We thought we were the first generation to truly discover love or sex or

betrayal." Her voice softened.

Otah recalled a girl named Liat with skin the brown of eggshell and the

night his one true friend had confessed his affair with her. The night

Maati had confessed. He hadn't seen or spoken to either of them for

years afterward. He had killed a man, in part as a blessing upon them,

Liat and Maati, and the freedom that together they had given him.

All heat and dramatic gestures, he thought. Amusement mixed with sorrow,

the way it always did.

"Still, it is a pity," Issandra said. "The Radaani girl is beautiful,

and vanity is a powerful lever, no matter how sophisticated you take my

daughter to be."

"We may hope for the best," Otah said. "Perhaps Shija-cha will take

Danat's apology in stride and return to only acting the role."

Issandra's gaze told him exactly how likely she thought that was, but

she only shook her head.

"It would be pleasant," she said.

He ate alone that night, though there were scores of men, Galtic and

utkhaiem both, who would have been pleased to share his table. The

pavilion sat atop a high tower, the air smelling of lavender and the

sea. Otah sat on a cushion by a low table and watched the sunset; orange

and red and gold spread out upon a wide canvas of clouds and sky. There

were no singing slaves here, but soft chimes danced in the breeze with a

sound like bells made from wood. An iron brazier sat close to keep him

warm. The evening was beautiful and rich with sadness.

He had known that his daughter was angry with him. He had encouraged the

high families to import wives for their sons. They had come from Bakta,

Eymond, Eddensea. Women of middling birth commanded huge dowries. The

coffers of the utkhaiem had dropped, but a handful of children had been

born. A few dozen, perhaps, in every city. It hadn't been enough. And so

he'd conceived the plan to join with Galt, old enemies made one people.

Yes, it left behind a generation of Khaiate women. And Galtic men, for

that. No doubt they would feel angered, lost, discarded. It was a small

price to pay for a future.

The Comfort House Empire, she'd called it the last time they'd spoken.

And her father, her father, the Procurer King. She said it, and she spat.

Thinking of it stung.

A flock of gulls wheeled below him and to the south. Lemon rice and

river trout rested warm on his fingers and in his mouth. When he was

alone, he still ate like a laborer.

He wondered if he had been wrong. Perhaps in the approach he had taken,

trying to find women capable of bearing children for the cities. Perhaps

in speaking to Eiah about it in the terms he'd used. Perhaps in failing

to accept her criticism, in speaking harshly. Eiah had accused him of

turning his back on the women whom Sterile had wounded because they were

inconvenient. Eiah was one of those women, and the injury she'd suffered

was as deep as any of his own. Deeper.

It might, he supposed, have been enough to turn her against him. She had

always been close to Maati. She had spent long evenings at the library

of Machi, where Maati had made his home. She had known Nayiit, the man

that Otah had fathered and Maati had called son. In the many years that

he had struggled with being merely the Khai Machi, Eiah had made a

friend and an uncle of Maati Vaupathai. There was little reason to

believe that she would withhold her loyalty from Maati now.

The wheeling gulls landed, leaving the sky to itself. The fleet had long

passed the horizon, and Otah wished he had some magical glass that would

let him see it still. It was a short enough voyage to Chaburi-Tan.

Shorter if the pirates and raiders came out to confront them. He wished

Sinja had stayed behind. In the failing light, the gaudy sunset turning

to gray, he wanted his old friend back and was only half-startled to

realize he meant Maati as much as Sinja.

A servant emerged from the darkened arches at the pavilion's edge and

came forward. Otah knew the news he carried before he spoke. Idaan Machi

had answered his summons and awaited at his pleasure. Otah ordered that

she be brought to him. Her and more food.

Do what needs doing, Sinja said from his memory.

He heard her soft footsteps and didn't turn around. His belly was

knotted, and the fish before him smelled suddenly unpleasant. Idaan

walked past him and stood at the edge of the pavilion, looking down the

height of the tower. Her outer robe was dark, the hem fluttering as if

she were about to fall or take flight. When she turned back to him, her

expression was mild.

"Lovely view," she said. "But still nothing beside Machi. Do you miss

the towers?"

"No," Otah said. "Not really. They're too cold to use in the winter, too

hot in the summer, and the tracks they use to haul things up the side

have to be replaced every fifth year. They're the best example I know of

doing a thing just to show it's possible."

Idaan lowered herself to a cushion opposite him. The fading glow of

western clouds silhouetted her.

"True enough," she said. "Still. I miss them."

She considered the bowls of food before them, then took a scoop of rice

and fish on two curled fingers. Otah smiled. His sister chewed

appreciatively and took a pose that opened a negotiation.

"Yes," he agreed. "There's something I want from you."

Idaan nodded, but didn't speak. Otah squinted out into the wide air

above Saraykeht.

"There's too much," he said. "Even turning everything I can manage over

to Sinja and Danat and Ashua Radaani, there's too much."

"Too much to allow for what?" She knew, he thought, what was coming.

"Too much for me to leave," he said. "Being Emperor is like being the

most honored slave in the world. I can do anything, except that I can't.

I can go anywhere, except that I mustn't."

"It sounds awful."

"Don't laugh. I'm not saying I'd rather be lifting crates at the

seafront, but senior overseer of a courier service? Something with a few

dozen chests of silver lengths and a favorite teahouse."

"Fewer meetings like this one," Idaan suggested.

"That," Otah said. "Gods yes, that."

Idaan scooped up another mouthful of rice, chewed slowly, and let her

dark eyes play across his face. He didn't know what she saw there. After

a swallow of water and a small sigh, she spoke.

"You want me to find Eiah," she said.