The women smiled, and one coughed behind a raised hand.

Grandmother was not done. "Can you weave?"

"Not well. Others in my household showed greater skill, so I was sent to other pursuits. Anyway, most of the weaving was done by our-ah-" Recalling Eliar's impassioned speech against slavery, she chose another word. "By our hirelings."

"What did you do?"

"I sold produce in the market."

"With your face uncovered?"

"I beg your pardon?'

"With your face uncovered? It is not the custom of my people for women to walk about in the streets exposed to the world's staring eye."

"I beg your pardon, verea, but it was not the custom in my country for women to conceal their faces."

"No need," said the old grandmother with a pointed smile, "to bite me, young one. It seems to me that those who set you in the marketplace hoped to gain by displaying your pretty face, as much as their produce. Can you keep an accounts book?"

This was too much! "Of course I can!"

"I'm finished," said the grandmother. A woman rose from a bench and took the old woman's cup. Another rose from a padded couch and helped the old grandmother to rise, then led her across the courtyard. None here wore slave bracelets. Mai could not distinguish between servants and family members. They moved off, some gathering up trays and cups and a few moving among the troughs to inspect the dusty soil and the spiky paradom. A pair found brooms and began sweeping the veranda.

A woman of middling years, similar in age to Mai's own mother, knelt beside Mai.

"We've much to do, as you can imagine, verea," she said with a kind smile. "There's a great deal of serious business in these preparations, and all must work if we wish Olossi to be ready to withstand what will come. You'll have to remain here. However, now that Grandmother has approved you, my daughter can keep spoken company with you."

"I thank you," said Mai. "I am called Mai, of the Mei clan. I never had a chance to say so."

Mai saw a resemblance to Eliar in the way the woman narrowed her eyes as she smiled. "It's not our way to exchange names as one might trade goods or coin in the marketplace. I am the mother of Eliar, who brought you here. Ah! Here she is."

The young woman who had smiled so sweetly at Mai last night appeared at the inner gate. She hurried across the courtyard. Her nose was red and her cheeks blushed as from steam, and the skin of her arms was damp to the elbows, pink with heat. Like her brother, she had a handsome face, rather square, with heavy eyebrows, a small nose, and eyes as black as ink and sharp as a brushstroke. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and bound atop her head under a beaded net.

She offered a courtesy to her mother, a dip of the knees, a crossing of the arms before her breast. Then she slid out of the outdoor slippers she was wearing and found a pair of indoor slippers from those lined up along the edge of the veranda. Eliar's mother left together with the other women. They left a single tray with a ceramic pot of khaif and six sticky buns, together with saucers, cups, and serving utensils.

Sheyshi rifled through their belongings and, finding a hem to repair, set to work. Priya sat quietly on a pillow at the edge of the veranda, watching the shadows change as the sun rose above the eastern wall. She had her eyes half closed as she did when she fell into the trance through which one rises to the heart of the Merciful One. Mai did not want to disturb her, so she walked out into the courtyard and sat on a bench in the shade of the grape arbor.

Eliar's sister settled beside Mai and, in a bold show of complicity, tucked her hand into Mai's elbow and pulled her close. "That can't have been fun. Did Grandmother pluck you, one feather at a time?"

"Something like that."

"Grandmother is nothing but an accounts book, figuring up the worth of everyone and every thing she encounters. You mustn't think she has taken a dislike to you. You're our guest, and she will treat you as such."

"Your mother said she had approved me."

"Yes! So she did. It was the cabbage."

From over the walls Mai heard the shouts and laughter of children, as bright and constant as a waterfall. A faint clacking serenaded them, which she identified as folk working at looms. She heard horses, and smelled their ordure. It seemed the stables lay close by. There rose also a tangy scent as of a sharp brew or cordial, and a whiff of a metallic vapor, like skeins of wool being set in alum.

"You can call me Miravia, by the way."

"My name is Mai."

There followed an awkward silence, and tremulous smiles.

"I was up at dawn cooking up a cordial," said Miravia, by way of making conversation. She displayed her arms. That moist sheen of water was evaporating swiftly in the waxing heat. "Hot work, I'll tell you! Steam boiling up! But I've been released from my duties for the day to act as your host."

"I beg your pardon. I do not mean to offend. Am I to stay here?"

