or my mother's, you can carry word back to them that it didn't work. I
know better than to trust you."
"You think I've lied?" Danat said. "What have I said to you that wasn't
true?"
"As if you'd let yourself be caught out," Ana said.
Danat sat, one leg tucked under him, the other bent. He looked up at her
like a player in some ancient epic. In the dim light, his expression
seemed bemused.
"Ask anything," he said. "Do it now. I won't lie to you."
Ana crossed her arms, looking down on Danat like a low-town judge. Her
brows were furrowed.
"Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Yes," Danat said. His voice was calm and solid as stone.
"Why?"
"Because I think you are worth seducing," Danat said.
"Only that? Not to please your father or my mother?"
Danat chuckled. One of the guards at Otah's side shifted his weight, the
leaves beneath him crackling. Neither of the children below had ears for it.
"It began that way, I suppose," Danat said. "A political alliance. A
world to remake. All of that has its appeal, but it didn't write that poem."
Ana fumbled at her belt for a moment and drew out a folded sheet of
paper. Danat hesitated, then reached up and accepted it from her. They
were quiet. Otah sensed the tension in Issandra's crouched body. Ana was
refusing the token. And then the girl spoke, and her mother relaxed.
"Read it," Ana said. "Read it to me."
Otah closed his eyes and prayed to all the gods there were that neither
he nor Issandra nor either of the guards would sneeze or cough. He had
never lived through a more excruciatingly awkward scene. Below, Danat
cleared his throat and began to declaim.
It wasn't good. Danat's command of Galtic didn't extend to the subtlety
of rhyme. The images were simple and puerile, the sexuality just under
the surface of the words ham-fisted and uncertain, and worst of all of
it, Danat's tone as he spoke was as sincere as a priest at temple. His
voice shook at the end of the last stanza. Silence fell in the garden.
One of the guards shook once with suppressed laughter and went still.
Danat folded the paper slowly, then offered it up to Ana. It hesitated
there for a moment before the girl took it.
"I see," she said. Against all reason, her voice had softened. Otah
could hardly believe it, but Ana appeared genuinely moved. Danat rose to
stand a hand's breadth nearer to her than before. The lanterns
flickered. The two children gazed at each other with perfect
seriousness. Ana looked away.
"I have a lover," she said.
"You've made that quite clear," Danat replied, amusement in his voice.
Ana shook her head. The shadows hid her expression.
"I can't," she said. "You are a fine man, Danat. More an emperor than
your father. But I've sworn. I've sworn before everyone ..."
"I don't believe that," Danat said. "I've hardly known you, Ana-kya, and
I don't believe the gods themselves could stop you from something if it