THE

parting unlike the others that had come before. "I'm sorry it's come to

this."

Maati took a pose that agreed but kept the meaning as imprecise as Otah

had. One of the armsmen called out, pointing at the looming threat of

the Khai Udun's palaces. In a wide window precisely above the river, a

light had appeared, glittering like gold. Like a fallen star.

Ana and Danat were in a corner of the quay, their arms wrapped around

each other. Idaan stood among the armsmen, her expression grim. Eiah sat

alone by the water, listening. Otah saw Maati's gaze linger on her with

something like sorrow.

With a lantern in his unsteady hand, Maati walked off along the ruined

streets that ran beside the river. Otah guessed it would take him half a

hand to reach the palaces.

"All right," Idaan said. "He's gone."

Otah turned to look at her, some pale attempt at wit on his lips, and

saw that the comment hadn't been meant for him. Idaan crouched beside

Eiah. His daughter's face was turned toward nothing, but her hands were

digging through the physician's satchel. Danat glanced at Otah,

confusion in his eyes. Eiah started drawing flat stones from her bag and

laying them gently on the flagstones before her.

No, he was wrong. Not stones, but triangles of broken wax. The contents

of old, broken tablets with symbols and words inscribed on them in

Eiah's hand.

"You could try being of help," Idaan said and gestured toward the shards

at his daughter's knees. "There's a piece that goes right here I haven't

been able to find."

"You did enough," Eiah said, her hands shifting quickly, fitting the

breaks together. Already the wax was taking the shape of five separate

squares, the characters coming together. "Just going to the campsite and

bringing back the bits you did was more than I could have asked."

"What is this?" Otah asked, though he already knew.

"My work," Eiah said. "My binding. I hoped I'd have time. Before we

actually came across Vanjit-cha, there was the chance she was spying on

us. She'd always pla

binding. But now, and for I think at least the next hand and a half, her

attention is going to be on Maati-kvo. So..."

Idaan shook her head, clearing some thought away, and gestured to the

captain of the guard.

"We'll need light," she said. "Eiah may be able to work puzzles in the

dark, but I'm better if I can see what I'm doing."

"I thought you couldn't do this," Otah said, kneeling.

"Well, I haven't managed it yet," Eiah said with a wry smile. "On the

other hand, I've studied to be a physician. Holding things in memory

isn't so difficult, once you've had the practice. And there's enough

here, I think, to guide me through it, no matter what Maati-kvo believes."

Idaan made a low grunt of pleasure, reached across Eiah and shifted a

stray chunk of wax into place. Eiah's fingers caressed the new join, and

she nodded to herself. Armsmen brought the wild, flickering light close,

the waxwork lettering seeming to breathe in the shadows.

"Maati's warnings," Otah said. "You can't know what will happen if you

pit your andat against hers."

"I won't have to," Eiah said. "I've thought this through, Papa-kya. I

know what I'm doing. There was another section. It was almost square

with one corner missing. Can anyone see that?"

"Check the satchel," Idaan said as Otah plucked the piece from the hem

of Eiah's robe. He pressed it into her hand. Her fingertips traced its

surface before she placed it at the bottom of the second almost-formed

tablet. Her smile was gentler than he'd seen from her since he'd walked

into the wayhouse. He touched her cheek.

"Maati doesn't know you're doing this, then?" Otah asked.

"We didn't think we'd ask him," Idaan said. "No disrespect to Eiahcha,

but that man's about half again as cracked as his poet."

"No, he isn't mad," Eiah said, her hands never slowing their dance

across the face of the broken tablets. "He's just not equal to the task

he set himself. He always meant well."

"And I'm sure the two dozen remaining Galts will feel better because of

it," Idaan said acidly. And then, in a gentler voice, "It doesn't matter

what story you tell yourself, you know. We've done what we've done."

"I wish you would stop that," Eiah said.

Idaan's surprise was clear on her face, and apparently in her silence as

well. Eiah shook her head and went on, her tone damning and conversational.

"Every third thing you say is an oblique reference to killing my

grandfather. We all know you did the thing, and we all know you regret

it. None of this is anything to do with that. Papa-kya and Maati love

each other and they hate each other, and it doesn't pertain either.

Maati's overwhelmed by the consequences of misjudging Vanjit, and he

might not be if he weren't hauling Nayiit and Sterile and Seedless along

behind him."

Idaan looked like she'd been slapped. The armsmen were crowded so close,

Otah could hear the low flutter of the torches burning, but the men

pretended not to have heard.

"The past doesn't matter," Eiah said. "A hundred years ago or last

night, it's all just as gone. I have a binding to work, and I'd like to

make the attempt before Vanjit blinds Maati and walks him off something

tall. I think we have something like half a hand."

They worked together in silence, three pairs of hands putting the wax

into place quickly. There were still sections missing, and some parts of

the tablets were shattered so thoroughly that Eiah's markings were all

but lost. His daughter passed her fingertips slowly over each of the

surfaces, her brow furrowed, her lips moving as if reciting something

under her breath. Whether it was the binding or a prayer, Otah couldn't

guess.

Idaan leaned close to Otah, her breath a warm and whispering breeze

against his ear.

"She takes the tact from her mother's side, I assume?"

His tension and fear gave the words a hilarity they didn't deserve, and

he fought to contain his laughter. The quay was dark around them; the

torches kept his eyes from adapting to the darkness. It was as if the

world had narrowed to a few feet of lichen-slicked flagstone, a single

unshuttered window in the distance, and countless, endless, u

stars.

"All right," Eiah said. "I can't be disturbed while I do this. If we

could have the armsmen set up a guard formation? It would be in keeping