Utani being fixed on the dais.
Fatter Dasin wore a robe of black and a red ocher that suited his
complexion better than Otah would have expected. Issandra sat at his
side in a Galtic gown of yellow lace over a profoundly celebratory red.
Danat knelt before them both.
"Farrer Dasin of House Dasin, I place myself before you as a man before
my elder," Danat said. "I place myself before you and ask your
permission. I would take Ana, your blood issue, to be my wife. If it
does not please you, please only say so, and accept my apology."
The whisperers carried his words out through the hall like wind over
wheat. Ana Dasin herself knelt on a cushion off to her parents' right
and Danat had been sitting to Otah's left. The girl's gown had been an
issue of long and impassioned debate, for the swell of her belly was
unmistakable. With only a few minor modifications, the tailors could
have done much to hide it. Instead, she had chosen Galtic dress with its
tight fittings and waist-slung ribbons, which would make it clear to the
farthest spectator in the temple that summer would come well after the
child. Etiquette masters from both courts had gone at the issue like pit
dogs for the better part of a week. Otah thought she looked beautiful
with her garland of ribbons. Her father apparently thought so as well.
Instead of the traditional reply, I am not displeased, Fatter looked
Danat square in the eyes, then turned to Ana.
"Bit late for asking, isn't it?" Fatter said.
Otah laughed, giving his implicit permission for all the court to laugh
with him. Danat grinned as well and took a pose of gratitude somewhat
more profound than strictly required. Danat rose, came to Otah, and
knelt again.
"Most High?" he said, his mouth quirked in an odd smile. Otah pretended
to consider the question. The court laughed again, and he rose to his
feet. It felt good to stand up, though before it was all finished, he'd
be longing to sit down again.
"Let it be known that I have authorized this match. Let the blood of the
House Dasin enter for the first time into the imperial lineage. And let
all who honor the Khaiem respect this transfer and join in our
celebration. The ceremony shall be held at once."
The whisperers carried it all, and moments later a priest came out,
intoning old words whose meanings were more than half forgotten. The man
was older than Otah, and his expression was as serene and joyous as that
of a man too drunk to stagger. Otah took a welcoming pose, accepted one
in return, and stepped back to let the ceremony proper begin.
Danat accepted a long, looped cord and hung it over his arm. The priest
intoned the ritual questions, and Danat made his answers. Otah's back
began to spasm, but he kept still. The end of the cord, cut and knotted,
passed from Danat to the priest and then to Ana's hand. The roar that
rose up drowned out the whisperers, the priest, the world. The courts of
two nations stood cheering, all decorum forgotten. Ana and Danat stood
together with a length of woven cotton between them, grinning and
waving. Otah imagined their child stirring in its dark sleep, aware of
the sound if not its meaning.
Balasar Gice, wearing the robe of a high councilman, was at the front of
the crowd, clapping his small hands together with tears running down his
cheeks. Otah felt a momentary pang of sorrow. Sinja hadn't seen it.
Kiyan hadn't. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that the moment
wasn't his. The celebration was not of his life or his love or the
binding of his house to a wayhouse keeper from Udun. It was Danat's and
Ana's, and they at least were transcendent.
The rest of the ceremony took twice as long as it should have, and by
the time the procession was ready to carry them out and through the
streets of Utani, the sunset was no more than a memory.
Otah allowed himself to be ushered to a high balcony that looked down
upon the city. The air was bitterly cold, but a cast-iron brazier was
hauled out, coals already bright red so that Otah could feel the searing
heat to his left while his right side froze. He huddled in a thick wool
blanket, following the wedding procession with his eyes. Each street
they turned down lit itself, banners and streamers of cloth arcing
through the air.
Here is where it begins, he thought. And then, Thank all the gods it
isn't me down there.
A servant girl stepped onto the balcony and took a pose that announced a
guest. Otah wasn't about to stick his hands out of the blanket.
"Who?"
"Farrer Dasin-cha," the girl said.
"Bring him here," Otah said. "And some wine. Hot wine."
The girl took a pose that accepted the charge and turned to go.
"Wait," Otah said. "What's your name?"
"Toyani Vauatan, Most High," she said.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty summers."
Otah nodded. In truth, she looked almost too young to be out of the
nursery. And yet at her age, he had been on a ship halfway to the
eastern islands, two different lives already behind him. He pointed out
at the city.
"It's a different world now, Toyani-cha. Nothing's going to stay as it was.
The girl smiled and took a pose that offered congratulations. Of course
she didn't understand. It was unfair to expect her to. Otah smiled and
turned back to the city, the celebration. He didn't see when she left.
The wedding procession had just turned down the long, wide road that led
to the riverfront when Farrer stepped out, the girl Toyani behind them
bearing two bowls of wine that plumed with steam and a chair for the
newcomer without seeming awkward or out of place. It was, Otah supposed,
an art.
"We've done it," Fatter said when the girl had gone.
"We have," Otah agreed. "Not that I've stopped waiting for the next
catastrophe."
"I think the last one will do."
Otah sipped his wine. The spirit hadn't quite been cooked out of it, and
the spices tasted rich and strange. He had been dreading this
conversation, but now that it had come, it wasn't as awful as he'd feared.
"The report's come," Otah said.
"The first one, yes. Everyone on the High Council had a copy this
morning. Just in time for the festivities. I thought it was rude at the
time, but I suppose it gives us all more reason to get sloppy drunk and
weep into our cups."
Otah took a pose of query simple enough for the Galt to follow.
"Every city is in ruins except for Kirinton. They did something clever
there with street callers and string. I don't fully understand it. The
outlying areas suffered, though not quite as badly. The first guesses
are that it will take two generations just to put us back where we were."