"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, Liatcha. 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.
"Make your own measures, then," the man said. "I have a powder I'll mix for the patient, and we can discuss what you think while we clean the gravel out of our friend "lamiya."
Eiah's touch was harder, less assured. Where the physician had hardly seemed present, Eiah gave the impression of grabbing for something even when pressing with the tips of her fingers. It was an eagerness Liat herself had felt once, many years ago.
"You seem to be doing very well here," Liat said, her voice gentle.
"I know," the girl said. "Loya-cha's very smart, and he said I could keep coming here until Mama-kya or the Khai said different. Can I see your tongue, please?"
Liat let the examination be repeated, then when it was finished said, "You must be pleased to have found something you enjoy doing."
"It's all right," Eiah said. "I'd still rather be married, but this is almost as good. And maybe Papa-kya can find someone to marry me who'll let me take part in the physician's house. I'll probably be married to one of the Khaiem, after all, and Mama-kya's running the whole city now. Everyone says so.
"It may be different later, though," Liat said, trying to imagine a Khai allowing his wife to take a tradesman's work as a hobby.
"There may not be any Khaiem, you mean," Eiah said. "The Galts may kill them all."
"Of course they won't," Liat said, but the girl's eyes met hers and Liat faltered. There was so much of Otah's cool distance in a face that seemed too young to look on the world so dispassionately. She was like her father, prepared to pass judgment on the gods themselves if the situation called her to do it. Comfortable lies had no place with her. Liat looked down. "I don't know," she said. "Perhaps there won't be."
"Here, now," the physician said. "Take this with you, Liatcha. Pour it into a bowl of water and once it's dissolved, drink the whole thing. It will he bitter, so drink it fast. You'll likely want to lie down for a hand or two afterward, to let it work. But it should do what needs doing."
Liat took the paper packet and slipped it into her sleeve before taking a pose of gratitude.
"We should have a lunch in the gardens again," Eiah said. "You and Uncle Nlaati and me. Loya-cha would come too, except he's a servant."
Liat felt herself blush, but the physician's wry smile told her it was not the first such pronouncement he'd been subjected to.
"Perhaps you should wait for another day," he said. "Liatcha had a headache, remember."
"I know that," Eiah said impatiently. "I meant tomorrow."