THE

the andat, though recovered, have been set aside and deny the rumors

that certain deaths and odd occurrences are at all related to a new poet

under the direction of the Empire."

"What deaths?"

"Don't be too specific about that," Farrer said. "I expect they'll

supply the details."

"Let them think ... that we have the andat and are hiding the fact?"

Otah laughed.

"It won't last forever, but the longer we can stall them, the better

prepared we'll be when they come."

"And they do always come," Otah said. "Clever thought. It costs us

nothing. It could gain us a great deal. Issandra?"

Farrer leaned back in his chair, setting his heels on the parapet and

looking up at the stars, the full, heavy moon. For the space of a

heartbeat, he looked forlorn. He drank his wine and looked over at Otah.

"My wife is an amazing woman," he said. "I'm fortunate to have her. And

if Ana's half like her, she'll be ru

son likes it or not."

It was the opening to a hundred other issues. Galt and the cities of the

Khaiem were in a state of profound disarray. Ana Dasin might be the new

Empress, but that meant little enough in practical terms. In Galt the

High Council and the full council were each in flux, their elections and

appointments in question now that their cities were little more than

abandoned. Otah would be hated for that destruction or else beloved for

the mending of it.

"It is the point, isn't it? If we are two nations, we're doomed," Farrer

said, reading his concerns. "We have too many enemies and not enough

strengths between us."

"If we're one ... how do we do that? Will the High Council be ruled by

my edict? Am I supposed to cede my power to them?"

"Compromise, Most High," Farrer said. "It will be a long process of

compromise and argument, idiotic yammering debate and high melodrama.

But in its defense, it won't be war."

"It won't be war," Otah repeated. Only when the words had come out into

the night air, hanging as if physical, did he realize he had meant it as

an agreement. One nation. His empire had just doubled in size, tripled

in complexity and need, and his own power had been cut at least by half.

Farrer seemed surprised when he laughed.

"Tomorrow," Otah said. "Call the High Council tomorrow. I'll bring my

council. We'll start with the report and try to build something like a

plan from there. And tell Issandra that I'll have the letters of

embassage sent. Best get that done before there's a debate about it, ne?"

They sat for a time without speaking, two men whose children had just

joined their families. Two enemies pla

powers whose golden ages had ended. They could play at it, but each knew

that it was only in their children, in their grandchildren, that the

game of friendship could become truth.

Farrer finished his wine, leaving the bowl by his chair. As he walked

out, he put a hand on Otah's shoulder.

"Your son seems a fine man," he said.

"Your daughter is a treasure."

"She is," Farrer Dasin said, his voice serious. And then Otah was alone

again, the night numbing his feet and biting his ears and nose. He

pulled the blanket around himself more tightly and left the balcony and

the city and the celebrations behind him.

The palaces were as quiet and busy as the backstage at a performance.

Servants ran or walked or conducted low, angry conversations that died

at Otah's approach. He let the night make its own path. He knew the

bridal procession had returned to the palaces by the number of robes

with bits of tinsel and bright paper clinging to the hems. And also by

the flushed faces and spontaneous laughter. There would have been

celebration on into the night, even if they hadn't scheduled the wedding

on Candles Night. As it was, Utani as a whole, from the highest nobility

to the lowest beggar, would sleep late and speak softly when they woke.

Otah doubted there would be any wine left by spring.

But there would be babies. He could already name a dozen women casually

who would be giving birth when the summer came. And everywhere, in all

the cities, the conditions were the same. They would miss a generation,

but only one. The Empire would stumble, but it need not fall.

Even more than the joining of the Empire and Galt, the night was the

first formal celebration of a world made new. Otah wished he felt more

part of it. Perhaps he understood too well what price had brought them here.

He found Eiah where he knew he would. The physicians' house with its

wide, slate tables and the scent of vinegar and burning herbs. Cloth

lanterns bobbled in the breeze outside the open doors. A litter of

stretched canvas and light wood lay on the steps, blood staining the

cloth. Within, half a dozen men and two women sat on low wooden benches

or lay on the floor. One of the men tried to take a pose of obeisance,

winced in pain, and sat back down. Otah made his way to the rear. Three

men in leather aprons were working the tables, servants and assistants

swarming around them. Eiah, in her own apron, was at the back table. A

Galtic man lay before her, groaning. Blood drenched his side. Eiah

glanced up, saw him, and took a pose of welcome with red hands.

"What's happened?" Otah asked.

"He fell out of a window and onto a stick," Eiah said. "I'm fairly sure

we've gotten all the splinters out of him."

"He'll live, then?"

"If he doesn't go septic," Eiah said. "He's a man with a hole in his

side. You can't ask better odds than that."

The wounded man stuttered out his gratitude in his own language while

Eiah, letting him hold one of her hands, gestured with the other for an

assistant.

"Bind the wound, give him three measures of poppy milk, and put him

somewhere safe until morning. I'll want to see his wound again before we

send him back to his people."

The assistant took a pose that accepted instruction, and Eiah walked to

the wide stone basins on the back wall to wash the blood from her hands.

A woman screamed and retched, but he couldn't see where she was. Eiah

was unfazed.

"We'll have forty more like him by morning," she said. "Too drunk and

happy to think of the risks. There was a woman here earlier who wrenched

her knee climbing a rope they'd strung over the street. Almost fell on

Danat's head, to hear her say it. She may walk with a cane the rest of

her life, but she's all smiles tonight."