mothers, daughters and aunts-had heard Kiyan's words and taken to them
as if she were a priest before the faithful. Liat had seen the light in
their eyes, the sense of hope. For all their fine robes and lives of
court scandal and gossip, each of these women was as grateful as Liat
had been for the chance of something to do.
The food and fuel, Kiyan had kept for herself. Other people had been
tasked with seeing to the wool, to arranging the movement of the summer
belongings into the storage of the high towers, the preparation of the
lower city-the tunnels below Machi. Liat had volunteered to act as
Kiyan's messenger and go-between in the management of the farms and
crops, gathering the food that would see them through the winter. Being
the lover of a poet-even a poet who had never bound one of the
andat-apparently lent her enough status in court to make her
interesting. And as the rumors began to spread that Cehmai and Maati
were keeping long hours together in the library and the poet's house,
that they were preparing a fresh binding, Liat found herself more and
more in demand. In recent days it had even begun to interfere with her work.
She had let herself spend time in lush gardens and high-domed dining
halls, telling what stories she knew of Nlaati's work and intentionswhat
parts of it he'd said would be safe to tell. The women were so hungry
for good news, for hope, that Liat couldn't refuse them. After telling
the stories often enough, even she began to take hope from them herself.
But tea and sweet bread and gossip took time, and they took attention,
and she had let it go too far. The second wheat crop would be short, and
no amount of pleasant high-city chatter now would fill bellies in the
spring. Assuming they lived. If the Galts appeared tomorrow, it would
hardly matter what she'd done or failed to do.
"There's going to be enough food," Kiyan said softly. "We may wind up
killing more of the livestock and eating the grain ourselves, but even
if half the crop failed, we'd have enough to see us through to the early
harvest."
"Still," Liat said. "It would have been good to have more."
Kiyan took a pose that both agreed with Liat and dismissed the matter.
Liat responded with one appropriate for taking leave of a superior. It
was a nuance that seemed to trouble Kiyan, because she leaned forward,
her fingertips touching Liat's arm.
"Are you well?" Kiyan asked.
"Fine," Liat said. "It's just my head has been tender. It's often like
that when the Khai Saraykeht changes the tax laws again or the cotton
crops fail. It fades when the troubles pass."
Kiyan nodded, but didn't pull hack her hand.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Kiyan asked.
"Tell me that Otah's come hack with Nayiit, the Galts all conquered and
the world hack the way it was."
"Yes," Kiyan said. Her eyes lost their focus and her hand slipped hack
to her side of the table. Liat regretted being so glib, regretted
letting the moment's compassion fade. "Yes, it would be pretty to think so.
Liat took her leave. The palaces were alive with servants and slaves,
the messengers of the merchant houses and the utkhaiem keeping the life
of the court active. Liat walked through the wide halls with their
distant tiled ceilings and down staircases of marble wide enough for
twenty men to walk abreast. Sweet perfumes filled the air, though their
scents brought her no comfort. The world was as bright as it had been
before she'd come to Machi, the voices lifted in song as merry and
sweet. It was only a trick of her mind that dulled the colors and broke
the harmonics. It was only the thought of her boy lying dead in some
green and distant field and the dull pain behind her eyes.
When she reached the physicians, she found the man she sought speaking
with Eiah. A young man lay naked on the wide slate table beside the
pair. His face was pale and damp with sweat; his eyes were closed. His
nearer leg was purple with bruises and gashed at the side. The
physician-a man no older than Liat, but bald apart from a long gray
fringe of hair-was gesturing at the young man's leg, and Eiah was
leaning in toward him, as if the words were water she was thirsty for.
Liat walked to them softly, partly from the pain in her head, partly
from the hope of overhearing their discussion without changing it.
"There's a fever in the flesh," the physician said. "That's to be
expected. But the muscle."
Eiah considered the leg, more fascinated, Liat noticed, with the raw
wounds than with the man's flaccid sex.
"It's stretched," Eiah said. "So there's still a connection to stretch
it. He'll be able to walk."
The physician dropped the blanket and tapped the boy's shoulder.
"You hear that, Tamiya? The Khai's daughter says you'll be able to walk
again."
The boy's eyes fluttered open, and he managed a thin smile.
"You're correct, Eiah-cha. The tendon's injured, but not snapped. Ile
won't be able to walk for several weeks. The greatest danger now is that
the wound where the skin popped open may become septic. NVe'll have to
clean it out and bandage it. But first, perhaps we have a fresh patient?"
Liat found herself disconcerted to move from observer to observed so
quickly. The physician's smile was distant and professional as a butcher
selling lamb, but Eiah's grin was giddy. Liat took a pose that asked
forbearance.
"I didn't mean to intrude," she said. "It's only that my head has been
troubling me. It aches badly, and I was wondering whether. .
"Come, sit down, Liat-kya," Eiah cried, grabbing Liat's hand and pulling
her to a low wooden seat. "Loya-cha can fix anything."
"I can't fix everything," the physician said, his smile softening a
degree-he was speaking now not only to a patient, but a friend of his
eager student and a fellow adult. "But I may be able to ease the worst
of it. Tell me when I've touched the places that hurt the worst."
Gently, the man's fingers swept over Liat's face, her temples, touching
here and there as gently as a feather against her skin. He seemed
pleased and satisfied with her answers; then he took her pulse on both
wrists and considered her tongue and eyes.
"Yes, I believe I can be of service, Liat-cha. Eiah, you saw what I did?"
Eiah took a pose of agreement. It was strange to see a girl so young and
with such wealth and power look so attentive, to see her care so clearly
what a man who was merely an honored servant could teach her. Liat's
heart went out to the girl.