Balasar at his side. He caught a glimpse of Danat dressed in formal
robes of black and gold, sitting among his peers of the high utkhaiem.
The group included Shija Radaani. Though Farrer and Issandra Dasin were
among the Galts present, Otah did not see Ana. He tried not to find her
absence unnerving.
The food and drink had been prepared by the best cooks Otah could find:
classic Galtic dishes made if not light at least less heavy; foods
designed to represent each of the cities of the Khaiem; all of it served
with bowls of the best wines the world could offer.
Peace, Otah meant the celebration to say. As we send our armsmen and
sailors away to fight and die together, let there be peace between us.
If there cannot be peace in the world, at least let it be welcome here.
It pleased him to see the youth of both countries sitting together and
talking, even as it disturbed him that so many places set aside for the
utkhaiem remained empty.
He did not notice that Issandra had taken her leave until the note
arrived. The servant was very young, having seen no more than sixteen
summers, and he approached Balasar with a small message box of worked
gold. Balasar plucked the folded paper from it, read the message, then
nodded and waved the boy away. The musicians nearest them shifted to a
light, contemplative song. Balasar leaned toward Otah, as if to whisper
some comment upon the music.
"This is for you," the general murmured.
General Gice, please pass this to the Emperor with all haste
discretion allows. I would prefer that it not be immediately
obvious that I am communicating with him, but time may be short.
Emperor. Please forgive my note, but I believe something is
going to happen in the moon garden of the thirdpalace at the
beginning of the entertainments that you would be pleased to
see. Consider claiming a moment's necessity and joining me.
It was signed with Issandra Dasin's chop.
Balasar was considering him silently. Otah slipped the paper into his
sleeve. It was less than half a hand before the acrobats and dancers,
trained dogs and fire-eaters were to take to the floor. It wasn't much time.
"I don't like this," Otah said, leaning toward Balasar so that no one
could overhear.
"You think it's a plot to assassinate you," Balasar said.
"Might it be?"
Balasar smiled out into the hall, his eyes flickering as if looking for
concealed archers.
"She sent the message through me. That provides a witness. It isn't the
sort of thing I would do if I intended to kill you," Balasar said.
"Still, if you go, take a guard."
Otah felt the weight of the note in his sleeve, feather-light and yet
enough to command all his attention. He had almost decided to ignore it
when, as the trumpets blared the first of the entertainments to the
floor, he noticed that Danat had also gone. He slipped down from the
back of the dais, chose two of the guards that he recognized, and made
his way out to the third palace.
The moon garden had been built as a theater; great half-circles of
carved stone set into a slope were covered with moss and snow ivy. At
the deepest recess, three old wooden doors led to hallways where players
or musicians could crouch, awaiting their entrance. The gardens were
dark when he arrived, not even a lantern glowing to mark the paths.
Behind him, the guards were as silent as shadows.
"Otah-cha," a woman whispered. "Here. Quickly."
Issandra huddled in the darkness under an ivy-choked willow. Otah walked
forward, his hands in a pose of query. Issandra didn't reply, her eyes
on the guards at his back. Her expression went from disapproval to
acceptance barely seen in the dim light. She motioned all of them close
to her.
"What is this?" Otah asked as he crouched in the darkness.
"Hush," Issandra said. "They should almost be here. There now. Be quiet,
all of you."
One of the wooden doors at the base of the garden was opening, the light
of a lantern spilling out onto the green of the grass, the black of the
soil. Otah squinted. Ana Dasin stepped out. She wore a rough cloak over
what appeared to be simple peasant robes, but her face and hair would
have proclaimed her in the darkest teahouse. She looked like a girl who
wanted to travel unnoticed but didn't know the trick of it. As Otah
watched, she raised her lantern, scanning the wide stone curve, and then
sat down.
"What is-" he whispered.
Issandra pressed her hand to his mouth. One of the guards shifted, but
Otah gestured him back. It wasn't everyone who could gag the Emperor of
the Khaiem, but he was too curious to disrupt things over a point of
etiquette. Besides which, he didn't truly care.
Another of the doors shifted and creaked open. Danat stepped out. Being
discovered crouched in the ivy, eavesdropping on their own children
might be the least dignified thing possible, so Otah tried to be very,
very still. When Danat spoke, the sound carried perfectly.
"I received your message. I'm here."
"And I received your poem," Ana said.
It was too dark to actually see how deeply Danat blushed, but Otah
recognized the discomfort in his son's body.
"Ah. That," he said.
Otah tapped Issandra on the shoulder and mouthed the word poem? Issandra
pointed back down to their children.
"I am not a toy," Ana said. "If this is another scheme of your father's
or my mother's, you can carry word back to them that it didn't work. I
know better than to trust you."
"You think I've lied?" Danat said. "What have I said to you that wasn't
true?"
"As if you'd let yourself be caught out," Ana said.
Danat sat, one leg tucked under him, the other bent. He looked up at her
like a player in some ancient epic. In the dim light, his expression
seemed bemused.
"Ask anything," he said. "Do it now. I won't lie to you."
Ana crossed her arms, looking down on Danat like a low-town judge. Her
brows were furrowed.
"Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Yes," Danat said. His voice was calm and solid as stone.
"Why?"
"Because I think you are worth seducing," Danat said.
"Only that? Not to please your father or my mother?"
Danat chuckled. One of the guards at Otah's side shifted his weight, the
leaves beneath him crackling. Neither of the children below had ears for it.
"It began that way, I suppose," Danat said. "A political alliance. A
world to remake. All of that has its appeal, but it didn't write that poem."
Ana fumbled at her belt for a moment and drew out a folded sheet of
paper. Danat hesitated, then reached up and accepted it from her. They