The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet #4)(56)

"You think so?"

"I do," she said. "You shouldn't think ill of her, Maati-kvo. I doubt she even knows what she's doing."

He folded his arms.

"I can't think it's simple for you either," he said. He had the sense of testing her, though he couldn't have said quite how. Vanjit's face was as clear and cloudless as the sky.

"It's perfect," she said. "Nowhere near as difficult as I'd thought. Only he makes me tired. No more than any mother with a new babe, though. I've been thinking of names. My cousin was named Ciiat, and he was about this old when the Galts came."

"It has a name already," Maati said. "Clarity-of-Sight."

"I meant a private name," Vanjit said. "One for just between the two of us. And you, I suppose. You are as near to a father as he has."

Maati opened his mouth, then closed it. Vanjit's hand slipped into his own, her fingers twined around his. Her smile seemed so genuine, so innocent, that Maati only shook his head and laughed. They remained there for the space of ten long breaths together, Vanjit sitting, Maati standing at her side, and the andat, shifting impatiently in her lap.

"Once Eiah's bound Wounded," Maati said, "we can all go back."

Vanjit made a small sound, neither cough nor gasp nor chuckle, and released Maati's hand. He glanced down. Vanjit smiled up at him.

"That will be good," she said. "This must all be hard for her as well. I wish there was something we could do to ease things."

"We'll do what can be done," Maati said. "It will have to be enough."

Vanjit didn't reply, and then raised her arm, pointing to the horizon.

"The brightest star," she said. "The one just coming up over the trees there? You see it?"

"I do," Maati said. It was one of the traveling stars that made their slow way through the night skies.

"It has moons around it. Three of them."

He laughed and shook his head, but Vanjit didn't join him. Her face was still and cool. Maati's laughter died.

"A star with ... moons?"

Vanjit nodded. Maati looked up again at the bright golden glimmer above the trees. He frowned first and then smiled.

"Show me," he said.

The fleet left Saraykeht on the first truly cool morning of autumn. A dozen ships with bright sails, and the marks of the Empire and Galt flying together from their masts. From the shore, Otah could no longer make out the shapes of the individual sailors and soldiers that crowded the distant decks, much less Sinja himself, dressed though the man was in gaudy commander's array. Fatter Dasin's ships still stood at anchor, and the other Galtic ships which had been promised but were not yet prepared to sail.

Sinja had met with him for the last time less than a hand and a half before he'd stepped onto the small boat to make his last inspection. Otah had made himself comfortable in a teahouse near the seafront, waiting for the ceremony that would send off the fleet. The walls of the place were stained with decades of lantern smoke, the floorboards spotted with the memory of spilled wine. Sitting at the back table, Otah had felt like a peacock in a hen coop. Sinja, breezing through the open doors in a robe of bright green and hung with silk scarves and golden pendants, had made him feel less ridiculous only by comparison.

"Well, this is your last chance to call the whole thing quits," Sinja said, dropping into the chair across from Otah as casually as a drinking companion. Otah fumbled in his sleeve for a moment and drew out the letters intended for the utkhaiem of Chaburi-Tan. Sinja took them, considered the bright thread that sewed each of them closed, and sighed.

"I'd feel better if Balasar was leading the first command," Sinja said.

"I thought you'd decided that he'd be better staying to arrange your reinforcements."

"Agreed. I agreed. He decided. And it does make sense. Farrer-cha and the others who've followed his example will be able to swallow all this better if they're answering to a Galtic general."

"And waiting for them to be ready ..." Otah said.

"Madness," Sinja said, slipping the letters into his own sleeve. "We've been too long already. I'm not saying that it's a bad plan. I only wish that there was a brilliant, well-crafted scheme that had Balasar-cha going out and me following behind to see whether the raiders sank everyone. Any word from Chaburi-Tan?"

"Nothing new," Otah said.

"Fair enough. We'll send word once we get there."

A silence followed, the unasked questions as heavy in the air as smoke. Otah leaned forward. Sinja knew about Idaan's list; Otah had told him in a fit of candor and regretted it since. Sinja knew better than to raise the issue where they might be overheard, but disapproval haunted his expression.

"There is some movement on the question of Obar State," Otah said. "Ashua Radaani bribed their ambassador. He has a list of men who have been in negotiation to break the eastern cities from the Empire with backing from Obar State. Two dozen men in four families."

"That's good work," Sinja said.

"He's asking permission to kill them."

"Sounds very tidy, assuming it's true and Radaani isn't involved in the conspiracy himself."

"Very tidy then too," Otah said. "I'm ordering the men brought to Utani. I can speak with them there."