No courier came from Idaan or Eiah. Likely his sister was still on the
roads between Saraykeht and Pathai. There was no reason to expect word
back so soon, and yet every time a servant entered his chambers with a
folded paper, his belly went tight until he broke the seal.
The night began with a banquet held in the honor of Balasar Glee and the
preparation of what the Galtic Council called the second fleet and the
utkhaiem, dismissively and in private, the other ships. The great hall
fluttered with fine robes and silk banners. Musicians and singing slaves
hidden behind screens filled the air with soft music of Galtic
composition. Lanterns of colored glass gave the light a feeling of
belonging to some other, gentler world. Otah sat on his high dais,
Balasar at his side. He caught a glimpse of Danat dressed in formal
robes of black and gold, sitting among his peers of the high utkhaiem.
The group included Shija Radaani. Though Farrer and Issandra Dasin were
among the Galts present, Otah did not see Ana. He tried not to find her
absence unnerving.
The food and drink had been prepared by the best cooks Otah could find:
classic Galtic dishes made if not light at least less heavy; foods
designed to represent each of the cities of the Khaiem; all of it served
with bowls of the best wines the world could offer.
Peace, Otah meant the celebration to say. As we send our armsmen and
sailors away to fight and die together, let there be peace between us.
If there cannot be peace in the world, at least let it be welcome here.
It pleased him to see the youth of both countries sitting together and
talking, even as it disturbed him that so many places set aside for the
utkhaiem remained empty.
He did not notice that Issandra had taken her leave until the note
arrived. The servant was very young, having seen no more than sixteen
summers, and he approached Balasar with a small message box of worked
gold. Balasar plucked the folded paper from it, read the message, then
nodded and waved the boy away. The musicians nearest them shifted to a
light, contemplative song. Balasar leaned toward Otah, as if to whisper
some comment upon the music.
"This is for you," the general murmured.
General Gice, please pass this to the Emperor with all haste
discretion allows. I would prefer that it not be immediately
obvious that I am communicating with him, but time may be short.
Emperor. Please forgive my note, but I believe something is
going to happen in the moon garden of the thirdpalace at the
beginning of the entertainments that you would be pleased to
see. Consider claiming a moment's necessity and joining me.
It was signed with Issandra Dasin's chop.
Balasar was considering him silently. Otah slipped the paper into his
sleeve. It was less than half a hand before the acrobats and dancers,
trained dogs and fire-eaters were to take to the floor. It wasn't much time.
"I don't like this," Otah said, leaning toward Balasar so that no one
could overhear.
"You think it's a plot to assassinate you," Balasar said.
"Might it be?"