discomfort also Idaan Machi, sitting on a bench with a bowl of wine in
her hand and her face as expressionless as the dead. A Galtic girl sat
apart, her head held high, sightless and proud to cover the disgust and
horror she must feel at all Maati had done. Ashti Beg sat at her side,
another victim of Vanjit's malice. After all that had happened, after
all his many failures of judgment, seeing her among his arrayed enemies
was still wrenching.
Otah's armsmen cleared the wayhouse. The conversation that should have
taken place in the finest of meeting rooms in the high palaces instead
found its place in a third-rate wayhouse, free of ceremony or ritual or
even well-brewed tea. Maati felt himself trembling. He had the powerful
physical memory of being a boy at the school, holding himself still and
waiting for Tahi-kvo's lacquer rod to split his skin.
"Maati Vaupathai," the Emperor said.
"Most High," Maati replied, crossing his arms.
"I suppose I should start by asking why I shouldn't have you killed
where you stand."
Eiah, beside him, twitched as if wasp-stung. Maati stared at his old
friend, his old enemy, and all the conciliatory words that he had
imagined in the last day vanished like a snuffed candle. There was rage
in Otah's stance, and Maati found himself more than matching it.
"How dare you?" Maati said, his voice little more than a hiss. "How dare
you? I thought, coming here, I would at least be treated with respect. I
thought at the very least, that. And instead you stand me up like a
common thief in a low-town courtroom and have me defend my life? Justify
my right to breathe to the man who killed my son?"
"Nayiit has nothing to do with this," Otah said. "Sinja Ajutani, to
contrast, died because of you. Every Galt who has starved since you
exacted this sick, petty revenge is dead because of you. Every-"
"Nayiit has everything to do with this. Your sick love of all things
Galtic has everything to do with it. Your disloyalty to the women you
claim to rule. Your perfect calm in making me an outcast living in
gutters for something you were just as guilty of. You are a hypocrite
and a liar in everything you've done. I owe you nothing, Otah-kvo. Nothing!"
Otah was shouting something, but Maati's ears were rushing with blood
and raw anger. He saw the armsmen shift forward, blades at the ready,
but Maati was far past caring. Every injustice, every slight, every
cupful of pent-up outrage spilled out, all made worse by the fact that
Otah-self-righteous, entitled, and arrogant-was so busy shouting back
that he wasn't hearing a word of what Maati was saying.
When he noticed through his rage that a third voice had entered the
fray, he couldn't say how long it had been going.
"I said stop!" the Galt shouted again. "Stop it! Both of you!"
Maati turned to the girl, a sneer on his lip, but he was having a hard
time catching his breath. Otah also was now silent, his imperial face
flushed bright red. Maati felt the urge to offer up an obscene gesture,
but he restrained himself. The girl stood in the space between the two,
her hands outstretched. Danat stepped to her side. If anything, her
anger appeared as high as either of her elders', but she was able to