concerned with neither future nor past. Below them, Utani glowed and
rang, marking the moment of greatest darkness and celebrating the yearly
return of the light.
EPILOG
We say that the flowers return every spring, but that is a lie.
CALIN MACHI, ELDEST SON OF THE EMPEROR REGENT, KNELT BEFORE HIS father,
his gaze downcast. The delicate tilework of the floor was polished so
brightly that he could watch Danat's face and seem to be showing respect
at the same time. Granted, Danat was reversed-wide jaw above gray
temples-and it made the nuances of expression difficult to read. It was
enough, though, for him to judge approximately how much trouble he was in.
"I've spoken to the overseer of my father's apartments. Do you know what
he told me?"
"That I'd been caught hiding in Grandfather's private garden," Calin said.
"Is that true?"
"Yes, Father. I was hiding from Aniit and Gaber. It was a part of a game.
Danat sighed, and Calin risked looking up. When his father was deeply
upset, his face turned red. He was still flesh-colored. Calin looked
back down, relieved.
"You know you're forbidden from your grandfather's apartments."
"Yes, but that was what made them a good place to hide."
"You're sixteen summers old and you're acting twelve of them. Aniit and
Gaber look to you for how to behave. It's your duty to set an example,"
Danat said, his voice stern. And then he added, "Don't do it again."
Calin rose to his feet, trying to keep his rush of joy from being
obvious. The great punishment had not fallen. He was not barred from the
steam caravan's arrival. Life was still worth living. Danat took a pose
that excused his son and motioned to his Master of Tides. Before the
woman could glide over and lead his father back into the constant
business of negotiating with the High Council, Calin left the audience
chamber, followed only by his father's shouted admonition not to run.
Aniit and Gaber were waiting outside, their eyes wide.
"It's all right," Calin said, as if his father's lenience were somehow
proof of his own cleverness. Aniit took an exaggerated pose of
congratulations. Gaber clapped her hands. She was young, though. Only
fourteen summers old and barely marriageable.
"Come on, then," Calin said. "We can pick the best places for when the
caravan comes."
The roadway had been five years in the building, a shallow canal of
smooth worked iron that began at the seafront in Saraykeht and followed
the river up to Utani. The caravan was the first of its kind, and the
common wisdom in the streets and teahouses was evenly divided between
those who thought it would arrive even earlier than expected and those
who predicted they'd find splinters of blown boilers and nothing else.
Calin dismissed the skeptics. After all, his grandmother was arriving
from her plantations in Chaburi-Tan, and she would never put herself on
the caravan if it was going to explode.
The sweet days of early spring were short and cold. Frost still sent
white fingers up the stones of the palaces in the morning and snow