Seasons of War

just now. Do what he believed to be right and endure the consequences, no matter how terrible.
    If only his children were less like him.
    There had to be a way. The whole half-dead mess of it had to be salvageable. He had only to see how.
    Voices and argument filled the halls as he made his way through the palaces. Columns wrapped in celebratory cloth mocked him. Uncertain, falsely bright gazes met his own and were ignored. The thick air of the summer cities left sweat running down Otah’s spine and the sense of a damp cloth pressed against his face. There was a way to salvage this. He had only to find it.
    Letters and requests for audiences waited for him, stacks of paper as long as his forearm. He ignored them for now and sent his servants scurrying for fresh paper and chilled tea. He sat at his desk, the pen’s bright bronze nib in the air just above the brick of ink, and gave himself a moment before he began.
Kiyan-kya—
Well, love, it’s all gone as well as a wicker fish boat. Ana won’t have Danat. Danat won’t have Ana. I find myself host to the worst gathering in history not actually struck by plague. I think the only thing I’ve done well was that I didn’t wrestle our son to the ground when he walked away from me. I feel like everyone is wrapped up in what happened before, and I’m alone in fearing what will come after. We won’t survive, love. The Khaiem and the Galts both are sinking, and we’re so short-sighted and mean of spirit we’re willing to die if it means the other bastard goes down too.
I don’t mean Ana or Danat. They’re only young and brave and stupid the way young, brave people are. I mean her father: Farrer Dasin is happy to see this fail. I imagine there are a fair number in my court who feel the same way.
There are two sides to this, love. But they aren’t the two sides we think of - not the Khaiem and the Galts. It’s the people in love with the past and the ones who fear for the future. And, though the gods alone know how I’m going to do it, I have to win Danat and Ana over from the one camp to the other:
    Otah paused, something shifting in the back of his mind. It felt the way it had when Kiyan was alive and speaking to him from the next room, her voice too low to make out the words. He put down the pen and closed his eyes.
    Win Ana over. He had to win Ana over.
    ‘Oh,’ he said.
     
    ‘Issandra-cha. Thank you for coming. You know my son, I think,’ Otah said.
    The sun touched the hills to the west of Saraykeht. Ruddy air rich with the scent of evening roses came through the unshuttered windows. A small meal of cheese and dried apple and plum wine waited for their pleasure on a low lacquered table. Issandra Dasin rose from her divan to greet Danat as he came forward.
    ‘Issandra-cha,’ Danat said and returned her welcome.
    ‘Danat needs your help,’ Otah said. Danat glanced over at him, surprise in his gaze. ‘You see, your daughter has convinced him that it would be wrong to marry an unwilling woman. I can argue it to be the lesser evil, but if we two work together, I think the issue might be avoided altogether.’
    Issandra returned to her seat, sighing. She looked older than when Otah had first met her.
    ‘It won’t be simple,’ Issandra said.
    ‘What won’t be simple?’ Danat asked.
    ‘Wooing my daughter,’ Issandra said. ‘What did you think we were talking about?’
    Otah took a bit of dried apple in his mouth while Danat blinked. Words stumbled over the boy’s tongue without finding a sentence.
    ‘You won’t have a different girl for fear she’ll hate you and lie about it,’ Otah said in the tone of a man explaining the solution of a simple mechanical problem. ‘Ana, we are all quite aware, isn’t going to hide her feelings on the matter. So if she chooses you, you can believe her. Yes?’
    ‘We have a small advantage in that her present lover is something of a cow,’ Issandra said. ‘I suspect that, had the circumstances been otherwise, she would already have grown tired of him. But he’s a point of pride now.’ She fixed Danat with her eyes. ‘You have a hard road before you, son.’
    ‘You want me to seduce your daughter?’ Danat asked, his voice breaking slightly at seduce .
    ‘Yes,’ Issandra said.
    Danat sank to a cushion. His face flushed almost the color of sunset.
    ‘I thought he might deliver an apology,’ Otah said. ‘It would give him a reason to speak with Ana-cha in private, separate him from the political