knots. None had been undone so far as he could tell. It would have been
a breach of the gentleman's trade to open letters held in trust, and it
would have been foolishness to trust to honor. Had House Nan been
willing to break trust, that would have been interesting to know as
well. He laid them out on his cot, considering.
Letters to the merchant houses and lower families among the utkhaiem
were the most common. He didn't carry a letter for the Khai himself-he
would have balked at so high a risk-but his work would take him to the
palaces. And there were audiences, no doubt, to which he could get an
invitation. If he chose, he could go to the Master of Tides and claim
business with members of the court. It wouldn't even require stretching
the truth very far. He sat in silence, feeling as if there were two men
within him.
One wanted nothing more than to embrace the fear and flee to some
distant island and be pleased to live wondering whether his brothers
would still be searching him out. The other was consumed by an anger
that drove him forward, deeper into the city of his birth and the family
that had first discarded him and then fashioned a murderer from his memory.
Fear and anger. He waited for the calm third voice of wisdom, but it
didn't come. He was left with no better plan than to act as Irani Noygu
would have, had he been nothing other than he appeared. When at last he
repacked his charges and lay on his cot, he expected that sleep would
not come, but it did, and he woke in the morning forgetful of where he
was and surprised to find that Kiyan was not in the bed beside him.
The palaces of the Khai were deep within the city, and the gardens
around them made it seem more like a walk into some glorious low town
than movement into the center of a great city. Trees arched over the
walkways, branches bright with new leaves. Birds fluttered past him,
reminding him of Udun and the wayhouse he had almost made his home. The
greatest tower loomed overhead, dark stone rising up like twenty
palaces, one above the other. Otah stopped in a courtyard before the
lesser palace of the Master of Tides and squinted up at the great tower,
wondering whether he had ever been to the top of it. Wondering whether
being here, now, was valor, cowardice, foolishness, or wisdom; the
product of anger or fear or the childish drive to show that he could
defy them all if he chose.
He gave his name to the servants at the door and was led to an an
techamber larger than his apartments back in Udun. A slave girl plucked
a lap harp, filling the high air with a sweet, slow tune. He smiled at
her and took a pose of appreciation. She returned his smile and nodded,
but her fingers never left the strings. The servant, when he came, wore
robes of deep red shot with yellow and a silver armband. He took a pose
of greeting so brief it almost hadn't happened.
"Irani Noygu. You're Itani Noygu, then? Ah, good. I am Piyun See, the
Master of Tides' assistant. He's too busy to see you himself. So House
Siyanti has taken an interest in Machi, then?" he said. Otah smiled,
though he meant it less this time.
"I couldn't say. I only go where they send me, Piyun-cha."
The assistant took a pose of agreement.