Seasons of War

turned her away, but under the circumstances . . .’ ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘Take her to the autumn garden.’
    The servant took a pose that accepted the command, but then hesitated.
    ‘Should I send for an outer robe, Most High?’
    Otah looked down at the wrinkled fabric and wondered what Ana would see if he met her like this: a man of great power and consequence at the end of a long day’s work, or an old slob in a cotton robe.
    ‘Yes,’ he said with a sigh. ‘An outer robe would be welcome. And tea. Bring us fresh tea. She might not care for it, but I want some.’
    The man scurried away. They had known where he was, and that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. And they had known when to disturb him. To be the Emperor of the Khaiem was above all else to be known by people he did not know. He had discovered that truth a thousand times before, and likely would do so a thousand times again, and each one discomforted him.
    The autumn garden was nestled within the palaces. Trees and vines hid the stone walls, and paper lanterns gave the flagstone path a soft light. Near the center, a small brass fountain, long given to verdigris, chuckled to itself and a small wooden pavilion rested in the darkness. Otah walked down the path, still tugging the black and silver outer robe into place. Ana Dasin sat in the pavilion, her gaze on the water sluicing over bronze. The tea, set on a lacquered tray, had preceded him as if the servants had anticipated that he would ask for it as well and had had it ready.
    Otah gathered himself. He was almost certain that Danat had already had his second meeting with the girl. Hanchat Dor, Danat’s rival, was set to be freed in the morning. Otah found himself curious to see who Ana Dasin was in these circumstances.
    ‘Ana,’ he said in her language. ‘I had not expected your company.’
    The girl stood. The soft light made her face rounder than it was, her eyes darker. She was wearing a dress of Galtic cut with pearls embroidered down the sleeves. Her hair, which had been pulled back into a severe formality, was escaping. Locks hung at the side of her face like silken banners draped from towers’ windows.
    ‘Emperor Machi. I have to thank you for seeing me so late,’ she said. Her voice was hard, but not accusatory. Otah caught the faint scent of distilled wine. The girl was fortified with drink, but not yet dulled by it.
    ‘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