The Price Of Spring(32)

The sun touched the hills to the west of Saraykeht. Ruddy air rich with the scent of evening roses came through the unshuttered windows. A small meal of cheese and dried apple and plum wine waited for their pleasure on a low lacquered table. Issandra Dasin rose from her divan to greet Danat as he came forward.

"Issandra-cha," Danat said and returned her welcome.

"Danat needs your help," Otah said. Danat glanced over at him, surprise in his gaze. "You see, your daughter has convinced him that it would be wrong to marry an unwilling woman. I can argue it to be the lesser evil, but if we two work together, I think the issue might be avoided altogether."

Issandra returned to her seat, sighing. She looked older than when Otah had first met her.

"It won't be simple," Issandra said.

"What won't be simple?" Danat asked.

"Wooing my daughter," Issandra said. "What did you think we were talking about?"

Otah took a bit of dried apple in his mouth while Danat blinked. Words stumbled over the boy's tongue without finding a sentence.

"You won't have a different girl for fear she'll hate you and lie about it," Otah said in the tone of a man explaining the solution of a simple mechanical problem. "Ana, we are all quite aware, isn't going to hide her feelings on the matter. So if she chooses you, you can believe her. Yes?"

"We have a small advantage in that her present lover is something of a cow," Issandra said. "I suspect that, had the circumstances been otherwise, she would already have grown tired of him. But he's a point of pride now" She fixed Danat with her eyes. "You have a hard road before you, son.

"You want me to seduce your daughter?" Danat asked, his voice breaking slightly at seduce.

"Yes," Issandra said.

Danat sank to a cushion. His face flushed almost the color of sunset.

"I thought he might deliver an apology," Otah said. "It would give him a reason to speak with Ana-cha in private, separate him from the political aspect of the arrangement, and place him in her camp."

"Apologize for what?" Danat said.

"Well, for me," Otah said. "Express your shame that I would treat her so poorly."

"She'll smell that in a heartbeat," Issandra said. "And if you begin by giving her the upper hand, you'll never have it back. Ask an apology from her. Respect her objections, but tell her she was wrong in humiliat ing you. You are as much a pawn in this as she is. And do you have a lover?"

"I ... I was..."

"Well, find one," Issandra said. "Preferably someone prettier than my daughter. You needn't look shocked, my boy. I've lived my life in court. While you poor dears are out swinging knives at each other, there are wars just as bloody at every grand ball."

A scratching came at the door, followed by a servant woman. She took a pose of abject apology.

"Most High, there's a courier for you."

"It can wait," Otah said. "Or if it can't, send for Sinja-cha."

"The courier's come from ChaburiTan," the servant said. "The letter is sealed and signed for you alone. He says the issue is urgent."

Otah cursed under his breath, but he rose. As he stepped out to the antechamber, he heard Danat and Issandra resume the conversation without him. The antechamber felt as close as a grave, heavy tapestries killing any sound from within the greater meeting room. The courier was a young man, hardly more than Danat's age. Otah saw the calm, professional eyes sum him up. If the boy had been longer in the gentleman's trade, Otah would never have noticed it. He accepted the letter and ripped it open there, not waiting for a blade to cut the silk-sewn edging.

The cipher was familiar to him, but it made for slower reading than plain text. It was from the Kajiit Miyan, servant to the Emperor Otah Machi who had founded the Third Empire. Otah skipped down past the honorifics and empty form, decoding words and phrases in his mind until he reached something of actual importance. Then he read more slowly. And then he went back and read it again.

The mercenaries hired to protect ChaburiTan were ending their contract and leaving. Within a month, the city would be reduced to its citizen militia. The pirates who had been harrying the city would find them only token resistance. Their options, his agent said, were to surrender and pray for mercy or else flee the city. There would be no defense.

Otah took the servant girl by the elbow.

"Find Balasar. And Sinja. Bring them . . ." Otah looked over his shoulder. "Bring them to the winter garden of the second palace. Do it now. You. Courier. You'll wait until I have word to take back."

The twilight world lost its color like a face going pale. Otah paced the lush green and blossomless garden, wrenching his mind from one crisis to the next. A different servant led Balasar into the space between the willows.