would he do?"

"I don't know," Sinja said. "Something bloody and extreme. And effective."

"Stop," Otah said. "Just stop. I have to think."

But sitting there, head resting in his hands, clarity of mind wasn't

coming to him easily. Idaan's story-her travels in the north after her

exile, Cehmai's appearance on her doorstep, their rekindled love, and

Maati's break with his fellow poet and then his return-had the feel of

an old poem, if not the careful structure. If he hadn't had the pirates

or Ana or her father or his own son or the conspiracy between Yalakeht

and Obar State, or the incursions from the Westlands, he might have

enjoyed the tale for its own sake.

But she hadn't brought it to him as a story. It was a threat.

"What role has Cehmai taken in this?" he asked.

"None. He wanted nothing to do with it. Or with my coming here, for

that. I've left him to look after things until I've paid my debt to you.

Then I'll be going home."

"Is it working?" Otah said at length. "Idaan-cha, did Maati say anything

to suggest it was working?"

His sister took a pose of negation that held a sense of uncertainty.

"He came to Cehmai for help," Sinja said. "That means at least that he

thinks he needs help."

"And Cehmai didn't agree to it," Idaan said. "He isn't helping. But he

also doesn't want to see Maati hung. He cut Maati off before he told me

who was backing him."

"What makes you think he has backing?"

"He said as much. Strong backing and an ear in the palaces whenever he

wanted one," Idaan said. "Even if that overstates the truth, he isn't

out hunting rabbits or wading through a rice field. Someone's feeding

him. And how many people are there who might want the andat back in the

world?"

"No end of them," Otah said. "But how many would think the thing was

possible?"

Sinja opened a small wooden cabinet and took out a fluted bottle of

carved bone. When he lifted out the stopper, the scent of wine filled

the room. He asked with a gesture. Otah and Idaan accepted

simultaneously, and with the same pose.

"The books are all burned," Otah said. "The histories are gone, the

grammars are gone. I didn't think he could do this when he wrote to me

before, I don't see that he could manage it now."

Sinja, stunned, overfilled one of the wine bowls, the red pooling on his

table like spilled blood. Idaan hoisted a single eyebrow.

"He wrote to you before?" she said.

"It was years ago," Otah said. "I had a letter. A single letter. Maati

said he was looking for a way to recapture the andat. He wanted my help.

I sent a message back refusing."

"All apologies, Most High," Sinja said. He hadn't bothered to wipe up

the spilled wine. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"It came at a bad time," Otah said. "Kiyan was dying. It was hopeless.

The andat are gone, and there's no force in the world that can bring

them safely back."

"You're sure of that?" Idaan asked. "Because Maati-cha didn't think it

was hopeless. The man is many things, but he isn't dim."

"It hardly matters," Sinja said. "Just the word that this is happening,

and that-may all the gods keep it from happening you knew he was

thinking of it. That you've known for years ..."

"It's a dream!" Otah shouted. "Maati was dreaming, that's all. He wants

something back that's gone beyond his reach. Well, so do I. Anyone who

has lived as long as we have knows that longing, and we know how useless

it is. What's gone is gone, and we can't have it back. So what would you

have had me do? Send the message back with an assassin? Announce to the

world that Maati Vaupathai was out, trying to bind the andat, so they

should all send invading armies at their first convenience?"

"Why didn't you?" Idaan asked. "Send the assassin, I mean. The invading

armies, I understand. For that, why did you let them go at the end of

the war?"

"I am not in the mood, Idaan-cha, to be questioned by a woman who killed

my father, schemed to place the blame on me, and is only breathing air

now because I chose to let her. I understand that you would have happily

opened their throats."

"Not Cehmai's," she said softly. "But then I know why I wouldn't have

done it. It doesn't follow that I should know why you didn't. The two

aren't the same."

Otah rocked back in his chair. His face was hot. Their gazes locked, and

he saw her nod. Idaan took a pose that expressed both understanding and

contrition while unmasking the question.

"That isn't true," she said. "Thinking for a moment, I suppose they are.

Otah took the bowl Sinja held out to him. The wine was unwatered, rich

and astringent. He drank it dry. Sinja looked nervous.

"There's nothing I can do about any of this tonight," Otah said. "I'm

tired. I'm going to bed. If I decide it needs talking of further, it'll

be another time."

He rose, taking a pose that ended an audience, then feeling a moment's

shame, shifted to one that was merely a farewell.

"Otah-cha," Sinja said. "One last thing. I'm sorry, but you left

standing orders. If she came back, I was supposed to kill her."

"For plotting to take my chair and conspiring with the Galts," Otah

said. "Well. Idaan-cha? Are you hoping to become Emperor?"

"I wouldn't take your place as a favor," she said.

Otah nodded.

"Find apartments for her," he said. "Lift the death order. The girl we

sent out in the snow might as well have died. And the man who sent her,

for that. We are, all of us, different people now."

Otah walked back to his rooms alone. The palace wasn't quiet or still.

Perhaps it never wholly was. But the buzzing fury of the day had given

way to a slower pace. Fewer servants made their way down the halls. The

members of the high families who had business here had largely gone back

to their own palaces, walking stone paths chipped by the spurs and boot

nails of Galtic soldiers, passing through arches whose gold and silver

adornments had been hacked off by Galtic axes. They went to palaces

where the highest men and women of Galt had come as guests, eating beef

soup and white bread and fruit tarts. Sipping tea and wine and water and

working, some of them at least, to build a common future.

And Idaan had come to warn him against Maati.