persuaded to lead, or at least to sponsor, a campaign against the
pirates at Chaburi-Tan. They had done this. They could do anything.
The signal came: flutes and drums in fanfare as the cloth lanterns rose
to the dais. Otah stood up and the crowd before him went silent. Only
the sound of a thousand breaths competed with the songbirds and crickets.
Otah gave his address in the tones appropriate to his place, practiced
over the course of years. He found himself changing the words he had
practiced. Instead of speaking only of the future, he also wanted to
honor the past. He wanted every person there to know that in addition to
the world they were making, there was a world-in some ways good, in
others evil-that they were leaving behind.
They listened to him as if he were a singer, their eyes fastened to him,
the silence complete apart from his own words in the hundred throats of
the whisperers echoing out into the summer night. When he took the pose
that would end his recitation, he saw tears on more than one face, and
on the faces of more than one nation. He made his way to Farrer Dasin
and formally invited the man to speak. The Galt stood, bowed to Otah as
a gesture between equals, and moved forward. Otah returned to his seat
with only the lightest twinge of trepidation.
"Are you sure you should let him speak?" Sinja murmured.
"There's no avoiding it," Otah replied, still smiling. "It will be fine."
The councilman cleared his throat, stood in the odd, awkward style of
Galtic orators-one foot before the other, one hand in the air, the other
clasping his jacket and spoke. All of Otah's worst fears were put at
once to rest. It was as if Issandra had written the words and spoke them
now through her husband's mouth. The joy that was children, the dark
years that the war had brought, the emptiness of a world without the
laughter of babes. And now, the darkness ended.
Otah felt himself begin to weep slightly. He wished deeply that Kiyan
had lived to see this night. He hoped that whatever gods were more than
stories and metaphors took word of it to her. The old Galt bowed his
head to the crowd. The applause was like an earthquake or a flood. Otah
rose and held his hand out to Danat as Fatter Dasin did the same with
his daughter. The Emperor-to-be and his Empress meeting here for the
first time. There would be songs sung of this night, Otah knew.
Ana was beautiful. Someone had seen to it that the gown she wore
flattered her. Her face was painted in perfect harmony with her hair and
the gold of her necklace. Danat wore a black robe embroidered with gold
and cut to please the Galtic eye. Farrer and Otah stepped back, leaving
their children to the center of the dais. Danat tried a smile. The
girl's eyes fluttered; her cheeks were flushed under the paint, her
breath fast.
"Danat Machi?" she said.
"Ana Dasin," he replied.
The girl took a deep breath. Her pretty, rodentlike face shone. When she
spoke, her voice was strong and certain.
"I will never consent to lay down with you, and if you rape me, I will
see the world knows it. My lover is Hanchat Dor, and I will have no other."
Otah felt his face go white. In the corner of his eye, he saw Farrer