separation from the palaces had burned. White-oak seedlings had been
planted to replace them. The trees looked thin, awkward, and adolescent.
One day, decades ahead, they would tower over the path.
He paused at the top of the bridge's arch, looking down into the dark
water. Koi swam lazily under the surface, orange and white and gold
appearing from beneath lily pads and vanishing again. The man reflected
in the pond's surface looked old and tired. White hair, gray skin. Time
had thinned his shoulders and taken the roundness from his cheeks. Otah
put out his hand, and the reflection did as well, as if they were old
friends greeting each other.
When he reached the house itself, it seemed less changed than the
landscape. The lower floor still had walls that were hinged like
shutters which could be pulled back to open the place like a pavilion.
The polished wood seemed to glow softly in the autumn light. He could
almost imagine Maati sitting on the steps as he had been then. Sixteen
summers old, and wearing the brown robes of a poet like a mark of honor.
Or frog-mouthed Heshai, the poet whom Otah had killed to prevent the
slaughter of innocents. Or Seedless, Heshai's beautiful, unfathomable slave.
Instead, Farrer Dasin sat on a silk-upholstered couch, a book in one
hand, a pipe in the other. Otah approached the house casually as if they
were merchants or workers, men whose dignity was less of a burden. The
Galt closed his book as Otah reached the first stair up.
"Most High," he said in the Khaiate tongue.
"Farrer-cha," Otah replied.
"None of them are here. There's apparently a gathering at one of the
lesser palaces. I believe one of the high-prestige wives of your court
is showing her wealth in the guise of judging silks."
"It isn't uncommon. Especially if there is someone particularly worth
impressing," Otah said. "I am surprised that Ana-cha chose to attend."
"To be honest, so am I. But I am on the verge of despairing that I will
ever understand women."
It was hard to say whether the light, informal tone that the Galt
adopted was intended as an offering of peace or as an insult. Likely it
was both. The smoke rising from the pipe was thin and gray as fog, and
smelled of cherries and bark.
"I don't mean to intrude," Otah said.
"No," Farrer Dasin said, "I imagine you don't. I've sent the servant
away. You can take that seat there, if you like."
Otah, Emperor of the cities of the Khaiem, pulled a wood-backed chair to
face the Galt, sat in it, and leaned back.
"I was a bit surprised you wanted to speak with me," Farrer said. "I
thought we did all of our communication through my family."
A mosquito whined through the air as Otah considered this. Farrer Dasin
waited, his mild expression a challenge.
"We have met and spoken many times over the past year, Farrer-cha. I
don't believe I've ever turned you away. And as to your family, the
first time I had no other option," Otah said. "The council was poised to
refuse me, and there was a chance that your wives might be my allies.
The second time, it was Ana who came to me. I didn't seek her out."