at her son — a man she had not seen for almost twenty years — and spared no glance for his wife and son.
Anji kneeled to touch her right slippered foot with his right hand, then brushed his fingers against his chest and his forehead before he looked up at her.
'Honored Mother.' He did not grovel. His pride elevated him. Whatever his true feelings were, he kept them reined in.
No one spoke as the mother examined her son. If joy or memory or tears welled deep in that steel countenance, Mai could not perceive them. She took her time looking him over, much — Mai supposed — as Anji had carefully examined Atani when he had first held the little boy. Banners snapped; ribbons fluttered. Hooves shifted as horses grew restless. The sun blazed on Mai's back, but her body shielded Atani within its shade.
'You look well enough, my son. Not handsome, I am afraid. But you have grown up strong and fit.' Nothing frail about her voice! Or her first line of attack, cutting straight for a vanity he did not, in fact, possess. 'Possibly you're even competent, if the reports I have heard are true.'
Mai was abruptly glad he had made no gesture commanding Mai to bow and scrape as he had done, for even fixed on her son, his mother's gaze had the biting remoteness of a desert adder's. Mai was pretty sure she could not bring herself to show obeisance to a woman who refused to show even one drop of affection for the son whose life she had saved years ago, a child she had not seen in twenty years. Yet she must be strong enough to welcome the woman's overtures, should they ever come.
'I am come from Sirniaka, Son. Your half brother Azadihosh is dead. I do not regret his death, or his family's slaughter, since it was his people who wished to kill you when they took pride of place in the palace. So do the gods work, in cutting the throats of those who forget that fate has a hand on every knife. Your cousins now hold the throne and its power. I am released from my prison and return to comfort you, Son. I do regret the many years we have been forced to live apart.'
For all the sentiment of the words, her voice did not quiver. Still, incredibly, she managed not to look at Mai or the baby.
'Why did they let you go?' he asked. No pretty speeches; no joyful embraces. They got straight down to business. 'Once a woman is brought into the emperor's palace, she is released only by death.'
'Not even then,' she said with a curt laugh, 'for the white robes capture her spirit in their blessing bowls and confine it forever to the jar of misery that is all the afterlife they will permit women.' Her smile held bitter victory. 'Your cousins feared what might happen if they attempted to have me-put down like a broken horse. My brother betrayed me when he sold me to the emperor in exchange for border trading rights, but he made sure the Sirni understood that my life and honor must never be tarnished. However, your cousins released me to act as their emissary.'
Her gaze flicked to Mai, like a blow: comprehensive, swift, and meant to make Mai flinch. Mai found her market smile and fixed it on like paint. The baby gurgled and reached one sweet little hand toward his father, babbling, 'Baba. Baba.'
'What business could my cousins have with me?' Anji asked as he smoothly took the baby out of Mai's arms and settled the silk-swaddled bottom on his upright thigh. He glanced down at the crowing infant. 'Hush, sunflower,' he said fondly.
Atani hushed, gazing raptly at his father.
The old woman's gaze tightened in exactly the way Anji's did when he was annoyed.
Mai felt her smile pinch toward a smirk, and she battled it back to the innocuously pleasant face she wore when men tried to grope her or women to cheat her. It was the face she had perfected through years of dealing with her hated Uncle Girish. Merciful One grant her open-heartedness! How could she have taken such a powerful and instantaneous dislike to a woman she did not even know?
The woman rose, and in rising displayed the smooth weave and magnificent embroidery of her gown. The silk was astoundingly rich and cunningly embroidered, a veritable treasure house of fabric. This was emperor's silk, not for the likes of a girl born to an insignificant sheep-herding clan in a dusty desert trading town.
'Your cousins are not unaware of the difficulty your existence poses to them. You have a legitimate claim to the imperial throne.'
'Which I forswore by leaving the palace. By going into exile, I became as one dead to the imperial court.'
'Dead to the court, but not dead in your physical form. The former is one style of death. The latter is more permanent. Naturally your cousin fears you may change your mind and choose to live. But your uncle, my brother, the var, might take it amiss if you were to die at the new emperor's hands.'
'My uncle, the var, ordered me killed. Were you unaware of the bargain he made with Azadihosh?'
'I hear whispers, as must any woman in the palace who values the life of her son. My brother desired an easy path into the rich trade offered by the border towns. Your half brother Farazadihosh was desperate. He was newly come to the throne. He suspected his cousins meant to contest him, and he knew they commanded better and more numerous troops than he did. He sought an ally. Your uncle my brother sought advantage.'
'And my life was the piece on the board my uncle was willing to sacrifice. Did that part of this tale escape you, Honored Mother?'
She brushed a hand over his head in an intimate manner, touching his topknot. 'Of course it did not escape me. Do you think it was chance you survived?'
'Commander Beje gave me the opportunity to escape with my life.'
'Did this surprise you?'
'It did, I admit it.'
Her disapproval flowed hot like the sun. 'It should not have. Your wife is Beje's daughter, a woman of suitable rank and noble lineage. I arranged the marriage myself through Beje's wife Cherfa when I sent you back to your uncle, the var, for safekeeping. Serpent and snake that he proved to be — my own brother! Hu! He had betrayed me beforehand by sending me to that terrible place. I should have expected nothing less from him. Naturally, in later years, when whispers reached my ears of my brother's further treachery, I turned to Cherfa again. She told Beje to aid you.'
'I never saw Beje's wife, although he mentioned her,' said Anji. 'I will say that Commander Beje behaved in all ways honorably toward me.'
'He is our ally. The soldiers he sent me are for you. He hands them over to your command.'
'Mine? Hu!' He blew out breath between his teeth, swiped a finger along his beard as he considered this unexpected harvest.
'Certainly I have no complaint of Commander Beje. However, I am no longer married to his daughter. She ran away into the west with a demon.'
'Hu! I had not imagined Beje and Cherfa could sire a weak-minded female. Still, she may yet be alive.'
'To me she is dead.'
She brushed his topknot again and this time found a corner of wrapped ribbon a hair out of place and tweaked it to fall into line. 'Too much pride is a weakness, Anjihosh.'
'Call it what you wish. I was married to her at one time. Now she is dead.' He hoisted Atani and, finally, rose; he was taller than his mother was but not enough for his height to intimidate.
His mother cut off his attack before he could pursue it further. 'Come inside, Anjihosh. We will drink a proper greeting.'
Her gesture commanded him to accompany her — into the house without taking off his boots! He could not refuse his mother, yet to walk with her forced Mai to walk behind.
Mai thought probably her ears were flaming red from anger, but she would not let her anger rule her. Miravia's clear gaze met hers. Mai gestured as the thought bloomed. Miravia mounted the steps to fall in beside her. Let Miravia stand for her allies, all the women and men in Astafero and Olo'osson who respected her as a woman of means.
Side by side, they walked behind Anji into the house that had once been hers and which was now transformed with all manner of fabrics and low couches and a slumbrous perfume of smoky incense that made her want to sneeze. Sirniakans evidently did not sit on pillows like civilized people. They raised themselves up on low couches, as if they could not be bothered to keep their floors clean by keeping people's dirt-laden shoes off the fine mats.
They tromped barbarically across the mats into an inner room whose doors lay open to receive light from the
