"It is the point, isn't it? If we are two nations, we're doomed," Farrer
said, reading his concerns. "We have too many enemies and not enough
strengths between us."
"If we're one ... how do we do that? Will the High Council be ruled by
my edict? Am I supposed to cede my power to them?"
"Compromise, Most High," Farrer said. "It will be a long process of
compromise and argument, idiotic yammering debate and high melodrama.
But in its defense, it won't be war."
"It won't be war," Otah repeated. Only when the words had come out into
the night air, hanging as if physical, did he realize he had meant it as
an agreement. One nation. His empire had just doubled in size, tripled
in complexity and need, and his own power had been cut at least by half.
Farrer seemed surprised when he laughed.
"Tomorrow," Otah said. "Call the High Council tomorrow. I'll bring my
council. We'll start with the report and try to build something like a
plan from there. And tell Issandra that I'll have the letters of
embassage sent. Best get that done before there's a debate about it, ne?"
They sat for a time without speaking, two men whose children had just
joined their families. Two enemies planning a house in common. Two great
powers whose golden ages had ended. They could play at it, but each knew
that it was only in their children, in their grandchildren, that the
game of friendship could become truth.
Farrer finished his wine, leaving the bowl by his chair. As he walked
out, he put a hand on Otah's shoulder.
"Your son seems a fine man," he said.
"Your daughter is a treasure."
"She is," Farrer Dasin said, his voice serious. And then Otah was alone
again, the night numbing his feet and biting his ears and nose. He
pulled the blanket around himself more tightly and left the balcony and
the city and the celebrations behind him.
The palaces were as quiet and busy as the backstage at a performance.
Servants ran or walked or conducted low, angry conversations that died
at Otah's approach. He let the night make its own path. He knew the
bridal procession had returned to the palaces by the number of robes
with bits of tinsel and bright paper clinging to the hems. And also by
the flushed faces and spontaneous laughter. There would have been
celebration on into the night, even if they hadn't scheduled the wedding
on Candles Night. As it was, Utani as a whole, from the highest nobility
to the lowest beggar, would sleep late and speak softly when they woke.
Otah doubted there would be any wine left by spring.
But there would be babies. He could already name a dozen women casually
who would be giving birth when the summer came. And everywhere, in all
the cities, the conditions were the same. They would miss a generation,
but only one. The Empire would stumble, but it need not fall.
Even more than the joining of the Empire and Galt, the night was the
first formal celebration of a world made new. Otah wished he felt more
part of it. Perhaps he understood too well what price had brought them here.
He found Eiah where he knew he would. The physicians' house with its
wide, slate tables and the scent of vinegar and burning herbs. Cloth