"I heard you woke confused again," she said. "You were calling for
someone called Muhatia-cha?"
"I had a dream. That's all," Otah said. "Muhatia was my overseer back
when I was young. I dreamed that I was late for my shift. I needed to
get to the seafront before he docked my pay. That was all. I'm not
losing my mind, love. My health, maybe, but not my mind. Not yet."
"I didn't think you were. Turn here. Let me look at your eyes. Have the
headaches come back?"
"No," Otah said, and she knew by his voice he was lying. It was time to
stop asking details. There was only so much physician's attention her
father would permit. She sat back on the couch, and he let out a small,
satisfied breath.
"You saw Issandra Dasin?" she asked.
"Yes, yes. She spent the better part of the afternoon here," Otah said.
"The things they've done with Chaburi-Tan are amazing. I was thinking I
might go myself. Just to see them."
"It would be fascinating," Eiah agreed. "I hear Farrer-cha's doing well?"
"He's made more out of that city than I could have. But then I was never
particularly brilliant with administration. I had other skills, I
suppose," Otah said. "Enough about that. Tell me about your family. How
is Parit-cha? And the girls?"
Eiah let herself be distracted. Parit was well, but he'd been kept away
from their apartments three nights running by a boy who worked for House
Laarin who'd broken his leg falling off a wall. It had been a bad break,
and the fever hadn't gone down quickly enough to suit anyone. It seemed
as if the boy would live, and they were both happy to call that a
success. Of Otah's granddaughters, Mischa was throwing all her free time
into learning to dance every new form that came in from Galt, and
wearing the dance master's feet raw in the effort. Gaber had talked
about nothing besides the steam caravan for weeks, but Eiah suspected it
was more Calin's enthusiasm than her own. Gaber assumed that Calin rose
with the sun and set with the moon.
Eiah didn't realize how long she'd been telling the small stories of her
family until the overseer came out with an apologetic pose and announced
that the Emperor's meal was waiting. Otah made a show of rubbing his
belly, but when Eiah joined him, he ate very little. The meal was fresh
chicken cooked in last year's apricots, and it was delicious. She
watched her father pluck at the pale flesh.
He looked older than his years. His skin had grown as thin as paper; his
eyes were always wet. After his hands had fallen to their weakness, the
headaches had begun. Eiah had tried him on half a dozen different
programs of herbs and baths. She wasn't convinced he'd followed any of
them very closely.
"Stop," Otah said. Eiah took a pose that asked clarification. He frowned
at her, his eyebrows rising as he spoke. "You're looking at me as if I
were a particularly interesting bloodworm. I'm fine, Eiah-kya. I sleep
well, I wake full of energy, my bowels never trouble me, and my joints
don't ache. Everything that could be right about me is right. Now I'd
like to spend an evening with my daughter and not my physician, eh?"
"I'm sorry, Papa-kya," she said. "It's only that I worry."
"I know," he said, "and I forgive you. But don't let tomorrow steal
what's good about tonight. The future takes care of its own. You can
write that down if you like. The Emperor said it."
The flower that wilted last year is gone. Petals once fallen are fallen
forever.
IDAAN ROSE BEFORE THE DAWN AS SHE ALWAYS DID, PARTING THE NETTING
silently and stealthily walking out to her dressing chamber so as not to
disturb Cehmai. She was not so important a woman that the servants
wouldn't leave her be or that armsmen were needed to hold the utkhaiem
and councilmen at bay. She was not her brother. She picked a simple robe
of dusty red and rich blue and fastened all the ties herself. Then
sandals and a few minutes before a mirror with a brush and a length of
stout ribbon to bring her hair into something like order.
No one had assigned her the daily task of carrying breakfast to the
Emperor. It was one she'd simply taken on. After two weeks of arriving
at the kitchens to collect the tray with its plates and bowl and teapot,
the servant who had been the official bearer simply stopped coming.
She'd usurped the work.
That morning, they'd prepared honey bread and raisins, hot rice in
almond milk, and a slab of roast pork with a pepper glaze. Idaan knew
from experience that she would end with the pork and the honey bread.
The rice, he might eat.
The path to the Emperor's apartments was well-designed. The balance
between keeping the noises and interruptions away-not to mention the
constant possibility of fire-and getting the food to him still warm
meant a long, straight journey almost free from the meanderings to which
the palaces were prone. Archways of stone marked the galleries.
Tapestries of lush red and gold hung on the walls. The splendor had long
since ceased to take her breath away. She had lived in palaces and mud
huts and everything in between. The only thing that astounded her with
any regularity was that so late in her life, she had found her family.
Cehmai alone had been miraculous. The last decade serving in court had
been something greater than that. She had become an aunt to Danat and
Eiah and Ana, a sister to Otah Machi. Even now, her days had the feel of
relaxing in a warm bath. It wasn't something she'd expected. For that,
it wasn't something she'd thought possible. The nightmares almost never
came now; never more than once or twice in a month. She was ready to
grow old here, in these halls and passageways, with these people. If
anyone had the poor judgment to threaten her people, Idaan knew she
would kill the idiot. She hoped the occasion wouldn't arise.
She knew something was wrong as soon as she passed through the arch that
led to Otah's private garden. Four servants stood in a clot at the side
door, their faces pale, their hands in constant motion. With a feeling
of dread, she put the lacquer tray on a bench and came forward. The
oldest of the servants was weeping, his face blotchy and his eyes
swollen. Idaan looked at the man, her expression empty. Whatever
strength remained in him left, and he folded to the ground sobbing.
"Have you sent for his children?" Idaan asked.
"I ... we only just ..."
Idaan raised her eyebrows, and the remaining servants scattered. She
stepped over the weeping man and made her way into the private rooms.
All together, they were smaller than Idaan's old farmhouse. It didn't
take long to find him.
Otah sat in a chair as if he were only sleeping. The window before him
was open, the shutters swaying slow and languorous in the breeze. The
motion reminded her of seaweed. His robe was yellow shot with black. His
eyes were barely open and as empty as marbles. Idaan made herself touch