they've done to her as well? Gods, Danat. If what they've done isn't
going too far, nothing is!"
"He isn't worried for them," Idaan said from the shadows. Otah turned.
She was sitting alone at the back of the room, a lit pipe in her hand
and pale smoke rising from her lips as she spoke. "He's saying there are
crimes that can't be made right. Trying to make justice out of this will
only make it last longer."
"So we should let it go?" Otah demanded. "We should meekly accept what
they've done?"
"It was what you told Eiah to do," Danat said. "She wanted to find a way
to heal the damage from Sterile; you told her to let it go and accept
what had happened. Didn't you?"
Otah's clenched fists loosened. His mind clouded with rage and chagrin.
Idaan's low chuckle filled the room like a growl.
"Which of us is innocent now, eh?" she said, waving her pipe. "It's easy
to counsel forgiveness when you aren't the one swallowing poison. It's
harder to forgive them for having won."
"What would you have me do, then?" Otah snapped.
"In your place, I'd kill them all before they could do more damage,"
Idaan said. "Maati, Vanjit, Eiah. All of them. Even Ashti Beg."
"That isn't an option," Otah said. "I won't kill Eiah."
"So you won't end them and you won't forgive them," Idaan said. "You
want the world saved, but you don't know what that means any longer.
There isn't much time to clear your mind, brother. And you can't put
your thoughts in line when you're half-sunk in rage."
Danat took a pose of agreement.
"It's what I was trying to say," he said.
"Lift yourself above this," Idaan said. "See it as if you were someone
else. Someone less hurt by it."
Otah lifted his hands, palms out, refusing it all. His jaw ached, but
the heat in his chest and throat, the blood in his ears, washed him out
of the room. He heard Danat cry out behind him, and Idaan's softer
voice. He stalked out to the road. No one followed. His mind was a
cacophony of voices, all of them his own.
Alone on the dimming road, he excoriated Maati and Eiah, Danat and
Idaan, Balasar and Sinja and Issandra Dasin. He muttered all the venom
that rose to his lips, and, in time, he sat at the base of an ancient
tree, throwing stones at nothing. The rage faded and left him as empty
as an old skin. The sun was gone and the sky darkening blue to indigo
and indigo to starlit black.
Alone as he had not been in years, he wept. At first it was only the
loss of Sinja, but then of the fleet and Chaburi-Tan. Eiah and his
warring senses of guilt and betrayal. Galt, blind and dying. It ended
where he had known it would. All rivers led to the sea, and all his
sorrows to the death of Kiyan.
"Oh, love," he said to the empty air. "Oh, my love. Can this never go well?"
Nothing answered back.
The tears faded. The sorrow and rage, spent, left his heart and mind
clearer. The tree at his back scratched, its bark as rough as broken
stone. It offered no comfort, but he let himself rest against it. He
noticed the scent of fresh earth for the first time, and the hushing of
a breeze that stirred the treetops without descending to the path they
covered. A falling star lit the sky and was gone.
He must, Otah thought, have looked like he was on the edge of murder the
whole day for his son and his sister to face him down that way. He must
have seemed like a man gone mad. It was near enough to the truth.
The night air was cold and his robes insufficient. He went back to the
wayhouse more for warmth than the desire to continue any conversation.
There was an odd silence in his mind now that felt fragile and
comforting. He knew as he stepped into the yard that he wouldn't be able
to maintain it.
Voices raised in anger filled the yard. Danat and the captain of the
armsmen stood so close to each other their chests nearly touched, each
of them shouting at the other. Idaan stood at Danat's right, her arms
crossed, her expression deceptively calm. The captain had his armsmen
arrayed behind him, lit torches in their hands. Otah made out words like
protection and answerable from the captain and disrespect and mutiny
from Danat. Otah rubbed his hands together to fight off the numbness and
made his way toward the confrontation. The captain saw him first and
stopped talking, his face flushed red by blood and torchlight. Danat
took a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder.
"I suppose this is to do with me," Otah said.
"We only wanted to see that you were safe, Most High," the captain said.
The words were strangled. Otah hesitated, then took a pose of apology.
"I needed solitude," he said. "I should have told you before I left. But
if I'd been clear-minded, I likely wouldn't have needed to leave. Please
accept my apology."
There was little enough the man could do. Moments later, the armsmen
were scattering back to the wayhouse or the stables. The smell of doused
torches filled the air like a forest on fire. Danat and Idaan stood side
by side.
"Should I apologize to you as well?" Otah asked with a half-smile.
"Isn't called for," Idaan said. "I was only keeping your boy near to
hand in case you reconsidered my death order."
"Next time, maybe," Otah said, and Idaan grinned. "Is there anything
warm to drink in this place?"
The young keeper brought them the best food the wayhouse had to
offer-river fish baked with red pepper and lemon, sweet rice, almond
milk with mint, hot plum wine, and cold water. They arrayed themselves
through the main room, all other guests being turned away by the paired
guards at every door. Ana and Ashti Beg were in a deep conversation
about the strategies they'd developed in their new sightlessness. Danat
sat nearer the fire, watching them with a naked longing in his
expression that would have made Ana blush, Otah thought, had she been
able to see it. Otah and Idaan sat together at a low table, passing the
chipped lacquer bowls back and forth. The armsmen who weren't on duty
had taken a back room, and their voices came in occasional outbursts of
hilarity and song.
It could have been the image of peace, of something approaching a family
passing a road-wearied night in warmth and companionship. And perhaps it
was. But it was other things as well.
"You look better," Idaan said, freshening the wine in his bowl. Fragrant
steam rose from it, astringent and rich with the scent of the fruit.
"I am for now," Otah said. "I'll be worse again later."
"Have you made up your mind, then?" she asked. He sighed. Ashti Beg
illustrated some point with a wide, vague gesture. Danat placed a new
length of pine on the fire.
"There isn't an answer," Otah said. "They have all the power. All I can