The older boy proved to be Itani Noyga, Liat's vanished lover. The younger, of course, was the young poet Maati. Amat, seated at her desk, took a pose of welcome and gestured to chairs she'd had brought in for them. Both boys sat. It was an interesting contrast, the pair or them. Both were clearly in earnest, both wore expressions of perfect seriousness, but Itani's eyes reminded her more of her own—focused out, on her, on the room, searching, it seemed, for something. The poet boy was like his master—brooding, turned inward. Like his master, or like Marchat Wilsin. Amat put her hand on her knees and leaned a degree forward.
"And what business brings you young gentlemen?" she asked. Her tone was light and pleasant and gave nothing away. Her subtlety was lost on them, though. The older boy, Itani, clearly wasn't looking to finesse an advantage.
"Amatcha," he said. "I'm told you hope to prove that the High Council of Galt conspired with the andat Seedless when he killed the child out of the island girl last summer."
"I'm investigating the matter," Amat said, "and I've broken with House Wilsin, but I don't know that it's fair to say the Galtic Council must therefore be . . ."
"Amatcha," the poet boy, Maati, broke in. "Someone tried to kill Liat Chokavi. Marchat Wilsin is keeping it quiet, but I was there. And . . . Itani thinks it was something to do with you and House Wilsin."
Amat felt her breath catch. Marchat, the old idiot, was panicking. Liat Chokavi was his best defense, if he could trust her to say the right things before the Khai. Except that he couldn't. She was too young, and too unskilled at these games. It was why he had used her in the first place. Something like nausea swept through her.
"It may have been," Amat said. "How is she?"
"Recovering in the Khai's palaces," Itani said. "But she's doing well. She'll be able to go back to her house tomorrow. Wilsincha will expect her."
"No," Amat said. "She can't go back there."
"It's true, then," Itani said, his voice somber. Perhaps he had a talent for finesse after all. Amat took a pose of acknowledgment.
"I wasn't able to stop the crime against Maj from happening, but yes. House Wilsin knew of the deceit. I believe that the Galtic Council did as well, though I can't prove that as yet. That I think it is hardly a great secret, though. Anyone might guess as much. That I'm right in thinking it . . . is more difficult."
"Protect Liat," Maati said, "and whatever we can do for you, we will."
"Itani-cha? Are those your terms as well?"
"Yes," the boy said.
"It may mean speaking before the Khai. Telling him where you went the night you acted as Wilsincha's bodyguard."
Itani hesitated, then took a pose of acceptance.
Amat sat back, one hand up, requesting a moment to herself. This wasn't something she'd foreseen, but it might be what she'd needed. If the young poet could influence Heshai or find some scrap of memory from the negotiations that showed Marchat Wilsin knew that all wasn't what it seemed . . . But there was something more in this—she could feel it as sure as the tide. One piece here didn't fit.
"Itani-cha's presence I understand," Amat said. "What is the poet's interest in Liat Chokavi."
"She's my friend," Maati said, his chin lifted a fraction higher than before. His eyes seemed to defy her.
Ah! she thought. So that's how it is. She wondered how far that had gone and whether Itani knew. Not that it made any difference to her or to what was called for next.
Liat. It had always been a mess, of course, what to do with Liat. On the one hand, she might have been able to help Amat's case, add some telling detail that would show Marchat had known of the translator Oshai's duplicity. On the other hand, pulling the girl into it was doing her no favors. Amat had thought about it since she'd come to the house, but without coming to any conclusions. Now the decision was forced on her.
Liat could room with Maj, Amat supposed, except that the arrangement had the ring of disaster. But she couldn't put her out with the whores. Perhaps a cot in her own rooms, or an apartment in one of the low towns. With a guard, of course. . . .
Later. That could all come later. Amat rose. The boys stood.
"Bring her here," she said. "Tonight. Don't let Wilsincha know what you're doing. Don't tell her until you have to. I'll see her safe from there. You can trust me to do it."
"Thank you, Amatcha," Itani said. "But if this business is going to continue . . . I don't want to burden you with this if it's something you don't want to carry forever. This investigation might go on for years, no?"
"Gods, I hope not," Amat said. "But I promise you, even if it does, I'll see it finished. Whatever it costs, I will bring this to light."