The Price of Spring (Long Price Quartet #4)(88)

He began inching away from the door. He could follow the walls around the building, and find the deck. If he waited long enough, Eiah would come looking for him, and that might well be one of the first places she'd look. He tried to recall where the deck's railing began and ended. He had been there for hours earlier, but now he found the details escaped him.

He stumbled over a log and bruised his knee, but he didn't cry out. The cold was beginning to numb him. He reached the corner and a set of stairs he didn't remember. The prospect of sitting in the cold at the edge of the unseen lake was becoming less and less sustainable. He started devising stories that would cover his blindness. He could go near the common room, cry out, and collapse. If he kept his eyes closed, he could feign unconsciousness. They would bring Eiah to him.

He stepped in something wet and soft, like mud but with a sudden, billowing smell of rotting plants. Maati lifted his foot slowly to keep the muck from pulling off his boot. It occurred to him for the first time that they had done this-precisely this-to a nation.

His boot was heavy and made a wet sound when he put weight on it, but it didn't slip. He started making his way back toward where he'd been. He thought he'd made it halfway there when the world suddenly clicked back into place. His hands pink and gray against the damp, black wood. The thin fog hardly worth noticing. He turned and found Vanjit sitting cross-legged on the stones of the courtyard. Her dark eyes were considering. He wondered how long she'd been watching.

"What you said before? It was uncalled for," she said. Her voice was steady as stone, and as unforgiving.

Maati took a pose that offered apology but also pointedly did not end the conversation. Vanjit considered him.

"I love Eiah-cha," she said, frowning. "I would never, never wish her ill. Suggesting that I want her to fail just so I could remain the only poet ... it's madness. It hurts me that you would say it."

"I never did," Maati said. "I never said anything like it. If that's what you heard, then something else is happening here."

Vanjit shifted back, surprise and dismay in her expression. Her hands moved toward some formal pose, but never reached it. The shriek came from within the wayhouse. The music stopped. Vanjit stood up muttering something violent and obscene, but Maati was already moving to the door.

The large room was silent, drums and flute abandoned where they had fallen. The woman who'd screamed was sitting on a stool, her hands still pressed to her mouth, her face bloodless, and her gaze fixed on the archway that led to the private rooms. No one spoke. Clarity-of-Sight stood in the archway, its hands on the wall, its tiny hips swaying crazily as it lost and regained and lost its balance. It saw Vanjit, let out a high squeal, and waved its tiny arms before sitting down hard and suddenly. The delight never left its face.

"It is," someone said in a voice woven from awe and tears. "It's a baby."

And as if the word had broken a dam, chaos flowed through the wayhouse. Vanjit dashed forward, her hands low to scoop up the andat, and the crowd surged with her. The chorus of questions and shouts rose, filling the air. Maati started forward, then stopped. The older of the drummers appeared from amid the throng and embraced him, tears of joy in the man's eyes.

Through the press of the crowd, Maati saw Eiah standing alone. Her expression was cold. Maati pulled back from his grinning companion and struggled toward her. He heard Vanjit talking high and fast behind him, but couldn't make out the words. There were too many voices layered over it.

"Apparently we've decided not to travel quietly," Eiah said in tone of cold acid.

"Get the others," he said. "I'll prepare the cart. We can leave in the night."

"You think anyone here is going to sleep tonight?" Eiah said. "There's a baby. A full-blooded child of the cities, and Vanjit the mother. If the gods themselves walked in the door right now, they'd have to wait for a room. They'll think it's to do with me. The physician who has found a way to make women bear. They'll hound me like I've stolen their teeth."

"I'm sorry," Maati said.

"Word of this is going to spread. Father's going to hear of it, and when he does, he'll be on our heels."

"Why would he think it was you?"

"Galt went blind, and he headed west. For Pathai. For me," Eiah said.

"He can't know you're part of this," Maati said.

"Of course he can," Eiah said. "I am, and he isn't dim. I didn't think it was a problem when no one knew who or where we were."

A round of cheering broke out, and the wayhouse keeper appeared as if from nowhere, two bottles of wine in each hand. Vanjit had been ushered to a seat by the fire grate. Clarity-of-Sight was in her arms, beaming at everyone who came close. Vanjit's cheeks were flushed, but she seemed pleased. Proud. Happy.

"This was my mistake," Maati said. "My failure as much as anything. I distracted her from the thing. It has more freedom when her mind is elsewhere."

Eiah turned her head to look at him. There was nothing soft in her eyes. Maati drew himself up, frowning. Anger bloomed in his breast, but he couldn't say why or with whom.

"Why is it so important to you," Eiah asked, "that nothing she does be wrong?"

And with a sensation that was almost physical, Maati knew what he had been trying for months to ignore. A wave of vertigo shook him, but he forced himself to speak.