his son to shift between noble dedication in the morning and childish
pouting as night came on. He had been much the same as a young man, or
imagined that he had.
The door opened, Ana's laughter spilling out into the night. Idaan led
the girl forward, letting Ana keep a careful grip on her. Her dark eyes
and Ana's unfocused gray ones were both light and merry. Ana's hair had
been combed and braided in the style of children in the winter cities.
In the dim moonlight, it made Ana seem hardly more than a girl.
Idaan steered the girl to the cart's front and helped her sit beside
Otah. He coughed once to make sure the girl knew he was there, but she
seemed unsurprised at the sound. Idaan placed a hand on the back of the
girl's neck.
"I'll go get some food," Idaan said. "My brother here should be able to
keep you out of trouble for that long."
Ana took a pose that offered thanks. She did a creditable job of it.
Idaan snorted, patted the girl's neck, and lowered herself to the
ground. Otah heard her footsteps crushing the snow as she walked away.
"Ana-cha," Otah said. His voice was more tentative than he liked. "I
hope you're well?"
"Fine," she said. "Thank you. I'm sorry I delayed things today. It won't
happen again."
"Hardly worth thinking about," Otah said, relieved that her infirmity
had passed. Grief, he suspected, over what the poet had done to her, to
her family, her nation.
"I misjudged you," Ana said. "I know it seems like everything we do is
another round of apology, but I am sorry for it."
"It might be simpler to agree to forgive each other in advance," Otah
said, and Ana laughed. It was a warmer sound than he'd expected. A
tension he hadn't known he felt lessened and he smiled into the glowing
coals of the kiln. "It is fair to ask in what manner you judged me poorly?"
"I thought you were cold. Hard. You have to understand, I grew up with
monster stories about the Khaiem and the andat."
"I do," Otah said, sighing. "I look back, and I suspect that more than
half of the problems between Galt and the Khaiem came from ignorance.
Ignorance and power are a poor combination."
"Tell me ..." Ana said, and then stopped. Her brow furrowed, and in the
dim light he thought she was blushing. Otah put his hand over hers. She
shook her head, and then turned her milky eyes to him. "You've forgiven
me in advance if this is too much to ask. Tell me about Danat's mother."
"Kiyan?" Otah said. "Well. What do you want to know about her?"
"Anything. Just tell me," the girl said.
Otah collected himself, and then began to pluck stories. The night
they'd met. The night he'd told her that he was more than a simple
courier and she'd thrown him out of her wayhouse. The ways she had
helped to smooth things as he learned how to become first Khai Machi and
then Emperor. He didn't tell the hard stories. The conflict over Sinja's
feelings for her, and Otah's poor response to them. The long fears they
suffered together when Danat was young and weak in the lungs. Her death.
Still, he didn't think he kept all the sorrow from his voice.