Seasons of War

that clung to their tiny bodies. Some wore loose canvas trousers like a common laborer’s. They were, Liat thought, too young to be utkhaiem yet. They were still children, and free from the bindings that would hold them when there was less fat in their cheeks, less joy in their movement. But that was only sentiment. The children of privilege knew when they were faced with a child of the lower orders. These dancing and shouting in the clean, clear water could dress as they saw fit because they were all of the same ranks. These were the children of the great houses, brought to play with the one boy, there, in the robe. The one deep in disagreement with the petulant-looking girl. The one who had eyes and mouth the same shape as Otah’s.
    Liat looked up and found Kiyan considering her. The woman’s expression was unreadable.
    ‘Thank you for coming,’ Kiyan said over the sounds of falling water and shrieking children.
    ‘Of course,’ Liat said. She nodded down at the boy. ‘That’s Danat-cha?’
    ‘Yes. He’s having a good day,’ she said. Then, ‘Please, come this way.’
    Liat followed her through a doorway at the balcony’s rear and into a small resting room where Kiyan sat on a low couch and motioned Liat to do the same. The sounds of play were muffled enough to speak over, but they weren’t absent. Liat found them oddly comforting.
    ‘I heard that Nayiit-cha chose to go with the men,’ Kiyan said.
    ‘Yes,’ Liat said, and then stopped, because she didn’t know what more there was to say.
    ‘I can’t imagine that,’ Kiyan said. ‘It’s hard enough imagining Otah going, but he’s my husband. He’s not my son.’
    ‘I understand why he went. Nayiit, I mean. But his father asked the Khai to take care of him.’
    Kiyan looked up, confused for a moment, then nodded.
    ‘Maati, you mean?’
    ‘Of course,’ Liat said.
    ‘Do we have to keep up that pretense?’
    ‘I think we do, Kiyan-cha.’
    ‘I suppose,’ she said. And then a moment later, ‘No. You’re right. You’re quite right. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
    Liat considered Otah’s wife - thin face, black hair shot with threads of white, so little paint on her cheeks that Liat could see where the lines that came with age had been etched by pain and laughter. There was an intelligence in her face and, Liat thought, a sorrow. Kiyan took a deep breath and seemed to pull herself back from whatever place her mind had gone. She smiled.
    ‘Otah has left the city with a problem,’ she said. ‘With so many men gone, the business of things is bound to suffer. There are crops that need bringing in and others that need planting. Roofs need the tiles repaired before autumn comes. There are still parts of the winter quarters that haven’t been cleaned out since we’ve all resurfaced. And the men who coordinate those things or else who oversee the men who do are all off with Otah playing at war.’
    ‘That is a problem,’ Liat agreed, unsure why Kiyan had brought her here to tell her this.
    ‘I’m calling a Council of wives,’ Kiyan said. ‘I think we’re referring to it as an afternoon banquet, but I mean it to be more than light gossip and sweet breads. I’m going to take care of Machi until Otah comes back. I’ll see to it that we have food and coal to see us through the winter.’
    If, Kiyan didn’t need to say, we all live that long. Liat looked at her hands and pressed the dark thoughts away.
    ‘That seems wise,’ she said.
    ‘I want you to come to the Council, Liat-cha. I want your help.’
    Liat looked up. Kiyan’s whole attention was on her. It made her feel awkward, but also oddly flattered.
    ‘I don’t know what I could do—’
    ‘You’re a woman of business. You understand schedules and how to coordinate different teams in different tasks so that the whole of a thing comes together the way it should. I understand that too, but frankly most of these women would be totally lost. They’ve bent their minds to face paints and robes and trading gossip and bedroom tricks,’ Kiyan said, and then immediately took a pose that asked forgiveness. ‘I don’t mean to make them sound dim. They aren’t. But they’re the product of a Khai’s court, and the things that matter there aren’t things that matter, if you see what I mean?’
    ‘Quite well,’ Liat said with a chuckle.
    Kiyan leaned forward and scooped up Liat’s hand as if it were the most natural thing to do.
    ‘You helped Otah when he asked it of