Shadow and Betrayal

palaces. Seedless stepped onto the bridge, dark robes shifting as he walked. The andat’s expression was unreadable.
    ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Maati said.
    ‘You’ve broken it off with the darling Liat. Returned her whence she came, now that her laborer’s back from his errand.’
    ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Maati repeated, turning back to stare at the cold, dark water. Seedless settled beside him. Their two faces reflected on the pond’s surface, wavering and pale. Maati wished he had a stone to drop, something that would break the image.
    ‘Bad answer,’ the andat said. ‘I’m not a fool. I can smell love when I’m up to my knees in it. It’s hard, losing her.’
    ‘I haven’t lost anything. It’s only changed a bit. I knew it would.’
    ‘Well then,’ Seedless said gently. ‘That makes it easy, doesn’t it? He’s still resting, is he?’
    ‘I don’t know. I haven’t gone to see him yet today.’
    ‘Gone to see him? It’s your couch he’s sleeping on.’
    ‘Still,’ Maati said with a shrug. ‘I’m not ready to see him again. Tonight, perhaps. Only not yet.’
    They were silent for a long moment. Crows barked from the treetops, hopping on twig-thin legs, their black wings outstretched. Somewhere in the water, koi shifted sluggishly, sending thin ripples to the surface.
    ‘Would it help to say I’m sorry for it?’ Seedless asked.
    ‘Not particularly.’
    ‘Well, all the same.’
    ‘It’s hard to think that you care, Seedless-cha. I’d have thought you’d be pleased.’
    ‘No. Not really. On the one hand, whether you think it or not, I don’t have any deep love of your pain. Not yet, at least. Once you take Heshai’s burden . . . well, we’ll neither of us have any choices then. And then, for my own selfish nature, all this brings you one step nearer to being like him. The woman you’ve loved and lost. The pain you carry with you. It’s part of what drives him, and you’re coming to know it now yourself.’
    ‘So when you say you’re sorry for it, you mean that you think it might help me do my task?’
    ‘Makes you wonder if the task’s worth doing, doesn’t it?’ Seedless said, a smile in his voice more than his expression. ‘I doubt the Dai-kvo would share our concerns, though, eh?’
    ‘No,’ Maati sighed. ‘No, he at least is certain of what’s the right thing.’
    ‘Still, we’re clever,’ Seedless said. ‘Well, you’re not. You’re busy being lovesick, but I’m clever. Perhaps I’ll think of something.’
    Maati turned to look at the andat, but the smooth, pale face revealed nothing more than a distant amusement.
    ‘Something in particular?’ Maati asked, but Seedless didn’t answer.
     
    Otah woke from a deep sleep to light slanting through half-opened shutters. For a moment, he forgot he had landed, his body still shifting from memory of the sea beneath him. Then the blond wood and incense, the scrolls and books, the scent and sound of winter rain recalled him to himself, and he stood. The wall-long shutters were closed, a fire burned low in its grate. Heshai and Maati were gone, but a plate of dried fruit and fresh bread sat on a table beside the letter from the Dai-kvo, its pages unsewn and spread. He sat alone and ate.
    The journey back had been easy. The river bore him to Yalakeht and then a tradeship with a load of furs meant for Eddensea. He’d taken a position on the ship - passage in return for his work - and he’d done well enough by the captain and crew. Otah imagined they were now in the soft quarter spending what money they had. Indulging themselves before they began the weeks-long journey across the sea.
    Heshai had seemed better, alert and attentive. It even seemed that Maati and his teacher had grown closer since Otah had left - brought together, perhaps, by the difficulties they had weathered. It might have been the bad news of Liat’s injury or Otah’s own weariness and sense of displacement, but there had seemed something more as well. A weariness in Maati’s eyes that Otah recognized, but couldn’t explain.
    The first thing he needed, of course, was a bath. And then to see Liat. And then . . . and then he wasn’t sure. He had gone on his journey to the Dai-kvo, he had come back bearing news that seemed out of date when it arrived. According to Maati, Heshai-kvo had bested his illness without the aid of the Dai-kvo. The tragedy of the dead child was fading from the city’s memory, replaced by other