Seasons of War

The time she’d gotten ill on crab soup and he’d nursed her and cared for the still squalling Nayiit. The flute player with the dancing dog they’d given a length of silver at a firekeeper’s kiln in Yalakeht. The way the autumn came to Saraykeht when they were still young.
    When she left again, there would be no one to talk to about those things. When she went to the South again and he became the new Dai-kvo, there would be no one to remind him of those moments. It made them more precious. It made her more precious.
    ‘I’ll protect you,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, love. I’ll protect us all.’
    He heard approaching footsteps, and he could feel it in Liat’s body when she did as well. She stepped back, and he let her, but he kept hold of one hand. Even if only for a moment. An urgent knock came at the door, and Cehmai’s voice.
    ‘Maati-kvo!’
    ‘Come in. Come in. What’s the matter?’
    The poet’s face was flushed, his eyes wide. It took a moment for him to catch his breath before he could speak.
    ‘The Khai says you should come. Now,’ Cehmai gasped. ‘Sinja’s back.’

22
    W hen Sinja finished his report and was silent, Otah forced his breath to be deep and regular, waiting until he could speak. His voice was tight and controlled.
    ‘You have spent the season fighting beside the Galts?’
    ‘They were winning.’
    ‘Is that supposed to be funny?’
    He was thinner than Otah remembered him. The months on the road had left Sinja’s face drawn, his cheekbones sharp. His skin was leathery from the sun and wind. He hadn’t changed his robes, and he smelled of horses. His casual air seemed false, a parody of the certain, amused, detached man whom Otah had sent away, and Otah couldn’t say if it was the captain who’d changed more or himself.
    Kiyan, the only other person in the chamber, sat apart from the pair of them, at the couch nearest the fire. Her hands were fists in her lap, her spine straight and still as a tree. Her face was expressionless. Sinja’s gaze flickered toward her, and then came back to Otah. The captain took a pose that apologized.
    ‘I’m not trying to be light about this, Most High,’ Sinja said. ‘But it’s truth. By the time I knew they weren’t attacking the Westlands, I could no more have excused myself and ridden on than flapped my arms and flown. I did what I could to slow them, but yes, when they called on us, we fought beside them. When they needed interpreters, we spoke for them. I suppose we could have thrown ourselves on their spears and died nobly, but then I wouldn’t be here to warn you now.’
    ‘You betrayed the Khaiem,’ Otah said.
    ‘And I’m betraying the Galts now,’ Sinja replied, his voice calm. ‘If you can judge the balance on that, you’re smarter than I am. I’ve done what I’ve done, Most High. If I chose wrong, I’ll apologize, except I don’t think I have.’
    ‘Let it go,’ Otah said. ‘We’ll deal with it later.’
    ‘I’d rather do it now,’ Sinja said, shifting his weight. ‘If I’m going to be drowned as a traitor, I’d like to know it.’
    Otah felt the rage rise up in his breast like a flame uncurling. He heard it in his ears.
    ‘You want pardon?’
    ‘For the boys too,’ Sinja said. ‘I swear I’ll do everything I can to earn it.’
    You’ll swear anything you like and break the oath when it suits you, Otah thought. He bit his lip until he thought it might bleed, but he didn’t shout. He didn’t call for the armsmen who waited outside the great blue doors. It would have been simple to have the man killed. It would have even felt like justice, he thought. His own man. His friend and advisor. Walking beside the Galtic general. Giving him advice. But the rage wasn’t only rage. It was also fear. And despair. And so no matter how right it felt, it couldn’t be trusted.
    ‘Don’t ask me for anything again.’
    ‘I won’t, Otah-cha.’ And then a moment later, ‘You’re a harder man than when I left.’
    ‘I’ve earned it.’
    ‘It suits you.’
    A rattle came from the door, and then a polite scratching, and Cehmai, Maati, and Liat came in the room. Their faces were flushed, and Maati’s breath was heavy as if he’d been running. Otah frowned. He wouldn’t have chosen to have Liat here, but she’d helped Kiyan with the preparations of the city and the quartering of the refugees of Cetani, so perhaps it was for the best after all. He took a general pose of greeting.
    ‘What’s . . .