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always had had a good smile.
    "Have I missed anything?" he asked with a yawn.
    "We've reached the low towns outside AmnatTan," Liat said. "We'll be docked soon."
    Nayiit swung his legs around, planting them on the deck to keep his hammock from rocking. He looked ruefully around the tiny cabin and sighed.
    "I'll start packing our things, then," he said.
    "Pack them separate," she said. "I'll go the rest of the way myself. I want you back in Saraykeht."
    Nayiit took a pose that refused this, and Liat felt her jaw tighten.
    "We've had this conversation, Mother. I'm not putting you out to walk the North Road by yourself."
    "I'll hire a seat on a caravan," she said. "Spring's just opening, and there are hound to be any number of them going to Cetani and back. It's not such a long journey, really."
    "Good. Then it won't take too long for us to get there."
    "You're going hack," Liat said.
    Nayiit sighed and gathered himself visibly.
    "Fine," he said. "Make your argument. Convince me."
    Liat looked at her hands. It was the same problem she'd fought all through the long winter. Each time she'd come close to speaking the truth, something had held her hack. Secrets. It all came back to secrets, and if she spoke her fears to Nayiit, it would mean telling him things that only she knew, things that she had hoped might die with her.
    "Is it about my father?" he said, and his voice was so gentle, Liat felt tears gathering in her eyes.
    "In a way," she said.
    "I know he's at the court of Machi," Nayiit said. "There's no reason for me to fear him, is there? Everything you've said of him-"
    "No, Maati would never hurt you. Or me. It's just ... it was so long ago. And I don't know who he's become since then."
    Nayiit leaned forward, taking her hands in his.
    "I want to meet him," he said. "Not because of who he was to you, or who he is now. I want to meet him because he's my father. Ever since Tai came, I've been thinking about it. About what it would be for me to walk away from my boy and not come hack. About choosing something else over my family."
    "It wasn't like that," Liat said. "Maati and I were . .
    "I've come this far," he said gently. "You can't send me hack now."
    "You don't understand," she said.
    "You can explain to me while I pack our things."
    In the end, of course, he won. She had known he would. Nayiit could be as soft and gentle and implacable as snowfall. He was his father's son.
    The calls of gulls grew louder as they neared the shore, the scent of smoke more present. The docks were narrower than the seafront of Saraykeht. A ship that put in here for the winter had to prepare itself to he icebound, immobile. 'T'rade was with the eastern islands and Yalakeht; it was too far from the summer cities or Bakta or Galt for ships to come from those distant ports.
    The streets were black cobbles, and ice still haunted the alleys where shadows held the cold. Nayiit carried their crate strapped across his back. The wide leather belt cut into his shoulders, but he didn't complain. He rarely complained about anything, only did what he thought best with a pleasant smile and a calm explanation ready to hand.
    Liat stopped at a firekeeper's kiln to ask directions to the compound of House Radaani and was pleased to discover it was nearby. Mother and son, they walked the fog-shrouded streets until they found the wide arches that opened to the courtyard gardens of the Radaani, torches flickering and guttering in the damp air. A boy in sodden robes rushed up and lifted the crate from Nayiit's back to his own. Liat was about to address him when another voice, a woman's voice lovely and low as a singer's, came from the dim.
    "Liatcha, I must assume. I'd sent men to meet you at the docks, but I'm afraid they came too late."
    The woman who stepped out from the fog had seen no more than twenty summers. Her robes were white snowfox, eerie in the combination of pale mourning colors and the luxury of the fur. Her hair shone black with cords of silver