"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 my view on the world isn't the only one. Or even the only correct one. I doubt you would have been driven to humiliate me if I hadn't done the same to you."
Her gaze shifted back to him. Whatever she had expected of him, it hadn't been this.
"I went to the wives of the councillors. There was very little time, and I thought they would have greater sway than the children. Perhaps they did. But I traded you as a trinket and didn't even think to ask you your thoughts and feelings. That should have been beneath me."
"I'm a woman," Ana said, her tone managing to be both dismissive and a challenge. I'm a woman, and we've always been traded, married off shifted as the tokens of power and alliance. Otah smiled, surprised to find himself possessed by genuine sorrow.
"Yes," he said. "You are. And with my sister, my wife, my daughter ... of all the men in the world, I should have known what that meant, and I forgot. I was in such a hurry to fix all the things I've done poorly that I did this poorly too."
She was frowning at him again as she had once before, on the journey to Saraykeht. He might have begun speaking in the language of birds or belching stones, to judge by her expression. He chuckled.
"It was not my intention to treat you with disrespect, Ana-cha. That I did so shames me. I accept your apology, and I hope that you will accept mine.
"I won't marry him," she said.
Otah drank the rest of his tea and set the empty bowl mouth-down on the lacquer tray.
"My son, you mean," Otah said. "You'll stay with this other man. Hanchat? No matter what the price or who's called on to pay it, no man deserves even your consideration? If it destroys your country and mine both, it would still be just."
"I ... I don't ..." the girl said. "That isn't. .
"I know. I understand. I'll say this. Danat is a good man. Better than I was at his age. But what you choose is entirely yours," Otah said. "If we've established anything, you and I, it's that."
"Not his?"
"Danat's decision is whether he'll marry you," Otah said with a smile. "Not the same thing at all."
He meant to leave her there. It seemed the right moment, and there was nothing more he could think to say. As he bent forward, preparing to rise, Ana spoke again.
"Your wife was a wayhouse keeper. You didn't put her aside. You never took a second wife. It was an insult to the whole body of the utkhaiem."
"It was," Otah said and stood with a grunt. There had been a time he could sit or stand in silence. "But I didn't marry her for the effect it had on other people. I did it because she was Kiyan, and there wasn't anyone else like her in the world."