her meanings. Otah glanced over at the shining water. The sun's angle
had already shifted, the light already changed its colors and the colors
of the ocean that bore them. He allowed himself a small sigh.
Even here there would be no escape from it. Etiquette and court
politics, parties and private audiences, favors asked and given. There
was no end of it because of course there wasn't. No more than a farmer
could stop planting fields, a fisherman stop casting nets, a tradesman
close up warehouses and stalls and spend long days singing in teahouses
or soaking in baths.
"I should be pleased," he said. "Please convey my gratitude to Farrercha
and his family."
The boy bowed his thanks rather than make a formal pose, then, blushing,
adopted a pose of gratitude and retreated back to the landsman's chair.
With a great shouting and the creak of wood and leather, the chair rose,
swung out over the water, and descended. Otah watched the boy vanish
over the rail, but didn't see him safely to the boat. The invitation was
a reminder of all that waited for him in his cabin below decks. Otah
took a long, deep breath, feeling the salt and the sunlight in his
lungs, and descended to the endless business of Empire.
Letters had arrived from Yalakeht outlining a conspiracy by three of the
high families of the utkhaiem still bitter from the war to claim
independence and name a Khai Yalakeht rather than acknowledge a Galtic
empress. Chaburi-Tan had suffered another attack by pirates. Though the
invaders had been driven off, it was becoming clear that the Westlands
mercenary company hired to protect the city was also in negotiation with
the raiders; the city's economy was on the edge of collapse.
There was some positive news from the palaces at Utani. Danat wrote that
the low farms around Pathai, Utani, and Lachi were all showing a good
crop, and the cattle plague they'd feared had come to nothing, so those
three cities, at least, wouldn't be starving for at least the next year.
Otah read until the servants brought his midday meal, then again for two
and a half hands. He slept after that in a suspended cot whose oiled
chains shifted with the rocking ship but never let out so much as a
whisper. He woke with the low sunlight of evening sloping in the cabin
window and the dull thunder of feet above him announcing the change of
watch as clearly as the drum and flute. He lay there for a moment, his
mind pleasantly emptied by his rest, then swung his legs over, dropped
to the deck, and composed two of the seven letters he would send ahead
of the massive, celebratory fleet.
WHEN, THE NEXT EVENING, HIS MASTER OF TIDES SENT TO REMIND HIM OF the
engagement he'd agreed to, Otah had indeed forgotten it. He allowed
servants to dress him in robes of emerald silk and cloth of gold, his
long, white hair to be bound back. His temples were anointed with oils
smelling of lavender and sandalwood. Decades now he had been Emperor or
else Khai Machi, and the exercise still struck him as ridiculous. He had
been slow to understand the value of ceremony and tradition. He still
wasn't entirely convinced.
The boat that bore him and his retinue across to the Dasins' ship, the
Avenger, was festooned with flowers and torches. Blossoms fell into the