An Autumn War(9)

"Liatcha, I must assume. I'd sent men to meet you at the docks, but I'm afraid they came too late."

The woman who stepped out from the fog had seen no more than twenty summers. Her robes were white snowfox, eerie in the combination of pale mourning colors and the luxury of the fur. Her hair shone black with cords of silver woven in the braids. She was beautiful, and likely would be for another five summers. Liat could already see the presentiment of jowls at the borders of her jaw.

"Ceinat Radaani," Liat said, taking a pose of gratitude. "I am pleased to meet you in person at last. This is my son, Nayiit."

The Radaani girl adopted a welcoming pose that included them both. Nayiit returned it, and Liat couldn't help noticing the way his eyes lingered on her and hers on him. Liat coughed, bringing their attention back to the moment. The girl took a pose of apology, and turned to lead them into the chambers and corridors of the compound.

In Saraykcht, the architecture tended to he open, encouraging the breezes to flow and cool. Northern buildings were more like great kilns, built to hold heat in their thick stone walls. The ceilings were low and fire grates burned in every room. The Radaani girl led them through a wide entrance chamber and hack through a narrow corridor, speaking as she walked.

"My father is in Council with the Khai, but sends his regards and intends to join us as soon as he can return from the city proper. He would very much regret missing the opportunity to meet with the head of our trading partner in the South."

It was bald flattery. Radaani was among the richest houses in the winter cities, and had agreements with dozens of houses, all through the cities of the Khaiem.'I'he whole of House Kyaan would hardly have made up one of the Radaani compounds, and there were four such compounds that Liat knew of. Liat accepted it, though, as if it were true, as if the hospitality extended to her were more than etiquette.

"I look forward to speaking with him," Liat said. "I am most interested in hearing news of the winter cities."

"Oh, there'll be quite a bit to say, I'm sure," the girl laughed. "There always is once winter's ended. I think people save up all the gossip of the winter to haul out in spring."

She opened a pair of wide wooden doors and led them into small, cozy apartments. A fire popped and murmured in the grate, bowls of mulled wine waited steaming on a low wooden table, and archways to either side showed rooms with real beds waiting for them. Liat's body seemed drawn to the bed like a stone rolling downhill. She had not realized how much she loathed shipboard hammocks.

She took a pose of thanks that the girl responded to neatly as the servant boy put the crate down gently by the fire.

"I will let you rest," the girl said. "If you have need of me, any of the servants can find me for you. And I will, of course, send word when my father returns."

"You're very kind," Nayiit said, smiling his disarming smile. "Forgive me, but is there a bathhouse near? I don't think shipboard life has left me entirely prepared for good company."

"Of course," the girl said. "I would be pleased to show you the way."

I'm sure you would, Liat thought. Was I so obvious at her age?

"Mother," Nayiit said, "would you care to. .

Liat waved the offer away.

"A basin and a sponge will be enough for me. I have letters to write before dinner. Perhaps, Ceinat-cha, if you would leave word with your couriers that I will have things to send south?"

The girl took an acknowledging pose, then turned to Nayiit with a flutter of a smile and gestured for him to follow her.

"Nayiit," Liat said, and her son paused in the apartment's doorway. "Find out what you can about the situation in Machi. I'd like to know what we're walking into."

Nayiit smiled, nodded, and vanished. The servant boy also left, promising the basin and sponge shortly. Liat sighed and sat down, stretching her feet out toward the burning logs. The wine tasted good, though slightly overspiced to her taste.

Machi. She was going to Machi. She let her mind turn the fact over again, as if it were a puzzle she had nearly solved. She was going to present her discoveries and her fears to the man she'd once called a lover, back when he'd been a seafront laborer and called himself Itani. Now he was the Khai Machi. And Maati, with whom she had betrayed him. The idea tightened her throat every time she thought of it.

Maati. Nayiit was going to see hlaati, perhaps to confront him, perhaps to seek the sort of advice that a son can ask only of a father. Something, perhaps, that touched on the finer points of going to foreign bathhouses with young women in snowfox robes. Liat sighed.

Nayiit had been thinking about what it would he to walk away from his wife, the son he'd brought to the world. He'd said as much, and more than once. She had thought it was a question based in anger-an accusation against Nlaati. It only now occurred to her that perhaps there was also longing in it, and she thought to wonder how complex her quiet, pleasant son's heart might he.