He instructed that the priest be forbidden, the trading houses be referred to Sinja-cha and the Master of Chains, who could renegotiate terms but not break the contract, and then dictated a common response to the three letters offering up new wives for Danat that neither encouraged nor refused them. All this before the breakfast of fresh-brewed tea, spiced apples, and seared pork had appeared.
He had hardly begun to eat when the Master of Tides returned with a sour expression and took a pose that asked forgiveness, but pointedly did not suggest that the offending party was the Master of Tides herself.
"Most High, Balasar Gice is requesting to join you. I have suggested that he apply for an audience just as anyone else, but he seems to forget that his conquest of Saraykeht was temporary."
"You'll treat Balasar-cha with respect," Otah said, though he couldn't quite keep from smiling. And then a breath later, his chest tightened. Something bloody and extreme. And effective. What if the general had heard Idaan's news? "See him in. And bring another bowl for tea."
The Master of Tides took a pose that accepted the command.
"A clean bowl," Otah added to the woman's back.
Balasar followed all the appropriate forms when the servants escorted him back. Otah matched him, and then gestured for all the others to leave. When they were alone, Balasar lowered himself to the cushion on the floor, took the bowl of tea and the bit of pork that Otah offered him, and stretched out. Otah watched the man's face and body, but there was no sign there that he'd heard of Idaan's arrival or of her news.
"I've had a couple of discreet conversations," Balasar said.
"Yes?"
"About taking a fleet to ChaburiTan?"
Otah nodded. Of course. Of course that was what they were meeting about.
"And what have you found?" Otah asked.
"It can be done, but there are two ways to go about it. We have enough men to make a small, effective fighting force. Eight ships, perhaps, fully armed and provisioned. I wouldn't go to war on it, but it would outman most raiding parties."
Otah sipped his tea. The water wasn't quite hot enough to scald.
"The other way?"
"We can use the same number to man twenty ships. A mixed force, ours and your own. Throw on as many men as we can find who are well enough to stand upright. It would actually be easier to defeat in a battle. The men who knew what they were about would be spread thin, and amateurs are worse than nothing in a sea fight. But weigh it against the sight of twenty ships. The pirates would be mad to come against us in force."
"Unless they know we're all lights and empty show," Otah said. "There are suggestions that the mercenaries we have at ChaburiTan are working both sides."
Balasar sucked his teeth.
"That makes it harder," he agreed.
"How long would you need?" Otah asked.
"A week for the smaller force. Twice that for the larger."
"How many of our allies would we lose in the court here?"
"Hard to say. Knowing who your friends are is a tricky business right now. You'll have fewer than if they stayed."
Otah took a slice of apple, chewing the soft flesh slowly to give himself time. Balasar was silent, his expression unreadable. It occurred to Otah that the man would have made a decent courier.
"Give me the day," he said. "I'll have an answer for you tonight. Tomorrow at the latest."
"Thank you, Most High," Balasar said.
"I know how much I've asked of you," Otah said.
"It's something I owe you. Or that we owe each other. Whatever I can do, I will."
Otah smiled and took a pose of gratitude, but he was wondering what limits that debt would find if Idaan spoke to the old general. He was dancing around too many blades. He couldn't keep them all clear in his mind, and if he stumbled, there would be blood.
Otah finished his meal, allowed the servants to change his outer robe to a formal black with threads of gold throughout, and led his ritual procession to the audience chamber. The members of his court flowed into their places in the appropriate order, with the custom-driven signs of loyalty and obeisance. Otah restrained himself from shouting at them all to hurry. The time he spent in empty form was time stolen. He didn't have it to spare.
The audiences began, each a balancing between the justice of the issue, the politics behind those involved, and the massive complex webwork that made up the relationships of the court, of the cities, of the world. When he'd been young, the Khai Saraykeht had held audiences for things as simple as land disputes and broken contracts. Those days were gone, and nothing reached so high as the Emperor of the Khaiem unless no one lower dared rule on the matter. Nothing was trivial, everything fraught with implication.