"With us? Yes, of course. Eliar offered you guest rights. We are beholden now to meet the obligation."

"I meant, here." She indicated the courtyard and the veranda, meaning as well the chambers beyond.

"In the guest court? Yes, certainly. This is where we entertain all of our friends and guests." Miravia looked around. "It's nicer after the rains come, when there are flowers. It's rather dusty now. Is there anything else you need? The one thing we can't offer you is a bath beyond washing out of a tub of heated water. But I might be able to ask if you can be given an escort down to one of the bathhouses. There are several that my friends have mentioned as being of special quality. You would be safe there, and your escort would remain close by until you are returned to us here."

At some command Mai could not hear, the children quieted. Their silence, compared with the raucous activity that had come before it, was unnerving.

She lowered her voice in deference to the hushed children beyond the wall. "This is a lovely house and courtyard. I am so appreciative. It's just that I'm so restless, wondering what has happened."

"With your husband and his company? Eliar told me. He's quite wild that he wasn't allowed to ride out with them. I'm sorry for it, that you must wait while the men ride out. I feel the same frustration, although I beg you never to tell anyone and especially Grandmother that I ever said so."

"I won't. But don't you-your brother said-" Again, she found herself hesitant to speak, not knowing what was permitted and what might, and might not, be known. "Your brother Eliar mentioned that you visit the prison."

Miravia laughed. "Yes, I have managed that much. Because of the obligation. I bring food to those who are so destitute their families cannot feed them." Her tone had a bittersweet edge. Her smile seemed touched with anger. "Eliar told me that you and I were meant to rescue that reeve, but now even that small task has been taken away."

This passionate speech put Mai at ease. She began to feel that she might say anything, and not fear a sharp rejoinder. "I was surprised, too. It seems the council freed him."

"Someone did, but I don't think it was the council," said Miravia with a frown. "I'm glad for his sake, poor man. It's just . . . I had hoped for my own adventure. I'll have none of those once I am married."

"Is it already arranged?"

"Oh, it was arranged long ago," she said dismissively.

"Do you know him?"

"His clan lives in the north, in Toskala. I've never met him, but we correspond." She sighed. "He's a scholar. Everyone speaks highly of him. I'm sure he's very nice."

"You've never met?"

"Why should we? Our families arranged everything. Anyway, the roads are very dangerous these days. No one dares risk the journey. I ought to have been married last year, but they had to put it off. I'm glad of it. Is that bad?"

Mai could not resist a gaze that shared in equal parts a glimpse of disillusionment and the presence of an ability to be amused at one's own selfish, lost hopes. Like her brother, Miravia had charm and also a core of passion that, it seemed, she had learned to disguise.

"I was meant to marry a youth from another clan," Mai said, "but it came to nothing after the Qin officer decided he wanted to marry me. Of course my father could not refuse him."

"Well! That could be a disaster. Or a triumph."

Mai blushed.

"Just like the Tale of Patience! Love's hopes fulfilled!" Hearing her own voice ring out so clearly, Miravia pressed a hand over her lips and said, through her fingers, "Don't tell Grandmother I said so. I'm not supposed to know such stories. But I do."

"I don't know the Tale of Patience," said Mai. "Will you tell it to me?"

"You don't know it? Everyone knows it!"

"Not where I come from."

"If I tell you the Tale of Patience, you must tell me your story, your life in the faraway land, your marriage, your travels. Your adventures." Like her brother, she had a way of grinning that lit her as with fire from within. "How I want to hear it all!"

"I'll tell you, gladly. Will you have some khaif? I can get a cup."

"Oh, I must not." Seeing Mai's confusion, she added, "I'm not allowed, of course. Only adults can drink khaif."

"Surely you're as old as I am. I'm an Ox. When were you born?"

Miravia bent close, lips almost touching Mai's ear. The intimate gesture made Mai shudder with pleasure. "I was born in the Year of the Deer. But we're not supposed to know about that. The elders call it an ungodly custom, a superstitious way of naming the years instead of numbering them properly. Don't tell anyone. Please."

Mai grasped her hand between hers. "Of course I won't! But I still don't understand. If you're two years older than I am, then how am I allowed to drink khaif, while you are not? Is it because I'm a guest?"

"No, because you're an adult."

