Danat shook his head. Otah took a querying pose.
"I'm enjoying myself," Danat said. "Whatever it says of me, I've been struck bloody by a Galt boy, and I feel I've scored a point in some game.
"It's an important game."
Danat rose. He took a pose that promised his best effort, appropriate to a junior competitor to his teacher, and left.
There had to be some way that he could aid in Danat's task, but for the moment, he couldn't think what it might be. Perhaps if there was a way to arrange some sort of isolation for the two. A journey, perhaps, to Yalakeht. Or, no, there was the conspiracy with Obar State there that still hadn't been rooted out. Well, Cetani, then. Something long and arduous and cold by the time they got there. And without the bastard who'd struck his son ...
Otah finished his fish and rice, lingering over a last bowl of wine and looking out at the small garden. It was, he thought, the size of the walled yard at the wayhouse Kiyan had owned before she became his first and only wife and he became the Khai Machi. That little space of green and white, of finches in the branches and voles scuttling in the low grass, might have been the size of his life.
Until the Galts came and slaughtered them all with the rest of Udun.
And instead, he had the world, or most of it. And a son. And, however little she liked it, a daughter. And Kiyan's ashes and his memory of her. But it had been a pretty little garden.
Otah returned to the waiting supplicants with his mind moving in ten different directions at once. He did his best to focus on the work before him, but everything seemed trivial. No matter that men's fortunes lay in his decision. No matter that he was the final appeal for justice, or if not that, at least peace. Or mercy. Justice and peace and mercy all seemed insignificant when held next to duty. His duty to ChaburiTan and all the other cities, to Danat and Eiah and the shape of the future. By the time the sun sank in the western hills, he had almost forgotten Idaan.
His sister waited for him in the apartments Sinja had found for her. She looked out of place among the sweeping arches and intricately carved stonework. Her hands were thick and calloused, her face roughened by sun. Some servant had arranged a robe for her, well-cut silk of green and cream. He considered her dark eyes and calm, weighing expression. He could not forget that she had killed men coldly, with calculation. But then so had he.
"Idaan-cha," he said as she rose. Her hands took a pose of greeting 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?"