Otah gathered himself. He was almost certain that Danat had already had
his second meeting with the girl. Hanchat Dor, Danat's rival, was set to
be freed in the morning. Otah found himself curious to see who Ana Dasin
was in these circumstances.
"Ana," he said in her language. "I had not expected your company."
The girl stood. The soft light made her face rounder than it was, her
eyes darker. She was wearing a dress of Galtic cut with pearls
embroidered down the sleeves. Her hair, which had been pulled back into
a severe formality, was escaping. Locks hung at the side of her face
like silken banners draped from towers' windows.
"Emperor Machi. I have to thank you for seeing me so late," she said.
Her voice was hard, but not accusatory. Otah caught the faint scent of
distilled wine. The girl was fortified with drink, but not yet dulled by it.
"I am an old man," Otah said as he poured pale tea into two porcelain
bowls. "I need less sleep than I once did. Here, take one."
His little act of kindness seemed to make her stiffer and less pleased,
but she accepted the bowl. Otah sat, blowing across the tea's steaming
surface.
"I've come ..."
He waited.
"I've come to apologize," she said. She spoke the words as if she were
vomiting.
Otah sipped his tea. It was perfectly brewed, the leaves infusing the
water with a taste like summer sun and cut grass. It made the moment
even more pleasant, and he wondered if he was being unkind by taking
pleasure in Ana's predicament.
"May I ask what precisely you wish to apologize for," Otah said. "I
would hate to have any further misunderstandings between us."
Ana sat, putting the bowl on the bench at her side. The porcelain
clicked against the stone.
"I presented myself poorly," she said. "I ... set out to humiliate you
and Danat. That was uncalled for. I could have made my feelings known in
private."
"I see," Otah said. "And is that all?"
"I would like to thank you for the mercy you've shown to Hanchat."
"It's Danat you should thank for that," Otah said. "I only respected his
wishes."
"Not every parent respects her child," Ana said, then looked away, lips
pressed thin. Her child, meaning Issandra. Ana was right. The mother was
indeed scheming against her own daughter, and Otah had made himself a
party to the plot. He would not have done it to his own child. He took
another sip of his tea. It wasn't quite as pleasant as the first.
The fountain muttered to itself, the wind sighed. Here was the moment
that chance had given him, and he wasn't sure how to use it. Ana, on
whom all his plans rested, had come to him. There was something here,
some word or phrase, some thought, that would narrow the distance
between them. And in the space of a few more breaths, she would have
collected herself again and gone.
"I should apologize to you as well," Otah said. "I forget sometimes that