Mai shook her head. "I don't understand."

"You're married. And pregnant."

"He-ya! Tay ah en sai!"

The children's voices thundered out in a unison chant, echoed by three unison claps. A woman's powerful voice called a singsong phrase, and the children replied in a penetrating chorus, punctuating each phrase with unison claps. This call and response went on while Mai stared at Miravia and felt as though she had just been overtaken by a sandstorm.

From the veranda, Priya opened her eyes and turned to look toward Mai, a smile blooming on her round, dark face. Sheyshi's head remained bent over her sewing. At length, Mai discovered she still possessed a voice, although it had little enough strength to pierce the roar of the schoolroom chorus beyond the wall.

"What did you say?"

"You didn't know?"

Without warning, a deep clanging resonated out of the earth, so full and heavy that the whole world seemed to vibrate to its call. Mai pressed her hands to the bench. The sound throbbed up through the earth and the stone and into her body. Into her belly. Into her womb.

Could it be true?

Of course it could be true! It was even likely. Probable. Expected.

Yet she could not catch her breath. She could not even think, not with all that noise.

The children's chorus stammered into silence. A little voice began to wail in counterpoint to the shuddering bass roll of the bell.

Miravia rose, face flushed with something other than steam rising off a boiling cauldron. "There cries the Voice of the Walls. May the Hidden One protect us!"

The bell ceased ringing. The sudden, shocked silence lasted long enough for a breath to be drawn in. Then, on those wings, rose a clamor from all around, within the walls and without, as if every person in Olossi cried out at the same time. That roar was its own storm, battering the heavens.

"What does it mean?" Mai stammered.

"The Voice of the Wall is Olossi's alarm bell. When he sings, any person outside the walls knows to retreat to the safety of the walls. Once a year on Festival First Day, we hear him. Today he cries in truth. There must have come news. Bad news."

She looked down into Mai's face, and such a look of pity transformed Miravia's features that Mai began to weep. To think of Anji was to gasp in terror, so she must not think of him. She rose to grasp Miravia's hands.

"How can we find out what happened? Will the council meet? I have to go there."

"We can't. It's forbidden."

"Look!" cried Priya, pointing at the sky.

Eagles.

There were too many to count in one glance, circling above Olossi and then, on unseen winds, soaring away.

Mai had never possessed a reckless temperament. Always she had said to Ti: "The price is not worth what you hope to gain." But Anji had ridden out against impossible odds, because she had counseled the bold choice rather than the cautious one. He might be dead. He might never come back, and she would be alone, pregnant, abandoned in a foreign land, the very thing she had feared most when she left Kartu.

The sound of jangling chimes broke over them. The deep bell took up its tolling cry once again, a reverberation that seemed to crack out of the very roots of the earth. Its voice hammered Mai. Her hands were cold, and her chest had tightened until small shallow breaths were all she could manage.

After all those years tending her sanctuary so she might live with inner peace and no outward trouble, she could not accept waiting any longer.

"I must go to where the council meets. I will walk out those gates and make my way alone if I must, but I will go."

Miravia stared at her. Tears rolled as if jostled loose by the clangor of the bell. "I wish I could say so, and do so," she said in a voice so low Mai could scarcely hear it. "How I admire you! How I envy you!"

"If you can go to the prison, then why not to the council house?"

"To bring food to the prison and the healers' house is all they allow me, and only because the laws of the Hidden One cannot be twisted to forbid it."

"Well, then, dear one, I am sorry for it, if it makes you unhappy."

Miravia was not one to cry. Mai saw by the way she clenched her jaw and sucked in a ragged breath that she was used to swallowing her griefs and troubles, as she did now, but the pain still sat deep in her heart.

"It is nothing, compared to what you face. Wait here. I'll go find Eliar as quickly as I can. He'll know what to do."

"Does he know the law of the marketplace, in the Hundred?"

"Eliar? Surely he does, for you know, he must know it well in order to flout it. Yet I know it well, too. All the women of my people know it. It is one of our chief studies. Why?"

"I am a merchant, just as your people are."

The grin brightened her face. She laughed. "Well, then, my dear friend, let me help you. For there is so little else I am allowed to do."

Mai took her hands. "I'll accept your aid gladly. I swear to you I will repay it one day."