Second, Otah saw that neither side was united. The Galts across from him
ran the gamut from defiant to conciliatory, the utkhaiem from outraged
to fearful. It was the same outside. The palaces, the teahouses, the
baths, the street corners-all of Saraykeht was filled with agreements
and negotiations that were suddenly, violently uncertain. He recalled
something his daughter had said once about the reopened wound being the
one most plagued by scars.
Third, and perhaps least interesting, it became clear that he was
wasting his time.
"Friends," Otah said. Then again, louder, "Friends!"
Slowly, the table grew quiet around him.
"The morning has been difficult," he said. "We should retire and reflect
on what has been said."
Whatever it was, he didn't add.
There was a rumble of assent, if not precisely agreement. Otah took a
pose of gratitude to each man and woman as they left, even to Fatter
Dasin, for whom he felt very little warmth. Otah dismissed the servants
as well, and soon only he and Danat remained. Without the pandemonium of
voices, the meeting room seemed larger and oddly forlorn.
"Well," his son said, leaning against the table. He was wearing the same
robe as he had at the botched ceremony the day before. The cloth itself
looked weary. "What do you make of it?"
Otah scratched idly at his arm and tried to focus his mind. His back
ached, and there was an uneasy, bright feeling in his gut that presaged
a sleepless and uncomfortable night. He sighed.
"Primarily, I think I'm an idiot," Otah said. "I should have written to
the daughters. I forget how different their world is. Your world, too."
Danat took a pose that asked elaboration. Otah rose, stretching. His
back didn't improve.
"Political marriage isn't a new thing," Otah said. "We've always
suffered it. They've always suffered it. But, once the rules changed, it
stopped meaning so much, didn't it? As long as Ana-cha has been alive,
she hasn't seen political marriages take place. If Radaani married his
son to Saya's daughter, they wouldn't be joining bloodlines. No
children, no lasting connection between the houses. Likewise in Galt. I
doubt it's stopped the practice entirely, but it's changed things. I
should have thought of it."
"And she could take lovers," Danat said.
"People took lovers before," Otah said.
"Not without fear," Danat said. "There's no chance of a child. It
changes how willing a girl would be."
"And how exactly do you know that?" Otah asked.
Danat blushed. Otah walked to the window. Below, the gardens were in
motion. Wind shifted the boughs of the trees and set the flowers
nodding. The scent of impending rain cooled the air. There would be a
storm by nightfall.
"Papa-kya?" Danat said.
Otah looked over his shoulder. Danat was sitting on the table, his feet
on the seat of a cushioned chair. It was the pose of a casual boy in a