audience. I would have turned her away, but under the circumstances ..."
"You did well," he said. "Take her to the autumn garden."
The servant took a pose that accepted the command, but then hesitated.
"Should I send for an outer robe, Most High?"
Otah looked down at the wrinkled fabric and wondered what Ana would see
if he met her like this: a man of great power and consequence at the end
of a long day's work, or an old slob in a cotton robe.
"Yes," he said with a sigh. "An outer robe would be welcome. And tea.
Bring us fresh tea. She might not care for it, but I want some."
The man scurried away. They had known where he was, and that he didn't
wish to be disturbed. And they had known when to disturb him. To be the
Emperor of the Khaiem was above all else to be known by people he did
not know. He had discovered that truth a thousand times before, and
likely would do so a thousand times again, and each one discomforted him.
The autumn garden was nestled within the palaces. Trees and vines hid
the stone walls, and paper lanterns gave the flagstone path a soft
light. Near the center, a small brass fountain, long given to verdigris,
chuckled to itself and a small wooden pavilion rested in the darkness.
Otah walked down the path, still tugging the black and silver outer robe
into place. Ana Dasin sat in the pavilion, her gaze on the water
sluicing over bronze. The tea, set on a lacquered tray, had preceded him
as if the servants had anticipated that he would ask for it as well and
had had it ready.
Otah gathered himself. He was almost certain that Danat had already had
his second meeting with the girl. Hanchat Dor, Danat's rival, was set to
be freed in the morning. Otah found himself curious to see who Ana Dasin
was in these circumstances.
"Ana," he said in her language. "I had not expected your company."
The girl stood. The soft light made her face rounder than it was, her
eyes darker. She was wearing a dress of Galtic cut with pearls
embroidered down the sleeves. Her hair, which had been pulled back into
a severe formality, was escaping. Locks hung at the side of her face
like silken banners draped from towers' windows.
"Emperor Machi. I have to thank you for seeing me so late," she said.
Her voice was hard, but not accusatory. Otah caught the faint scent of
distilled wine. The girl was fortified with drink, but not yet dulled by it.
"I am an old man," Otah said as he poured pale tea into two porcelain
bowls. "I need less sleep than I once did. Here, take one."
His little act of kindness seemed to make her stiffer and less pleased,
but she accepted the bowl. Otah sat, blowing across the tea's steaming
surface.
"I've come ..."
He waited.
"I've come to apologize," she said. She spoke the words as if she were
vomiting.
Otah sipped his tea. It was perfectly brewed, the leaves infusing the
water with a taste like summer sun and cut grass. It made the moment
even more pleasant, and he wondered if he was being unkind by taking
pleasure in Ana's predicament.
"May I ask what precisely you wish to apologize for," Otah said. "I
would hate to have any further misunderstandings between us."
Ana sat, putting the bowl on the bench at her side. The porcelain
clicked against the stone.
"I presented myself poorly," she said. "I ... set out to humiliate you
and Danat. That was uncalled for. I could have made my feelings known in
private."
"I see," Otah said. "And is that all?"
"I would like to thank you for the mercy you've shown to Hanchat."
"It's Danat you should thank for that," Otah said. "I only respected his
wishes."
"Not every parent respects her child," Ana said, then looked away, lips
pressed thin. Her child, meaning Issandra. Ana was right. The mother was
indeed scheming against her own daughter, and Otah had made himself a
party to the plot. He would not have done it to his own child. He took
another sip of his tea. It wasn't quite as pleasant as the first.
The fountain muttered to itself, the wind sighed. Here was the moment
that chance had given him, and he wasn't sure how to use it. Ana, on
whom all his plans rested, had come to him. There was something here,
some word or phrase, some thought, that would narrow the distance
between them. And in the space of a few more breaths, she would have
collected herself again and gone.
"I should apologize to you as well," Otah said. "I forget sometimes that
my view on the world isn't the only one. Or even the only correct one. I
doubt you would have been driven to humiliate me if I hadn't done the
same to you."
Her gaze shifted back to him. Whatever she had expected of him, it
hadn't been this.
"I went to the wives of the councillors. There was very little time, and
I thought they would have greater sway than the children. Perhaps they
did. But I traded you as a trinket and didn't even think to ask you your
thoughts and feelings. That should have been beneath me."
"I'm a woman," Ana said, her tone managing to be both dismissive and a
challenge. I'm a woman, and we've always been traded, married off
shifted as the tokens of power and alliance. Otah smiled, surprised to
find himself possessed by genuine sorrow.
"Yes," he said. "You are. And with my sister, my wife, my daughter ...
of all the men in the world, I should have known what that meant, and I
forgot. I was in such a hurry to fix all the things I've done poorly
that I did this poorly too."
She was frowning at him again as she had once before, on the journey to
Saraykeht. He might have begun speaking in the language of birds or
belching stones, to judge by her expression. He chuckled.
"It was not my intention to treat you with disrespect, Ana-cha. That I
did so shames me. I accept your apology, and I hope that you will accept
mine.
"I won't marry him," she said.
Otah drank the rest of his tea and set the empty bowl mouth-down on the
lacquer tray.
"My son, you mean," Otah said. "You'll stay with this other man.
Hanchat? No matter what the price or who's called on to pay it, no man
deserves even your consideration? If it destroys your country and mine
both, it would still be just."
"I ... I don't ..." the girl said. "That isn't. .
"I know. I understand. I'll say this. Danat is a good man. Better than I
was at his age. But what you choose is entirely yours," Otah said. "If
we've established anything, you and I, it's that."
"Not his?"
"Danat's decision is whether he'll marry you," Otah said with a smile.
"Not the same thing at all."