He meant to leave her there. It seemed the right moment, and there was
nothing more he could think to say. As he bent forward, preparing to
rise, Ana spoke again.
"Your wife was a wayhouse keeper. You didn't put her aside. You never
took a second wife. It was an insult to the whole body of the utkhaiem."
"It was," Otah said and stood with a grunt. There had been a time he
could sit or stand in silence. "But I didn't marry her for the effect it
had on other people. I did it because she was Kiyan, and there wasn't
anyone else like her in the world."
"How can you ask Danat to obey tradition when you've broken it?" she
demanded.
Otah considered her. She seemed angry again, but it seemed as much on
Danat's behalf as her own.
"By asking," Otah said. "It's the best I can manage. I've damaged the
world badly. The reasons I had for doing it seemed good at the time. I
would like to be part of putting it back together again. With his help.
With yours."
"I didn't break all this," Ana said, her chin stubborn. "Danat didn't
either, for that matter. It's not fair that we should have to sacrifice
whatever we want to unmake your mistakes."
"It isn't. But I can't repair this."
"Why do you think I can?"
"I have some faith in you both," he said.
By the time he made his way back to his rooms, Idaan had departed,
leaving only a brief note saying that she intended to return in the
morning and had some questions for him. Otah sat on a low couch by the
fire grate, his eyes focused on nothing. He wondered what Eiah would
have made of his conversation with the Galtic girl, and of whom he was
truly asking forgiveness. His mind wandered, and he did not realize he
had lain back until he woke to the cool light of dawn.
He was sitting in his private bath, the hot water easing the knots that
sleeping away from his bed had tied in his back, when the servant
announced Sinja's arrival. Otah considered the effort that rising,
drying himself, and being dressed would require and had the man brought
to him. Sinja, dressed in the simple canvas and leather of a soldier,
looked more like a mercenary captain than the nearest advisor to an
emperor. He squatted at the edge of the bath, looking down at Otah. The
servant poured tea for the newcomer, took a ritual pose appropriate to a
withdrawal from which he would have to be specifically summoned to
return, and left. The door slid closed behind him, the waxed wooden
runners as silent as breath.
"What's happened?" Otah asked, dreading the answer.
"I was going to ask the same thing. You spoke to Ana Dasin last night?"
"I did," Otah said.
Sinja sipped his tea before he spoke again.
"Well, I don't know what you said to her, but this morning, I had a
runner from Farrer Dasin offering his ships and his men for Balasar's
fleet. The general's meeting with him now to arrange the details."
Otah sat forward, the water swirling around him.
"Farrer-cha ..."
Sinja put down the bowl of tea.
"The man himself. Not Issandra, not one of his servants. The handwriting
was his own. There weren't details, only the offer. And since he's been
reticent and dismissive every time Balasar asked, it seemed that
something had changed. If it's what it looks like, it will mean putting
off departure for a few days, but when we get there, it will be a real
fighting force."
"That's. . ." Otah began. "I don't know how that happened."
"I've been swimming through palace gossip ever since, trying to find
what made the change, and the only thing half-plausible I've heard is
that Ana Dasin met with Danat-cha, after which she went to a secondrate
teahouse, drank more than was considered healthy, and came here. After
talking with you, she went back to the old poet's house; the lanterns
were all lit and they didn't stop burning until the sun rose."
"We didn't talk about the fleet," Otah said. "The subject never came up.
Sinja unstrung his sandals and slid his feet into the warm water of the
bath.
"Why don't you tell me what was said," Sinja asked. "Because somehow, in
the middle of it, you seem to have done something right."
Otah recounted the meeting, rising from his bath and drying himself as
he did. Sinja listened for the most part, interrupting only to laugh
when Otah told of apologizing to the girl.
"That likely had as much to do with it as anything," Sinja said. "A high
councillor's daughter with the Emperor of the Khaiem calling himself
down for disrespecting her. Gods, Otah-kya, with that low an opinion of
your own dignity, I don't know how you managed to hold power all these
years."
Otah paused, his hands shifting to a pose of query.
"You apologized to a Galtic girl."
"I'd treated her poorly," Otah said.
Sinja raised his hands. It wasn't a formal pose, but it carried the
sense of surrender. Whatever it was Sinja didn't understand about the
act, he clearly despaired of ever learning.
"Tell me the rest," Sinja said.
There wasn't a great deal more, but Otah told it. He pulled on his robes
by himself. The servants could adjust them when the meeting ended. Sinja
drank another bowl of tea. The water in the bath grew still and as clear
as air.
"Well," Sinja said when he had finished, "that's unexpected all around."
"You think Ana-cha interceded for us."
"I can't think anything else," Sinja said. "She's an interesting girl,
that one. Quick to anger and about as tough as boiled leather if
confronted, but I think you made her feel for you. It was clever."
"I didn't mean it as a ploy," Otah said.
"That's likely what made the ploy work," Sinja said. "Issandra and Danat
should hear more of it. You know that little conspiracy is beginning to
slip its stitches?"
"What do you mean?"
"Danat's false lover. Shija Radaani? It seems your boy is starting to
fall in love with her. Or if not love, at least bed. That was the other
gossip this morning. Shija went to Danat's rooms last night and hasn't
yet come out."
Otah tugged at the sleeves, his eyebrows trying to crawl up his
forehead. Sinja nodded.
"Perhaps it's part of Issandra's plan?" Otah said.
"If it is, she's more of a gambler than I am."
"I'll look into it," Otah said.
"Don't bother. I've already sent word to all the parties who need to know."
"Meaning Issandra."
"And nobody else," Sinja said. "You worry about finding Maati and his
poet girls. And your sister. Whatever you're doing, keep one eye toward