The tailor finished his work and stood, his hands in a pose of gratitude. Liat responded appropriately. The island girl looked on in mute fascination.
"Will there be anything more, Liat-cha?" Oshai asked.
"The court physician will wish to see her tomorrow. And I'm due to speak with a representative of the accountancy, but she won't be required for that. There may be more the next day, but I can tell you that once the schedule's been set."
"Thank you, Liat-cha," he said and took a pose of gratitude. Something in the cant of his wrists and the corners of his mouth made Liat look twice. She had the feeling that he was amused by her. Well, let him be. When Amat returned, Liat knew there would be a chance to comment on Oshai. And if Amat took offense, he'd never work for House Wilsin again.
She made her way out to the narrow streets of the tailors' quarter. The heat of the day was fierce, and the air was thick and muggy. Sweat had made her robes tacky against her back before she'd made it halfway to the laborers' quarters. She was more than half tempted to take them off and bathe under the rough shower Itani's cohort used. There was no one at it when she arrived. But if someone did see her—an acting overseer of House Wilsin—it might reflect on her status. So, instead, she walked up the stone steps worn smooth by generations of men and into the wide hallway with its cots and cheap cloth tents instead of netting. The sounds of masculine laughter and conversation filled the space like the reek of bodies. And yet Itani lived like this. He chose to. He was a mystery.
When she found him, he was seated on his cot, his skin and hair still wet from the shower. She paused, considering him, and uneasiness touched her. His brow was furrowed in concentration, but his hands were idle. His shoulders hunched forward. Had he been anyone else, she would have said he seemed haunted. In the months—nearly ten now—since she had taken him as her lover, she'd never known him to chew himself like this.
"What's the matter, love?" she said softly.
And the care vanished as if it had never been. Itani smiled, rose, took her in his arms. He smelled good—of clean sweat and young man and some subtle musk that was his alone.
"Something's bothering you," she said.
"No. I'm fine. It's just Muhatia-cha breaking my stones again. It's nothing. Do you have time to go to a bathhouse with us?"
"Yes," she said. It wasn't the answer she'd intended to give, but it was the one she meant now. Her papers for Wilsincha could wait.
"Good," he said, the way he smiled convinced her. But there was still something—a reservation in his hands, a distance in his eyes. "Your work's going well, then?"
"Well enough. The negotiations are all in place, I think. But the girl frustrates me. It makes me short with her, and I know I shouldn't be."
"Does she accept your apologies?"
"I haven't really offered them. I want to now, when I'm away from her. But in the moment, I'm always too annoyed with her."
"Well. You could start the day with them. Have it out of the way before you begin."
"Itani, is there something you want me to apologize to you for?"
He smiled his perfect, charming smile, but somehow it didn't reach the depths of his eyes.
"No," he said. "Of course not."
"Because it seems like we made our peace, but . . . but you haven't seemed the same since I went before the Khai."
She pulled back from him and sat on his cot. He hesitated and then sat beside her, the canvas creaking under their combined weight. She took a pose of apology, her expression gentle, making it more an offer and a question than a literal form itself.
"It's not like that," Itani said. "I'm not angry. It's hard to explain."
"Then try. I might know you better than you think."
He laughed, a small rueful sound, but didn't forbid it. Liat steeled herself.
"It's our old conversation, isn't it?" she said, gently. "I've started moving up in the house. I'm negotiating with the Khai, with the poets. And your indenture is coming to a close before long. I think you're afraid I'll outgrow you. That an overseer—even one low in the ranks—is above the dignity of a laborer."
Itani was silent. His expression was thoughtful, and his gaze seemed wholly upon her for the first time in days. A smile quirked his lips and vanished.
"Am I right?" she asked.
"No," he said. "But I'm curious all the same. Is that what you believe? That I would be beneath your dignity?"
"I don't," she said. "But I also don't think you'll end your life a laborer. You're a strange man. You're strong and clever and charming. And I think you know half again what you let on. But I don't understand your choices. You could be so much, if you wanted to. Isn't there anything you want?"