Shadow and Betrayal

that Liat couldn’t follow, but she caught the words for knowledge and for pain. Maj patted Liat’s cheek gently and stepped away.

19
    ‘D oes it bother you, grandmother?’ Mitat asked as they walked down the street. She spoke softly, so that the words stayed between the two of them, and not so far forward as the two mercenary guards before them or so far back as the two behind.
    ‘I can think of a half dozen things you might mean,’ Amat said.
    ‘Speaking against Wilsin.’
    ‘Of course it does,’ Amat said. ‘But it isn’t something I chose.’
    ‘It’s only that House Wilsin was good to you for so long . . . it was like family, wasn’t it? To make your own way now . . .’
    Amat narrowed her eyes. Mitat flushed and took a pose of apology which she ignored.
    ‘This isn’t a conversation about me, is it?’ Amat asked.
    ‘Not entirely,’ Mitat said.
    The breeze blowing in from the sea chilled her, and the sun, already falling to the horizon, did nothing more than stretch the shadows and redden the light. The banners over the watch house fluttered, the mutter of cloth like voices in another room. Her guards opened the door, nodded to the watchmen inside and gestured Amat and her aide, her friend, her first real ally in the whole sour business, through. Amat paused.
    ‘If you’re thinking of leaving, you and your man, I want two things of you. First, wait until the suit is presented. Second, let me make an offer for your time. If we can’t negotiate something, you can go with my blessings.’
    ‘The terms of my indenture were harsh, and you could . . .’
    ‘Oh don’t be an ass,’ Amat said. ‘That was between you and Ovi Niit. This is between us. Not the same thing at all.’
    Mitat smiled - a little sadly, Amat thought - and took a pose that sealed an agreement. In the watch house, Amat paid her dues, signed and countersigned the documents, and took her copy for the records of the house. For another turn through the moon’s phases, she and her house were citizens in good standing of the soft quarter. She walked back to the house with her five companions, and yet also very much alone.
    The scent of garlic sausages tempted her as they passed an old man and his cart, and Amat wished powerfully that she could stop, send away the men and their knives, and sit with Mitat talking as friends might. She could find what price the woman wanted to stay - whatever it was Amat expected she’d be willing to pay it. But the guards wouldn’t let them pause or be alone. Mitat wouldn’t have had it. Amat herself knew it would have been unwise - somewhere in the city, Marchat Wilsin had to be in a fever of desperation, and he’d proven willing to kill before this. Leaving the comfort house at all was a risk. And still, something like an ordinary life beckoned more seductively than any whore ever had.
    One step at a time, Amat moved forward. There would be time later, she told herself, for all that. Later, when the Galts were revealed and her burden was passed on to someone else. When the child’s death was avenged and her city was safe and her conscience was clean. Then she could be herself again, if there was anything left of that woman. Or create herself again if there wasn’t.
    The messenger waited for them at the front entrance of the house. He was a young man, not older than Liat, but he wore the colors of a high servant. A message, Amat knew with a sinking heart, from the Khai Saraykeht.
    ‘You,’ she said. ‘You’re looking for Amat Kyaan?’
    The messenger - a young boy with narrow-set eyes and a thin nose - took a pose of acknowledgment and respect. It was a courtly pose.
    ‘You’ve found her,’ Amat said.
    The boy plucked a letter from his sleeve sealed with the mark of the Khai Saraykeht. Amat tore it open there in the street. The script was as beautiful as any message from the palaces - calligraphy so ornate as to approach illegibility. Still, Amat had the practice to make it out. She sighed and took a pose of thanks and dismissal.
    ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘There’s no reply.’
    ‘What happened?’ Mitat asked as they walked into the house. ‘Something bad?’
    ‘No,’ Amat said. ‘Only the usual delays. The Khai is putting the audience back four days. Another party wishes to be present.’
    ‘Wilsin?’
    ‘I assume so. It serves us as much as him, really. We can use a few more days to prepare.’
    Amat paused in the front room of the house, tapping the folded paper