Shadow and Betrayal

ways I could help, so I did what I could. My brothers and I all helped where we could.’
    She silently willed the old Galt’s attention away from the subject. Anything she could say about her old life would make her seem less likely to be worth cultivating. The small apartments by the smoke-house that had housed her and three brothers; her father’s little stand in the market selling cured meats and dried fruits. It wasn’t the place Liat imagined an overseer of a merchant house would start from. Her wish seemed to be granted. Wilsin-cha cleared his throat and sat forward.
    ‘Amat’s been sent away on private business. She may be gone for some weeks. I have an audience before the Khai that I’ll need you to take over.’
    He said it in a low, conversational voice, but Liat felt herself flush like she’d drunk strong wine. She sipped the tea to steady herself, then put the bowl down and took a pose appropriate to a confession.
    ‘Wilsin-cha, Amat has never taken me to the courts. I wouldn’t know what to do, and . . .’
    ‘You’ll be fine,’ Wilsin-cha said. ‘It’s the sad trade. Not complex, but I need it done with decorum, if you see. Someone to see to it that the client has the appropriate robes and understands the process. And with Amat unavailable, I thought her apprentice might be the best person for the role.’
    Liat looked down, hoping that the sense of vertigo would fade. An audience with the Khai - even only a very brief one - was something she had expected to take only years later, if ever. She took a pose of query, fighting to keep her fingers from trembling. Wilsin waved a hand, giving her permission to speak her question.
    ‘There are other overseers. Some of them have been with the house much longer than I have. They have experience in the courts . . .’
    ‘They’re busy. This is something I was going to have Amat do herself, before she was called away. I don’t want to pull anyone else away from negotiations that are only half-done. And Amat said it was within your abilities, so . . .’
    ‘She did?’
    ‘Of course. Here’s what I’ll need of you . . .’
     
    The rain had ended and the night candle burned to just past the halfway mark when Heshai-kvo returned. Maati, having fallen asleep on a reading couch, woke when the door slammed open. Blinking away half-formed dreams, he stood and took a pose of welcome. Heshai snorted, but made no other reply. Instead, he took a candle and touched it to the night candle’s flame, then walked heavily around the rooms lighting every lantern and candle. When the house was bright as morning and thick with the scent of hot wax, the teacher returned the dripping candle to its place and dragged a chair across the floor. Maati sat on the couch as Heshai, groaning under his breath, lowered himself into the chair.
    Maati was silent as his teacher considered him. Heshai-kvo’s eyes were narrow, his mouth skewed in something like a stillborn smile. At last the teacher heaved a loud sigh and took a pose of apology.
    ‘I’ve been an ass. And I’m sorry,’ the teacher said. ‘I meant to say so before, but . . . well, I didn’t, did I? What happened with the Khai was my fault, not yours. Don’t carry it.’
    ‘Heshai-kvo, I was wrong to . . .’
    ‘Ah, you’re a decent boy. Your heart’s good. But there’s no call to sweeten turds. I was thoughtless. Careless. I let that bastard Seedless get the better of me. Again. And you. Gods, you must think I’m the silliest joke ever to wear a poet’s robe.’
    ‘Not at all,’ Maati said seriously. ‘He is . . . a credit to you, Heshai-kvo. I have never seen anything to match him.’
    Heshai-kvo coughed out a sharp, mirthless laugh.
    ‘And have you seen another andat?’ he asked. ‘Any of them at all?’
    ‘I was present when Choti Dausadar of Amnat-Tan bound Moss-Hidden-from-Sunlight. But I never saw him use her powers.’
    ‘Yes, well, I’m sure he will as soon as anyone can think of a decent use for forcing mosses out in the light where we can see them. The Dai-kvo should have insisted that Choti wait until he had a binding poem for something useful. Even Petals-Falling was a better tool than that. Hidden moss. Gods.’
    Maati took a pose of polite agreement, appropriate to receiving teachings, but as he did so, it struck him. Heshai-kvo was drunk.
    ‘It’s a fallen age, boy. The great poets of the Empire ruined it for us. All that’s left is picking at the obscure thoughts and