formal as court, but made awkward by decades without practice. Otah
returned it.
"You've made a decision," she said.
"Actually, no. I haven't. I hope to by this time tomorrow. I'd like you
to stay until then."
Idaan's eyes narrowed, her lips pressed thin. Otah fought the urge to
step back.
"Forgive me if it isn't my place to ask, Most High. But is there
something more important going on than Maati bringing back the andat?"
"There are a hundred things that are more certain," Otah said. "He may
manage it, but the chances are that he won't. Meantime, I know for
certain of three ... four other things that are happening that could
unmake the cities of the Khaiem. I don't have time to play in might be."
He'd meant to turn at the end of his pronouncement and walk from the
rooms. Her voice was cutting.
"So instead, you'll wait until is?" Idaan said. "Or is it only that you
have too many apples in the air, and you're only a middling juggler?"
"I'm not in the mood to be-"
"Dressed down by a woman who's only breathing because you've chosen to
let her? Listen to yourself. You sound like the villain from some
children's bedtime story."
"Idaan-cha," he said, and then found that he had nothing to follow it.
"I've come to tell you that your old friend and enemy is harnessing
gods, and not for your benefit. It's the most threatening thing I can
imagine happening. And what's your response? You knew. You've known for
years. What's more, knowing now that he's redoubling his efforts, you
can't be bothered even to consider the question until you've cleared
your sheet of audiences? I've held a thousand opinions of you over the
years, brother, but I never thought you were stupid."
Otah felt rage bloom in his chest, rising like a fiery wave, only to die
with the woman's next words.
"It's the guilt, isn't it?" she said. When he didn't answer at once, she
nodded to herself. "You aren't the only one that's done this, you know."
"Been Emperor? Are there others?"
"Betrayed the people you loved," she said. "Come. Sit down. I still have
a little tea."
Almost to his surprise, Otah walked forward, sitting on a divan while
the former exile poured pale green tea into two carved bone bowls.
"After you set me free, I spent years without sleeping through a full
night. I'd dream of the people I'd ... the people I was responsible for.
Our father. Adrah. Danat. You never knew Danat, did you?"
"I named my son for him," Otah said. Idaan smiled, but there was a
sorrow in her eyes.
"He'd have liked that, I think. Here. Choose a bowl. I'll drink first if
you'd like. I don't mind."
Otah drank. It was overbrewed and sweetened with honey; sweet and
bitter. Idaan sipped at hers.
"After you sent me away, there was a time I went about the business of
living with what I'd done by working myself like a war slave," she said.