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

her."

Otah was halfway to objecting, but Sinja only tilted his head. Idaan had

killed Otah's brothers. His father. She was capable of casual slaughter,

and everyone knew it. There was no point in pretending the world was

something it wasn't. Otah took a pose that accepted the advice and

promised his best effort.

In point of fact, Idaan was waiting in his rooms when he returned from

his breakfast and the morning of audiences that he could not postpone.

She wore a borrowed robe of blue silk as dark as a twilight sky. Her

arms and shoulders were thicker than the robe allowed, the fabric

straining. Her hair was pulled back in a gray tail as thick as a mane.

She did not smile.

"Idaan-cha," he said.

"Brother," she replied.

He sat across from her. Her long face was cool and unreadable. She

touched the papers and scrolls on the low table between them. The scents

of cedar and apples should have made the room more comfortable.

"I'm not done," she said. "But I doubt a year and ten clerks would be

enough to do a truly thorough job. With just the pair of us, and you off