snows came and drove them all down to the tunnels. He was raising a
child to live in darkness and planning for his death.
There had been a time Otah had been young and sure enough of himself to
kill. He had taken the life of a good man because they both had known
the price that would have to be paid if he lived. He had been able to do
that.
But he had seen forty-eight summers now. There were likely fewer seasons
before him than there were behind. He'd fathered three children and
raised two. He could no longer hold himself apart from the world. It was
his to see that the city was a place that Danat and Eiah and children
like them could live safe and cared for until they too grew old and
uncertain.
He looked at the swirl of red at the bottom of his bowl. Too much wine,
and too much memory. It was making him maudlin. He stopped at his
private chambers and allowed the servants to switch his robes to
something less formal. Kiyan lay on a couch, her eyes closed, her breath
deep and regular. Otah didn't wake her, only slid one of the books from
his bedside table into the sleeve of his robe and kissed her temple as
he left.
The physician's assistant was seated outside Danat's door. The man took
a pose of greeting. Otah responded in kind and then nodded to the closed
door.
"Is he asleep?" he whispered.
"He's been waiting for you."
Otah slipped into the room. Candles flickered above two great iron
statues that flanked the bed-hunting cats with the wings of hawks. Soot
darkened their wings from a day spent in the fire grates, and they
radiated the warmth that kept the cool night breeze at bay. Danat sat up
in his bed, pulling aside the netting.
"Papa-kya!" he said. He didn't cough, didn't sound frail. It was a good
day, then. Otah felt a tightness he had not known he carried loosen its
grip on his heart. He pulled his robes up around his knees and sat on
his son's bed. "Did you bring it?" Danat asked.
Otah drew the book from his sleeve, and the boy's face lit so bright, he
might have almost read by him.
"Now, you lie back," Otah said. "I've come to help you sleep, not keep
you up all night."
I)anat plopped down onto his pillow, looking like the farthest thing
from sleep. Otah opened the book, turning through the ancient pages
until he found his place.
"In the sixteenth year of the reign of the Emperor Adani Bch, there came
to court a boy whose blood was half Bakta, his skin the color of soot,
and his mind as clever as any man who has ever lived...."
"THIS IS SPRING?" NAYIIT SAID AS THEY WALKED. THE WIND HAD BLOWN away
even the constant scent of forge smoke, and brought in a mild chill.
Mild, at least, to Maati. Nayiit wore woolen robes, thick enough that
they had hardly rippled. Maati's own were made for summer, and pressed
against him, leaving, he was sure, no doubt to the shape of his legs and
belly. He wished he'd thought to wear something heavier too.