned. Her gaze darted across his face as if he were a book that
she was trying to read. Her hands took a querying pose.
"I've been thinking," Otah said. "Planning."
"For if you're killed," Kiyan said. Her voice made it plain she'd been
thinking of it as well.
""I'he mines. If I don't come hack, I want you to take to the mines in
the North. Cehmai will go with you, and he knows them better than
anyone. If you can, take the children and as much gold as you can carry
and head west. Sinja and the others will he there somewhere, working
whatever contract they've taken. "They'll protect you."
"You're sending me to him?" Kiyan asked softly.
"Only if I don't come hack."