Tiaan expected the Matah to talk her out of it, but she sat on the stone seat, saying nothing. The eyes were penetrating, though Tiaan could read nothing in them.

'Do you not care if I live or die?' Tiaan asked, trying to provoke a reaction. Why had the Matah saved her from Nish, only to ignore her now?

'I care,' said the Matah, 'for I see you have much to offer. But if you really did plan to take your life, and I convinced you not to, you would do it as soon as my back was turned.' She stared at the ice cap. The wind whistled around the edge of the platform.

Tiaan regarded her blue, throbbing toes. Better get inside before she got frostbite. She was not going to end it after all.

'I have a great deal to put right.' Tiaan turned away from the edge.

'I hoped you would think that way,' said the Matah, 'since I foresee that you have a part to play in the coming war. Come in out of the cold.'

Tiaan made no reply, but as the glass closed and they headed down the stair, she was thinking: I will have my revenge on Minis and all his kind. I will bring them down if it takes the rest of my life. Her gaze settled on the grey head below her. The Matah was also Aachim. Must she destroy her as well?

The Matah waited for her at the bottom. 'Anything else you'd like to tell me, Tiaan?'

Tiaan flushed. 'No,' she said softly. 'I don't know what's going on. Why do folk do the things they do?'

'Because they must.'

'I've never been able to understand people. Machines are so much easier, and more reliable.'

'That would appear to be your problem.'

F OUR

They went down, then up on the other side, to a small set of chambers simply furnished in metal and fabrics as smooth as silk. They ate together. It was plain fare – black grainy bread, preserved meat so hard that the Matah shaved curls from it with a knife, cheese layered with mustard seeds and something yellow that had the crispness and pungency of onion. The meal was settled with a glass each of a sublime green wine.