into trusting him for a while longer at least. And maybe Kiyan's husband

would find a good way to make use of the time Sinja won for him.

"Ah, Kiyan-kya," he said to the night and the northern stars, "look what

you've done. You've made me into a politician."

"MOST HIGH," ASHUA RADAANI SAID, TAKING A POSE. THAT WAS AN APOLOGY and

a refusal, "this is ... this is folly. I understand that the poets are

concerned, but you have to see that we have nothing that supports their

suspicion. We're in summer. It's only a few weeks before we have to

harvest the spring crops and plant for autumn. The men you're asking for

... we can't just send away our laborers."

Otah frowned. It was not a response his father would have gotten. The

other Khaiem would have raised a hand, made a speech, perhaps only

shifted hands into a pose asking for the speaker to repeat himself. The

men and horses and wagons of grain and cheese and salt-packed meats

would simply have appeared. But not for Otah Mach], the upstart who had

not won his chair, who had married a wayhouse keeper and produced only

one son and that one sickly. fie felt the urgency like a hand pressing

at his hack, but he forced himself to remain calm. He wouldn't have what

he wanted by blustering now. He smiled sweetly at the round, soft man

with his glittering rings and calculating eyes.

"Your huntsmen, then," Otah said. "Bring your huntsmen. And come

yourself. Ride with me, Ashua-cha, and we'll go see whether there's any

truth to this thing. If not, you can bear witness yourself, and reassure

the court."

The young man's lips twisted into a half-smile.

"Your offer is kind, Most High," he said. "My huntsmen are yours. I will

consult with my overseer. If my house can spare me, I would he honored

to ride at your side."

"It would please me, Ashua-cha," Otah said. "I leave in two days, and I

look forward to your company."

"I will do all I can."

They finished the audience with the common pleasantries, and a servant

girl showed the man out. Otah called for a howl of tea and used the time

to consider where he stood. If Radaani sent him a dozen huntsmen, that

took the total to almost three hundred men. House Siyanti had offered up

its couriers to act as scouts. None of the families of the utkhaiem had

refused him; 1)aikani and old Kamau had even given him what he asked.

The others dragged their feet, begged his forgiveness, compromised. If

Radaani had hacked him, the others would have fallen in line.

And if he had thought Radaani was likely to, he'd have met with him

first instead of last.

It was the price, he supposed, of having played the game so poorly up to

now. Had he been the man they expected him to be all these years-had he

embraced the role he'd accepted and fathered a dozen sons on as many

wives and assured the ritual bloodbath that marked the change of

generations-they would have been more responsive now. But his own

actions had called the forms of court into question, and now that he

needed the traditions, he half-regretted having spent years defying them.

The tea came in a bowl of worked silver carried on a pillow. The

servant, a man perhaps twenty years older than Otah himself with a long,

well-kept beard and one clouded eye, presented it to him with a grace

horn of long practice. This man had done much the same before Otah's

father, and perhaps his grandfather. The presentation of this howl of

tea might be the study and center of this man's life. The thought made

the tea taste worse, but Otah took as warm a pose of thanks as would be

permitted between the Khai Machi and a servant, however faithful.

Utah rose, gesturing to the doorway. One of his half-hundred attendants

rushed forward, robes flowing like water over stones.

"I'll see him now," Otah said. "In the gardens. And see we aren't

disturbed."

The sky was gray and ivory, the breeze from the south warm as breath and

nearly as gentle. The cherry trees stood green-the pink of the blossoms

gone, the crimson of the fruit not yet arrived. The thicker blossoms of

high summer had begun to unfurl, rose and iris and sun poppy. The air

was thick with the scent. Utah walked down the path, white gravel fine

as salt crunching like snow under his feet. Ile found Nlaati sitting on

the lip of a stone pool, gazing up at the great fountain. Twice as high

as a man, the gods of order stood arrayed in has-relief shaped from a

single sheet of bronze. The dragons of chaos lay cowed beneath their

greened feet. Water sluiced down the wall, clear until it touched the

brows and exultant, upraised faces of the gods, and there it splattered

white. Utah sat beside his old friend and considered.

"The dragon's not defeated," Nlaati said. "Look. You see the third head

from the left? It's about to bite that woman's calf. And the man on the

end? The one who's looking down? I le's lost his balance."

"I hadn't noticed," Utah said.

"You should have another one made with the dragons on top. Just to

remind people that it's never over. Even when you think it's done,

there's something waiting to surprise you."

Utah nodded, dipping his fingers into the dancing ripples of the pool.

Gold and white koi darted toward his fingertips and then as quickly away.

"I understand if you're angry with me," Otah said. "But I didn't ask

him. Nayiit came to me. He volunteered."

"Yes. Liat told me."

"He's spent half a season in the Dai-kvo's village. He knows it better

than anyone but you or Cehmai."

Nlaati looked up. There was a darkness in his expression.

"You're right," Maati said. "If this is the Galts and they've freed the

andat, then protecting the Dai-kvo is critical. But it would be faster

to send for him to come to us. We can build defenses here, train men.

Pre„ pare.

"And if the Uai-kvo didn't come?" Otah asked. "How long has he been

mulling over Liat's report that the Galts have a poet of their own? I've

sent word. I've sent messages. The world can't afford to wait and see if

the I)ai-kvo suddenly becomes decisive."

"And you speak for the world now, do you?" There was acid in Maati's

tone, but Otah could hear the fear behind it and the despair. "If you

insist on charging out into whatever kind of war you find out there,

take one of us with you. We've lived there. We know the village.

Cehmai's still young. Or strap me on the back of a horse and pull me

there. Leave Nayiit out of this."

"He's a grown man," Otah said. "He's not a child any longer. He has his

own mind and his own will. I thought about refusing him, for your sake