"It's beside the matter," she said.
"It's at the center of the matter," Otah said, falling reflexively into
a pose of disagreement. "And it's the part upon which we agree. Forgive
me if I am being forward, but you are offering your support for my
treaty in exchange for a marriage between our families? Your daughter
and my son."
"Yes," she said. "I am."
"There may be others who ask the same price. There is a tradition among
my people of the Khai taking several wives...."
"You didn't."
"No," Otah agreed. "I didn't."
The wasp returned, buzzing at Otah's ear. He didn't raise a hand, and
the insect landed on the brightly embroidered silk of his sleeve.
Issandra Dasin, mother of his son's future wife, leaned forward
gracefully and crushed it between her fingers.
"No other wives," she said.
"I would need assurances that the vote would be decisive," Otah said.
"You'll have them. I am a more influential woman than I seem."
Otah looked up. Above them, the sun burned behind a thin scrim of cloud.
The same light fell in Utani, spilling through the windows of Danat's
palace. If only there were some way to whisper to the sun and have it
relay the message to Danat: Are you certain you'll take this risk? A
life spent with a woman whom you've never met, whom you may never love?
His son had seen twenty summers and was by all rights a man. Before the
great diplomatic horde had left for Galt, they had discussed the
likelihood of a bargain of this sort. Danat hadn't hesitated. If it was
a price, he'd pay it. His face had been solemn when he'd said it. Solemn
and certain, and as ignorant as Otah himself had been at that age. There
was nothing else either of them could have said. And nothing different
that Otah could do now, except put off the moment for another few
breaths by staring up at the blinding sun.
"Very well," Otah said. Then again, "Very well."
"You also have a daughter," the woman said. "The elder child?"
"Yes," Otah said.
"Does she have a claim as heir?"
The image appeared in his mind unbidden: Eiah draped in golden robes and
gems woven into her hair as she dressed a patient's wounds. Otah
chuckled, then saw the beginnings of offense in his guest's expression.
He thought it might not be wise to appear amused at the idea of a woman
in power.
"She wouldn't take the job if you begged her," Otah said. "She's a
smart, strong-willed woman, but court politics give her a rash."
"But if she changed her mind. Twenty years from now, who can say that
her opinions won't have shifted?"
"It wouldn't matter," Otah said. "There is no tradition of empresses.
Nor, I think, of women on your own High Council."
She snorted derisively, but Otah saw he had scored his point. She
considered for a moment, then with a deep breath allowed herself to relax.
"Well then. It seems we have an agreement."