Shadow and Betrayal

reflected, older than his grandfather’s grandfather. And still they took the name.
    They’d taken a private room hardly larger than a closet, with a small table and a bench against the wall that they both shared. Light and music and the scent of roast pork drifted though carved wood lacework, and a small brazier hung above them, radiating heat like a black iron sun.
    Liat poured hot tea into her bowl, and then without asking, into his. Maati took a pose of thanks, and lifted the fine porcelain to his lips. The steam smelled rich and smoky, and Liat leaned against him, the familiar weight of her body comforting as blankets.
    ‘He’ll be back soon,’ Maati said.
    Liat didn’t stiffen, but stilled. He sipped his tea, burning his lips a little. He felt her shrug as much as seeing it.
    ‘Let’s not talk of it,’ she said.
    ‘I can’t keep on with this once he’s come back. As it stands, half the time I feel like I’ve killed something. When he’s here . . .’
    ‘When he’s here we’ll have him with us,’ Liat said softly. ‘We both will. I’ll have him as a lover, you’ll have him as a friend. We’ll none of us be alone.’
    ‘I’m not entirely hoping for it,’ Maati said.
    ‘Parts will be difficult. Let’s not talk about it. It’ll come soon enough without borrowing it now.’ Maati took a pose of agreement, but a moment later Liat sighed and took his arm.
    ‘I didn’t mean to be cruel . . .’
    ‘You haven’t been,’ Maati said.
    ‘You’re kind to say so.’
    In the front of the house a woman or a child began singing - the voice high and sweet and pure. The talking voices stilled and gave the song their silence. It was one that Maati had heard before many times, a traditional ballad of love found and lost that dated back to the days when the Empire still stood. Maati sat back, his spine pressing into the wall behind him, and laid his arm across Liat’s shoulders. His head swam with emotions that he could only partly name. He closed his eyes and let the ancient words and old grammars wash over him. He felt Liat shudder. When he looked, her face was flushed, her mouth drawn tight. Tears glistened in her eyes.
    ‘Let’s go home,’ he said, and she nodded. He took six lengths of copper from a pouch in his sleeve and left them in a row on the table - it would more than cover the charges. Together, they rose, pushed aside the door and slipped out. The song continued on as they stepped out into the darkness. The moon was just past new, and the streets were dark except for the torches at crossroads where large streets met, and, elsewhere, lit by the kilns of the firekeepers. They walked arm in arm, heading north.
    ‘Why do they call you poets?’ Liat asked. ‘You don’t really declaim poetry. I mean, we have, but not as what you do for the Khai.’
    ‘There are other terms,’ Maati said. ‘You could also call us shapers or makers. Thought-weavers. It’s from the binding.’
    ‘The andat. They’re poems?’
    ‘They’re like poems. They’re translations of an idea into a form that includes volition. When you take a letter in the Khaiate tongue and translate it into Galtic, there are different ways you could word it, to get the right meaning. The binding is like translating a letter perfectly from one language to another. You make it clear, and the parts that aren’t there - if there isn’t quite the right word in Galtic, for instance - you create them so that the whole thing holds together. The old grammars are very good for that work.’
    ‘What do you do with it? With the description?’
    ‘You hold it in your mind. Forever.’
    The words lapsed. They walked. The high walls of the warehouse district stopped and the lower buildings of the weavers took up. The palaces at the top of the city glittered with lanterns and torches, like the field of stars pulled down and overlapping the earth until they were obscured again by high walls, now of the homes of merchants and lesser trading houses.
    ‘Have you ever been in the summer cities for Candles Night?’ Liat asked.
    ‘No,’ Maati said. ‘I’ve seen the Dai-kvo’s village, though. It was beautiful there. All the streets were lined with people, and the light made the whole mountain feel like a temple.’
    ‘You’ll like it here,’ Liat said. ‘There’s likely more wine involved than with the Dai-kvo.’
    Maati smiled in the darkness and pulled her small, warm body closer to him.
    ‘I imagine so,’ he said. ‘At