the words were addressed to Ana, but her gaze was fixed on his. "There
are some things about my brother that few people know. His best friend,
Maati, was one who knew his secrets. And because of Maati, Cehmai. And
so I am also one of the few to know what happened all those years ago in
Saraykeht."
To his surprise, Otah found himself weeping silently. Ana leaned
forward, her brow fierce.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I killed a good man. An honorable, unwell man with a wounded soul,"
Otah said softly. "I strangled him to death in a little room off a
mud-paved alley in the soft quarter."
"Why?" Ana asked.
The answers to that seemed so intricate, so complex, he couldn't find words.
Idaan could.
"To save Galt," she said. "If the man had lived, all of Galt would have
at least suffered horribly, and likely been wiped from the map. Otah had
the choice of condemning his city or letting thousands upon thousands
upon thousands of your countrymen die. He chose to betray Saraykeht.
He's carried it ever since. He's ordered men killed in war. He's
sentenced them to death. But he's only ever ended one life himself. Seen
something that had been a man become only a body. If you haven't done
it, it's a hard thing to understand."
"That's truth," Otah said.
"And along with all the other insults and injuries and pain that he's
caused. Along with the deaths," Idaan said, sorrow and amusement mixed
in her voice, "Maati Vaupathai has taken away the thing that made Otah's
slaughter bearable. He took away the reason for it. Galt is dying anyway."
"I also did it for Maati," Otah said. "If I hadn't, he'd be fighting
against Seedless today."
"And I wouldn't have been born," Ana said. She put out a wavering hand
to him, and Otah took it. Her grasp was stronger than he'd expected.
There were tears in her milky eyes. "I won't forgive him either."
Idaan sighed.
"Well," his sister said, "at least we'll be damned for what we are."
The second sang something from the bow, a high trill that ended in words
Otah couldn't make sense of. The paddle wheel, in the stern, shifted and
creaked, the deck beneath him lurching. Otah stood, unsteadily.
"Sandbar," Danat called to him. "It's all right. We're fine."
"Ah, well then. You see?" Idaan said with a chuckle. "We're fine."
They stayed on the river as long into the twilight as they could. Otah
could see the unease in the boatman's expression and hear it in his
voice. Otah's assumption was that the boats would travel at nearly the
same speed. The gap between his party and Maati's would only keep
narrowing if he pushed farther past the point of safety than they were
willing to do. He thought his chances good. Maati, after all, had all
the power, and time was his ally. There was no reason that he should rush.
They put in at a riverfront town half a hand after sundown. A small,
rotting peer. A pack of half-feral dogs baying at the boatman's second
as he made the boat fast and stretched a wide, arching bridge between