Seasons of War

still can’t quite bring myself to believe Vanjit did that.’
    ‘Why not?’
    Eiah frowned, her hands clasped together. Some distant shutter’s ties had slipped; wood clapping against stone. A soft wind pushed at the windows and unsettled the fire in the grate.
    ‘She’s a poet,’ Eiah said. ‘She’s the poet.’
    ‘Poets are human,’ Maati said. ‘We err. We can be petty on occasion. Vindictive. Small. Her world has been turned on its head, and she hasn’t come yet to understand all that means. Well, of course she hasn’t. I’d have been more surprised if she’d never made a misstep.’
    ‘You don’t think we have a problem then?’ Eiah said.
    ‘She’s a reasonable girl. Given power, she’s misbehaved once. Once.’ Maati shook his head. ‘Once is as good as never.’
    ‘And if it becomes twice?’ Eiah asked. ‘If it becomes every time?’
    ‘It won’t,’ Maati said. ‘That isn’t who she is.’
    ‘But she’s changed. You said it just now. The binding gave her power, and power changes people.’
    ‘It changes their situation,’ Maati said. ‘It changes the calculations of what things they choose to do. What they forbear. It doesn’t change their souls.’
    ‘I’ve cut through a hundred bodies, Uncle. I’ve never weighed out a soul. I’ve never judged one. When I picked Vanjit, I hope I did the right thing.’
    ‘Don’t kill yourself with worry,’ Maati said. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’
    Eiah nodded slowly. ‘I’ve been thinking about who to send letters to. I’ve picked half-a-dozen names. I’ll hire a courier when we reach Pathai. I won’t be there long enough to bring back replies.’
    ‘That’s fine,’ Maati said. ‘All we need is enough time to perfect Wounded.’
    Eiah took a pose that agreed and also ended the conversation. She walked away into the darkened hall, her shoulders bent, her head bowed. Maati felt a pang of guilt. Eiah was tired and sorrowful and more fearful than she let on. He was sending her to announce to the world that she had betrayed her father. He could have been gentler about her concerns over Vanjit and Clarity-of-Sight. He didn’t know why he’d been so harsh.
    He made his evening ablutions and prepared himself to write a few pages in his book, scratching words onto paper by the light of the fluttering night candle, thanks in no small part to Vanjit. He was less than surprised when a soft scratching came at his door.
    Vanjit looked small and young. The andat held in the crook of her arm looked around the dim room, gurgling to itself almost like a baby. Maati gestured for her to sit.
    ‘I heard Eiah-cha speaking to Ashti Beg,’ Vanjit said. ‘They’re leaving?’
    ‘Eiah is taking the cart to Pathai for supplies and to send off some letters for me. Ashti Beg is going to help. That’s all,’ he said.
    ‘It’s not because of me?’
    ‘No, Vanjit-kya,’ Maati said warmly. ‘No. It was planned before anything happened between you and Ashti-cha. It’s only . . . we need time. Eiah needs time away from her binding to clear her mind. And we need to be sure that the Emperor and his son can’t make a half-Galtic heir before we’ve done what needs doing. So we’re asking help. Eiah is the daughter of the Empire. Her word carries weight. If she tells a few people well-placed in the utkhaiem what we’ve done and what we intend to do, they can use their influence to stop the Galts. And then . . .’
    He gestured to Vanjit, to the school, to the wide plain of possibilities that lay before them, if only they could gain the time. The andat cooed and threw its own arms wide, in joy or possibly mockery.
    ‘Why is he doing it?’ Vanjit asked. ‘Why would he trade with those people? Is he so in love with Galt?’
    Maati took a long breath, letting the question turn itself in his mind. It was the habit of years to lay any number of sins at Otah’s feet. But, reluctantly, not this.
    ‘No,’ Maati said. ‘Otah-kvo isn’t evil. Petty, perhaps. Misguided, certainly. He sees that the Galts are strong, and we need strength. He sees that their women can bear babes with our men, and he believes it’s the only hope of a new generation. He doesn’t understand that what we’ve broken, we can also repair.’
    ‘Given time,’ Vanjit said.
    ‘Yes,’ Maati said with a sigh. ‘Given time to rebuild. Remake.’
    For a moment, he was in the cold warehouse in Machi, the andat Sterile looking at him with her terrible, beautiful smile.
    ‘It