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."

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