only to let the patrons coming in see that they were there.
There was no place safer than the Saraykeht soft quarter at night, and no place more dangerous. Here alone, she suspected, of all the cities of the Khaiem, no one would be attacked, no one raped, no one killed except perhaps the whores and showfighters who worked there. For their clients, every opportunity to twist a mind with strange herbs, to empty a pocket with dice and khit tiles, or to cheapen sex as barter would be made available in perfect safety. It was a beautiful, toxic dream, and she feared it as she loved it. It was a part of her city.
The soft, tentative knock at her door didn’t startle her. She had been dreading it as much as expecting it. She turned, taking up her cane, and walked down the long, curved stair to the street level. The door was barred, not from fear, but to keep drunken laborers from mistaking hers for a comfort house. She lifted the bar and swung the door aside.
Liat Chokavi stood in the street, jaw tight, eyes cast down. She was a lovely little thing - brown eyes the color of milky tea and golden skin, smooth as an eggshell. If the girl’s face was a little too round to be classically beautiful, her youth forgave her.
Amat Kyaan raised her left hand in a gesture that greeted her student. Liat adopted an answering pose of gratitude at being received, but the stance was undercut by the defensiveness of her body. Amat Kyaan suppressed a sigh and stood back, motioning the girl inside.
‘I expected you earlier,’ she said as she closed the door.
Liat walked to the foot of the stair, but there paused and turned in a formal pose of apology.
‘Honored teacher,’ she began, but Amat cut her off.
‘Light the candles. I will be up in a moment.’
Liat hesitated, but then turned and went up. Amat Kyaan could trace the girl’s footsteps by the creaking of the timbers. She poured herself a cup of limed water, then went slowly up the stairs. The salve helped. Most days she woke able to convince herself that today there would be no trouble, and by nightfall her joints ached. Age was a coward and a thief, and she wasn’t about to let it get the better of her. Still, as she took the steps to her workroom, she trusted as much of her weight to the cane as she could.
Liat sat on the raised cushion beside Amat Kyaan’s oaken writing desk. Her legs were tucked up under her, her gaze on the floor. The lemon candles danced in a barely felt breeze, the smoke driving away the worst of the flies. Amat sat at the window and arranged her robe as if she were preparing herself for work.
‘Old Sanya must have had more objections than usual. He’s normally quite prompt. Give the changes here, let’s survey the damage, shall we?’
She held one hand out to the apprentice. A moment later, she lowered it.
‘I misplaced the contracts,’ Liat said, her voice a tight whisper. ‘I apologize. It is entirely my fault.’
Amat sipped her water. The lime made it taste cooler than it was.
‘You misplaced the contracts?’
‘Yes.’
Amat let the silence hang. The girl didn’t look up. A tear tracked down the round cheek.
‘That isn’t good,’ Amat said.
‘Please don’t send me back to Chaburi-tan,’ the girl said. ‘My mother was so proud when I was accepted here and my father would—’
Amat raised a hand and the pleading stopped, Liat’s gaze fixed on the floor. With a sigh, Amat pulled a bundle of papers from her sleeve and tossed them at Liat’s knees.
At least the girl hadn’t lied about it.
‘One of the laborers found this between the bales from the Innis harvest,’ Amat said. ‘I gave him your week’s wages as a reward.’
Liat had the pages in her hands, and Amat watched the tension flow out of her, Liat’s body collapsing on itself.
‘Thank you,’ the girl said. Amat assumed she meant some god and not herself.
‘I don’t suppose I need to tell you what would have happened if these had
There was no place safer than the Saraykeht soft quarter at night, and no place more dangerous. Here alone, she suspected, of all the cities of the Khaiem, no one would be attacked, no one raped, no one killed except perhaps the whores and showfighters who worked there. For their clients, every opportunity to twist a mind with strange herbs, to empty a pocket with dice and khit tiles, or to cheapen sex as barter would be made available in perfect safety. It was a beautiful, toxic dream, and she feared it as she loved it. It was a part of her city.
The soft, tentative knock at her door didn’t startle her. She had been dreading it as much as expecting it. She turned, taking up her cane, and walked down the long, curved stair to the street level. The door was barred, not from fear, but to keep drunken laborers from mistaking hers for a comfort house. She lifted the bar and swung the door aside.
Liat Chokavi stood in the street, jaw tight, eyes cast down. She was a lovely little thing - brown eyes the color of milky tea and golden skin, smooth as an eggshell. If the girl’s face was a little too round to be classically beautiful, her youth forgave her.
Amat Kyaan raised her left hand in a gesture that greeted her student. Liat adopted an answering pose of gratitude at being received, but the stance was undercut by the defensiveness of her body. Amat Kyaan suppressed a sigh and stood back, motioning the girl inside.
‘I expected you earlier,’ she said as she closed the door.
Liat walked to the foot of the stair, but there paused and turned in a formal pose of apology.
‘Honored teacher,’ she began, but Amat cut her off.
‘Light the candles. I will be up in a moment.’
Liat hesitated, but then turned and went up. Amat Kyaan could trace the girl’s footsteps by the creaking of the timbers. She poured herself a cup of limed water, then went slowly up the stairs. The salve helped. Most days she woke able to convince herself that today there would be no trouble, and by nightfall her joints ached. Age was a coward and a thief, and she wasn’t about to let it get the better of her. Still, as she took the steps to her workroom, she trusted as much of her weight to the cane as she could.
Liat sat on the raised cushion beside Amat Kyaan’s oaken writing desk. Her legs were tucked up under her, her gaze on the floor. The lemon candles danced in a barely felt breeze, the smoke driving away the worst of the flies. Amat sat at the window and arranged her robe as if she were preparing herself for work.
‘Old Sanya must have had more objections than usual. He’s normally quite prompt. Give the changes here, let’s survey the damage, shall we?’
She held one hand out to the apprentice. A moment later, she lowered it.
‘I misplaced the contracts,’ Liat said, her voice a tight whisper. ‘I apologize. It is entirely my fault.’
Amat sipped her water. The lime made it taste cooler than it was.
‘You misplaced the contracts?’
‘Yes.’
Amat let the silence hang. The girl didn’t look up. A tear tracked down the round cheek.
‘That isn’t good,’ Amat said.
‘Please don’t send me back to Chaburi-tan,’ the girl said. ‘My mother was so proud when I was accepted here and my father would—’
Amat raised a hand and the pleading stopped, Liat’s gaze fixed on the floor. With a sigh, Amat pulled a bundle of papers from her sleeve and tossed them at Liat’s knees.
At least the girl hadn’t lied about it.
‘One of the laborers found this between the bales from the Innis harvest,’ Amat said. ‘I gave him your week’s wages as a reward.’
Liat had the pages in her hands, and Amat watched the tension flow out of her, Liat’s body collapsing on itself.
‘Thank you,’ the girl said. Amat assumed she meant some god and not herself.
‘I don’t suppose I need to tell you what would have happened if these had
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