An Autumn War(52)

"Sir," Eustin whispered, "I think it might he best if we stepped out, left him to-"

"No," Balasar said. "Watch this. It's the last time it's ever going to happen."

lr,ustin nodded curtly and turned with what seemed physical strain to look ahead. Riaan had risen, standing where the cushion had been, or perhaps he was floating. Or perhaps he was sitting just as he had been. Something had happened to the nature of the space between them. And then, like seven flutes moving from chaos to harmony, the world itself chimed, a note as deep as oceans and pure as dawn. Balasar felt his heart grow light for a moment, a profound joy filling him that had nothing to do with triumph, and there, standing before the seated poet, was a naked man, bald as a baby, with eyes white as salt.

The blast pressed Balasar back against the wall. His ears rang, and Eustin's voice seemed to come from a great distance.

"Riaan, sir!"

Balasar fought to focus his eyes. Riaan was still seated where he had been, but his shoulders were slumped, his head bowed is if in sleep. Balasar walked over to him, the sound of his own footsteps lost in his half-deafened state. It was like floating.

He was breathing. The poet breathed.

"Did it work, sir?" Eustin yelled from half a mile away or else there at his shoulder. "Does that mean it worked?"





Chapter 9

"What is he to do?" hlaati asked and then sipped his tea. It was just slightly overhrewed, a bitter aftertaste haunting the back of his mouth. Or perhaps it was only that he'd drunk too much the night before, sitting up with his son until the full moon set and the eastern sky began to lighten. \laati had seen Nayiit hack to the boy's apartments, and then, too tired to sleep, wandered to the poet's house where Cehmai was just risen for breakfast. He'd sent the servants back to the kitchens to bring a second meal, and while they waited, Cehmai shared what he had-thin butter pastry, blackberries still just slightly underripe, overhrewed tea. Everything tasted of early summer. Already the morning had broken the chill of the previous night.

"Really, he's been good to the woman. I Ie's acknowledged the babe, he's married her. But if he doesn't love her, what's he to do? Love's not something you can command."

"Not usually," StoneMade-Soft said, and smiled wide enough to bare its too-even white marble teeth. It wasn't a human mouth.

"I don't know," Cehmai said, ignoring the andat. "Really, you and I are probably the two worst men in the city to ask about things like that. I've never been in the position to have a wife. All the women I've been with knew that this old bastard came before anything."

Stone-blade-Soft smiled placidly. Nlaati had the uncomfortable sense that it was accepting a compliment.

"But you can see his dilemma," Nlaati said.

Outside, beyond the carefully sculpted oaks that kept the poet's house separate from the palaces, the city was in shadow. The sun, hidden behind the mountains to the east, filled the blue dome of air with soft light. The towers stood dark against the daylight, birds wheeling far below their highest reaches.

"I see that he's in a difficult position," Cehmai said. "And I'm in no position to say that good men never lose their hearts to ... what? Inappropriate women?"

"If you mean the Khai's sister, the term is vicious killers," StoneMade-Soft said. "But I think we can generalize from there."

"Thank you," Cehmai said. "But you've made the point yourself, Maati. Nayiit's married her. He's acknowledged the child. Doing that hinds him to something, doesn't it? He's made an agreement. He's made a kind of promise, or else why say that he's been good to her? If he can put those things aside, then that goodness is just a formality."

Maati sighed. His mind felt thick. Too much wine, too little rest. He was old to be staying up all night; it was a young man's game. And still, he felt it important that Cehmai understand. If he could explain Nayiit to someone else, it would make the night and all their conversations through it real. It would put them into the world in a way that now might only have been a dream. He was silent too long, struggling to put his thoughts in order. Cehmai cleared his throat, shot an uncomfortable glance at Maati, and changed the subject.

"Forgive me, Maati-cha, but I thought there was some question about Nayiit's ... ah ... parentage? I know the Khai signed a document denying him, but that was when there was some question about the succession, and I'd always thought he'd done it as a favor. If you see what I ..."

Maati put down his tea bowl and took a pose that disagreed.

""There's more to being a father than a few moments between the sheets," Maati said. "I was there when Nayiit took his first steps. I sang him to sleep as often as I could. I brought food for him. I held him. And tonight, Cehmai. He came to me. He talked to me. I don't care whose blood he has, that boy's mine."