'Then you have nothing to envy,' she replied. 'We do not learn from our mistakes. Age lends no wisdom, only removes the enthusiasm for foolishness. You could change yourself a thousand times and you would still dig yourself the same holes to fall into.'
Kaiku's eyes lowered to her glass. 'I was afraid you might say that.' She took a sip.
'Kaiku, are you in some kind of trouble?' Asara could hardly believe that those words had come from her mouth, but there was something in Kaiku's manner that moved her.
Kaiku raised her eyes, and her lashes dislodged a tear from each eye to run unevenly down her cheeks. Asara almost reached across the gap between them to touch her arm in comfort, then stopped herself.
'Everything is falling apart, Asara,' she whispered, her throat tight. 'I cannot hold it together. I cannot hold anything together any more.'
Asara, shocked, could not think of a thing to say.
'I watch my friends die and I am powerless to prevent it,' she said. 'I have been fighting for almost ten years and it has gained me nothing. What good is victory? All I will succeed in is removing the only reason I have had to keep living ever since my family died. I will destroy the Weavers and be left with nothing. Nobody I can trust, nothing I can believe in. Everyone proves false in the end, every ideal is a sham. I am not fighting to make my life better, I am just fighting to stop it becoming worse.'
'This is not like you,' Asara said at last. 'You are stronger than this.'
'Am I not allowed limits?' Kaiku cried. 'Gods, how much am I expected to take before I go the way of Phaeca?'
Asara did not comment on that. She was not sure whether Kaiku blamed her for the death of her friend or not.
Kaiku wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. 'Oh, this is ridiculous,' she murmured to herself. 'I can hardly expect you to care.'
'But I have… contributed to your sorrow,' Asara said, wringing her hands in her lap. 'Forgive me.'
Kaiku shifted herself so that she was kneeling, and she put her arms around Asara and held her closely. Asara, still perturbed by Kaiku's mood, returned the embrace. After a moment, it stopped feeling unnatural.
'I cannot hold you in enmity, Asara,' she said. 'You have been a friend to me, in your way.'
Asara let out a sigh, battling down an emotion that she did not wish to experience again. She held Kaiku for a long while, until she was sure she had herself under control, and then said: 'I will not hurt you again. I promise you that. I am selfish and cruel – more than you know – but I will not hurt you again.'
She heard a sob from Kaiku, and then she drew away; and Asara saw that Kaiku's eyes were red, and not only from weeping.
'It is done,' she said.
Asara's heart jumped a beat. She stared at Kaiku, not daring to believe.
'A small thing,' Kaiku said, 'Some kind of process that was not working as it should. I made it work.' Her face saddened a little. 'There has been too much death in this world. I would take this one chance to bring life. It is all I can do.'
When Asara still appeared stunned, Kaiku sobbed a laugh and wiped her eyes. 'Do not just sit there gaping. You are fertile. Go back to your husband.'
Asara exhaled a shuddering breath, and her eyes filled and spilled over. 'Promise me,' she whispered. 'Promise me you will never tell anyone of this. Of what you have done.'
'You have my promise.'
'I will never forget this, Kaiku,' Asara said tremulously. 'In all the emptiness of this world, you will always have me, for what that is worth to you.'
'It is worth much,' Kaiku said, then reached over and stroked her cheek, wiping a tear across her skin. 'I have never seen you cry,' she said thoughtfully.
Asara caught her hand and held it against her cheek, her eyes fluttering closed. Then she got to her feet and went to the door. She slid it open, looked back, and was gone, closing the door behind her.
An hour later, she had stolen a horse and was riding east, to the Tchamil Mountains and the desert beyond.
TWENTY-TWO
The gate of the Imperial Keep stood open during the day to allow in and out the traffic necessary to keep such a vast building running. Carts of food, heavily guarded against the starving masses outside, rattled in and returned empty. Others came with jars of wine and spices, vats of cleaning fluid, bolts of cloth; and not a few of them with unconscious men, women and children concealed inside, slender vagrants from the Poor Quarter to be delivered for the Weavers' delectation.
There were Blackguard and a pair of Weavers at the gate, as always. They watched over the traffic, the Blackguard checking permits, the Weavers looking for any more subtle dangers: concealed bombs and the like. They stood hunched on either side of the wide entranceway like ragged gargoyles, immobile as they went about their invisible task.
Inside his carriage, the physician Ukida fidgeted nervously as they approached the gate.
'They have removed the blessing on the arch,' Mishani commented, staring out of the window. The arc of gold above the gate had indeed been smoothed clean.
Ukida made a vaguely questioning noise out of politeness; he was not listening to her, obsessed as he was with his own fear. Mishani looked away from the window and over at him.
'You will give us away, Master Ukida, if you do not control yourself,' she said sternly.
That stung him, and he made an effort at composing his demeanour, which made his state more obvious rather than less. He wished he had never taken the letter from Mishani in the first place. He should have just refused her. What could she have done? Taken him to face Imperial justice? Ha! There was no empire, and certainly no justice, and she would be arrested herself if she tried. Why had he not thought of that before, instead of clinging to his old notions of honour and ties of allegiance? If he had done so, his Mistress Muraki might not have commanded him to set up this deception, and he might not be in great peril of losing his life.
Hindsight was a cruel thing, and it crowed and gloated at him now as they drew up to the gate and one of the Blackguard approached the door of the carriage.
'Master Ukida,' he said in acknowledgement. He was a good-looking young man, wearing the dark bandana and leather armour that was the uniform of the Blackguard. 'Who is this?' he asked, his eyes shifting to Mishani, who sat meekly in the back of the carriage.
Ukida glanced nervously over the Blackguard's shoulder to the Weaver there, whose coral Mask was turned towards them.
'An assistant,' he said, brandishing a sealed roll of paper which he handed to the guard. 'Just temporary, you understand. Mistress Muraki is ill, something quite unusual, and has need of this one's special knowledge of such conditions.'
Mishani met the Blackguard's inquiring gaze calmly.
'May I?' he asked, indicating the seal. Ukida motioned hastily for him to do so. He broke it open and began to read.
Mishani waited, her anxiety carefully internalised. Ukida was plainly jittery. She could only hope that the guard would not think matters suspicious enough to act upon: to call the Weaver, maybe, or to detain them while he checked the validity of the permit he held. It was written and signed and sealed by Muraki tu Koli herself, granting entrance to the Keep for Ukida's new assistant.
'Mistress Muraki is not too ill to write, I see,' the Blackguard said. A taut beat of silence passed as he looked from Ukida to Mishani. 'That is good news,' he finished, and the tension slackened. He handed the permit back to Ukida and made a small bow to them both. 'Master Ukida. Mistress Soa. Please go on in.'
Ukida was perhaps a little gushing in his thanks, but the Blackguard was not paying attention now. He waved their driver on and was already heading toward the next cart in line.
Mishani allowed herself a moment of relief as they passed across the courtyard. That was one obstacle down. Now she had to contend with the possibility of being recognised, and the certainty of meeting another Weaver before she could get to her mother. If Shintu smiled on them, they might just make it through with her mother's permit. If not…