Seasons of War

difficult,’ Balasar said. ‘There are families who have committed to your scheme. That have already been brokering contracts and arranging alliances. I can gather them. It won’t be anything like the full force of war, but if they sent their private ships and soldiers along with whatever you can muster up, it might serve.’
    ‘At the cost of sending away what allies I have,’ Otah said.
    ‘That would be the price of it,’ Balasar said. ‘Send away your friends, and you’re left eating with your enemies. It could poison the court against us.’
    Us. At least the man had said us .
    ‘Get them,’ Otah said. ‘Get whoever you can quickly, and then send for me. I can’t let another city die.’
    It only occurred to him as he stalked back through the wide stone halls and softly glowing lanterns of the first palace that he had been speaking to the man that had killed Udun and the village of the Daikvo, the man who had maimed Nantani and Yalakeht.
    The meeting chamber was empty when he reached it; Danat and Issandra had gone. The cheese and apples and wine had been cleared away. The lanterns had blown out. Otah called for a servant to fetch him food and light. He sat, his annoyance and unease rising in his breast like the tide climbing a sea cliff.
    Ana Dasin and her petulant, self-important father were well on their way to seeing both empires chewed away one bit at a time by pirates and foreign conspiracies. And failing crops. And time. Childless years growing one upon another like a winter with no promise of spring. There were so many things to fix, so uncountably many things that had gone wrong. He was the Emperor, the most powerful man in the cities of the Khaiem, and he was tired to his heart.
    When the food arrived - pork in black sauce, spiced rice, sugared apple, wine and herbs - Otah was hardly hungry any longer. Moments after that, Sinja finally arrived.
    ‘Where have you been?’ Sinja demanded. ‘I’ve been wandering around the winter garden for half a hand looking for you.’
    ‘I should ask the same. I must have had half the servants in the palace looking for you.’
    ‘I know. Six of them found me. It got inconvenient telling them all I was busy. You need to come with me.’
    ‘You were busy?’
    ‘Otah-cha, you need to come with me.’
    He breathed deeply and took a pose that commanded obedience. Sinja’s eyebrows rose and he adopted an answering pose that held nuances of both query and affront.
    ‘I have no intention of going anywhere until I have finished eating,’ Otah said. It embarrassed him to hear the peevishness in his voice, but not so much as to unsay it. Sinja tilted his head, stepped forward, and lifted one end of the table. The plates and bowl spun to the floor. One shattered. Otah was on his feet with no memory of standing. His face felt as warm as if he were looking into a fire. His ears filled with a buzzing of rage.
    Sinja took a step back.
    ‘I can have you killed,’ Otah said. ‘You know I can have you killed.’
    ‘You’re right,’ Sinja said. ‘That passed the mark. I apologize, Most High. But you have to come with me. Now.’
    Servants came in, their eyes wide as little moons, their hands fluttering over the carnage of his dinner.
    ‘What is it?’ Otah said.
    ‘Not here. Not where someone might hear us.’
    Sinja turned and walked from the room. Otah hesitated, mumbled an obscenity that made the servants turn their faces away, and followed. As his own anger faded, he saw the tension in Sinja’s shoulders and through his neck. They were the sorts of signs he should have picked up on at once. He was tired. He was slipping.
    Sinja was quartered in apartments of the third palace, where the Khai Saraykeht’s second son would have lived, had there been a Khai Saraykeht or any sons. The walls were black marble polished until the darkness itself shone in the torchlight. Doors of worked silver still showed where gems had been wrenched from them by Galtic hands. They were beautiful all the same. Perhaps more beautiful than when they had been intact; scars created character.
    Without speaking, Sinja went to each window in turn, poking his head out into the night, then closing outer shutters and inner. Otah stood, arms in his sleeves, unease growing in his heart.
    ‘What is this?’ Otah said, but the man only took a pose that asked patience and continued in his errand. At the last, he looked out into the corridor, sent the servant there away, then closed and