Shadow and Betrayal

blinking sleep out of his eyes.
    ‘Otah-kvo?’ the boy asked.
    ‘He came this morning looking for you,’ Liat said, letting go of Otah’s hand at last and sitting at her desk. ‘I don’t think he’d eaten or had anything to drink since it happened. I brought him here, gave him an apple and some water, put him to bed, and sent a runner to Muhatia-cha.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Maati said. ‘I didn’t know where to find you, and I thought Liat-cha might . . .’
    ‘It was a fine plan,’ Otah said. ‘It worked. But what happened?’
    Maati looked down, and Liat spoke. Her voice was hard as slate and as gray. Speaking softly, she told the story: she’d been fooled by the translator Oshai and the andat at the price of Maj and her babe. Maati took the narrative up: the poet was ill, eating little, drinking less, never leaving his bed. And the Khai, in his anger, had locked Seedless away. As detail grew upon detail, problem upon problem, Otah felt his chest grow tighter. Liat wouldn’t meet his gaze, and Otah wished Maati were elsewhere, so that he could take her in his arms. But he also knew there was nowhere else that Maati could turn. It was right that he’d come here. When Maati’s voice trailed off at last, Otah realized the boy was looking at him, waiting for something. For a decision.
    ‘So he admitted to it,’ Otah said, thinking as he spoke. ‘Seedless confessed to the Khai.’
    Maati took a pose of confirmation.
    ‘Why?’ Otah asked. ‘Did he really think it would break Heshaikvo’s spirit? That he’d be freed?’
    ‘Of course he did,’ Liat snapped, but Maati took a more thoughtful expression and shook his head.
    ‘Seedless hates Heshai,’ Maati said. ‘It was a flaw in the translation. Or else not a flaw but . . . a part of it. He may have only done it because he knew how badly Heshai would be hurt.’
    ‘Heshai?’ Liat demanded. ‘How badly Heshai would be hurt? What about Maj? She didn’t do anything to deserve this. Nothing!’
    ‘Seedless . . . doesn’t care about her,’ Maati said.
    ‘Will Heshai release him?’ Otah asked. ‘Did it work?’
    Maati took a pose that both professed ignorance and apologized for it. ‘He’s not well. And I don’t know what confining Seedless will do to him—’
    ‘Who cares?’ Liat said. Her voice was bitter. ‘What does it matter whether Heshai suffers? Why shouldn’t he? He’s the one who controls the andat. If he was so busy whoring and drinking that he couldn’t be bothered to do his work, then he ought to be punished.’
    ‘That’s not the issue, love,’ Otah said, his gaze still on Maati.
    ‘Yes, it is,’ she said.
    ‘If the poet wastes away and dies or if this drives him to take his own life, the andat goes free. Unless . . .’
    ‘I’m not ready,’ Maati said. ‘I’ve only just arrived here, really. A student might study under a full poet for years before he’s ready to take on the burden. And even then sometimes people just aren’t the right ones. I might not be able to hold Seedless at all.’
    ‘Would you try?’
    It took a long time before Maati answered, and when he did, his voice was small.
    ‘If I failed, I’d pay his price.’
    ‘What’s his price?’ Liat asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Maati said. ‘The only way to find out is to fail. Death, most likely. But . . . I could try. If there was no one else to.’
    ‘That’s insane,’ Liat said, looking to Otah for support. ‘He can’t do that. It would be like asking him to jump off a cliff and see if he could learn to fly on the way down.’
    ‘There isn’t the choice. There aren’t very many successful bindings. There aren’t many poets who even try them. There may be no replacement for Seedless, and even if there were, it might not work well with the cotton trade,’ Maati said. He looked pale and ill. ‘If no one else can take the poet’s place, it’s my duty—’
    ‘It hasn’t come to that. With luck, it won’t,’ Otah said. ‘Perhaps there’s another poet who’s better suited for the task. Or some other andat that could take Seedless’ place if he escaped—’
    ‘We could send to the Dai-kvo,’ Liat said. ‘He’d know.’
    ‘I can’t go,’ Maati said. ‘I can’t leave Heshai-kvo here.’
    ‘You can write,’ Liat said. ‘Send a courier.’
    ‘Can you do that?’ Otah asked. ‘Write it all out, everything: the sad trade, Seedless, how the Khai’s responded. What you’re afraid may happen. All of it.’
    Maati