hadn't known was there. The pine branches in the grate were all ashes
now. The sun was almost at the height of its day's arc. Otah rubbed his
eyes and only then recognized the sound that had drawn him from his
reverie. Trumpets and bells. Callers' voices ringing out over the
palaces, over the city, over sea and sky and everything in it. A
pronouncement was to be made, and all men and women of the utkhaiem were
called to hear it.
He made his way through the back halls, set like stagecraft, that
allowed him to appear at the appropriate ritual moment. What few
servants there were bent themselves almost double in poses of obeisance
as he passed. Otah ignored them.
A side hall, almost too narrow for a man to walk down, took him to a
hidden seat. Years before, it had been a place where the Khai Saraykeht
could watch entertainments without being seen. Now it was Otah's own. He
looked down upon the hall. It was packed so thickly there was no room to
sit. The cushions meant to allow people to take their rest were all
being trampled underfoot. Whisperers had to fight to hold their
positions. And among the bright robes and jeweled headdresses of the
utkhaiem, there were also the tunics and gray, empty eyes of Galts come
to hear what was said. He saw them and thought of an old dream he'd had
of Heshai, the poet he had once killed, attending a dinner though still
very much dead. Corpses walked among the utkhaiem. Balasar was not among
them.
Silence took the hall as if someone had cupped his hands over Otah's
ears, and he turned toward the dais. His son stood there, his robe the
pale of mourning.
"My friends," Danat said. "There is little I can say which you do not
already know. Our brothers and sisters of Galt have been struck. The
only plausible cause is this: a new poet has been trained, a new andat
has been bound, and, against all wisdom, it has been used first as a
weapon."
Danat paused as the whisperers repeated his words out through the wide
galleries and, no doubt, into the streets.
"The fleet is in peril," Danat continued. "Chaburi-Tan placed at risk.
We do not know who the poet is that has done this thing. We cannot trust
that they will be as quick to blind our enemies as they have our
friends. We cannot trust that they will undo the damage they have caused
to our new allies. Our new families. And so my father has asked me to
find this new poet and kill him."
Otah's fingers pressed against the carved stone until his joints ached.
His chest ached with dread. He doesn't know, Otah wanted to shout. His
sister is part of this, and he does not know it. He shook and kept
silent. There was only the swelling roar of the people, the whisperers
shouting above it, and his son standing proud and still, shoulders set.
"There are some among us who look upon what has happened today as a
moment of hope. They believe that the andat returned to the world marks
the end of our hard times. With all respect, it marks their beginning,
and neither I nor. .
Otah turned away, pushing his way down the narrow hall, afraid to let