Daniel Abraham - Price of Spring

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 herfather. FarrerDasin is happy to see this fail. I imagine there are a./air number in my court who feel the same way. There are too 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./car./or 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 aspect of the arrangement, and place him in her camp."

"Apologize for what?" Danat said.

"Well, for me," Otah said. "Express your shame that I would treat her so poorly."

"She'll smell that in a heartbeat," Issandra said. "And if you begin by giving her the upper hand, you'll never have it back. Ask an apology from her. Respect her objections, but tell her she was wrong in humiliat ing you. You are as much a pawn in this as she is. And do you have a lover?"

"I… I was…"

"Well, find one," Issandra said. "Preferably someone prettier than my daughter. You needn't look shocked, my boy. I've lived my life in court. While you poor dears are out swinging knives at each other, there are wars just as bloody at every grand ball."

A scratching came at the door, followed by a servant woman. She took a pose of abject apology.

"Most High, there's a courier for you."

"It can wait," Otah said. "Or if it can't, send for Sinja-cha."

"The courier's come from Chaburi-Tan," the servant said. "The letter is sealed and signed for you alone. He says the issue is urgent."

Otah cursed under his breath, but he rose. As he stepped out to the antechamber, he heard Danat and Issandra resume the conversation without him. The antechamber felt as close as a grave, heavy tapestries killing any sound from within the greater meeting room. The courier was a young man, hardly more than Danat's age. Otah saw the calm, professional eyes sum him up. If the boy had been longer in the gentleman's trade, Otah would never have noticed it. He accepted the letter and ripped it open there, not waiting for a blade to cut the silk-sewn edging.

The cipher was familiar to him, but it made for slower reading than plain text. It was from the Kajiit Miyan, servant to the Emperor Otah Machi who had founded the Third Empire. Otah skipped down past the honorifics and empty form, decoding words and phrases in his mind until he reached something of actual importance. Then he read more slowly. And then he went back and read it again.

The mercenaries hired to protect Chaburi-Tan were ending their contract and leaving. Within a month, the city would be reduced to its citizen militia. The pirates who had been harrying the city would find them only token resistance. Their options, his agent said, were to surrender and pray for mercy or else flee the city. There would be no defense.

Otah took the servant girl by the elbow.

"Find Balasar. And Sinja. Bring them…" Otah looked over his shoulder. "Bring them to the winter garden of the second palace. Do it now. You. Courier. You'll wait until I have word to take back."

The twilight world lost its color like a face going pale. Otah paced the lush green and blossomless garden, wrenching his mind from one crisis to the next. A different servant led Balasar into the space between the willows.

"Find us some light," Otah said. "And Sinja-cha. Get Sinja-cha."

The servant, caught between two needs, hesitated, then hurried off. Otah led Balasar to a low stone bench. The general wore a lighter jacket, silk over cotton. His breath smelled of wine, but he gave no sign of being drunk. Otah looked out at the gray sky, the dark, looming palaces with windows glimmering like stars and cursed Sinja for his absence.

"Balasar-cha, I need you. The Galtic fleet has to travel to ChaburiTan," Otah said.

He outlined the letter he'd had, the history of increasing raids and attacks, and his half-imagined scheme to show the unity of Galt and the Khaiem. With every word, Balasar seemed to become stiller, until at the end, it was like speaking to stone.