Free THE (tlpq-4) by Daniel Abraham

controlled
    rage much like Fatter Dasin, and Otah's own people pleased at the
    prospects that his treaty opened for them. Instead, he saw as the guests
    came and went, as the banquet was served, as priests of Galt intoned
    their celebratory rites, that opinions were more varied and more complex.
     
    At the opening ceremony, the divisions were clear. Here, the robes of
    the Khaiem, there the tunics and gowns of the Galts. But very quickly,
    the people on the deck began to shift. Small groups fell into
    discussion, often no more than two or three people. Otah's practiced eye
    could pick out the testing smile and almost flirtatious laughter of men
    on the verge of negotiation. And as the evening progressed-candles
    burning down and being replaced, slow courses of wine and fish and meat
    and pastry making their way from the very cleverly built kitchens to the
    gently shifting deck-as many Galts as utkhaiem had the glint in their
    eyes that spoke of sensed opportunity. Larger groups formed and broke
    apart, the proportions of their two nations seeming almost even. Otah
    felt as if he'd stirred a muddy pool and was now seeing the first
    outlines of the new forms that it might take.
     
    And yet, some groups were unmoved. Two clusters of Galts never budged or
    admitted in anyone wearing robes, but also a fair-sized clot of people
    of the cities of the Khaiem sat near the far rail, their backs to the
    celebration, their conversation almost pointedly relying on court poses
    too subtle for foreigners to follow.
     
    Women, Otah noted. The people of his nation whose anger was clearest in
    their bodies and speech tended to be women. He thought of Eiah, and cool
    melancholy touched his heart. Trafficking in wombs, she would have
    called it. To her, this agreement would be the clearest and most nearly
    final statement that what mattered about the women of the cities-about
    his own daughter-was whether they could bear. He could hear her voice
    saying it, could see the pain in the way she held her chin. He murmured
    his counterarguments, as if she were there, as if she could hear him.
     
    It wasn't a turning away, only an acknowledgment of what they all knew.
    The woman of the Khaiem were just as clever, just as strong, just as
    important as they had ever been. The brokering of marriage-and yes,
    specifically marriage bent on producing children-was no more an attack
    on Eiah and her generation than building city militias or hiring
    mercenary companies or any of the other things he had done to hold the
    cities safe had been.
     
    It sounded patronizing, even to him.
     
    There had to be some way, he thought, to honor and respect the pain and
    the loss that they had suffered without forfeiting the future. He
    remembered Kiyan warning him that some women-not all, but somewho could
    not bear children went mad from longing. She told stories of babies
    being stolen, and of pregnant women killed and the babes taken from
    their dying wombs.
     
    Wanting could be a sickness, his wife had said. He remembered the night
    she'd said it, where the lantern had been, how the air had smelled of
    burning oil and pine boughs. He remembered his daughter's expression at
    hearing the phrase, like she'd found expression for something she'd
    always known, and his own sense of dread. Kiyan had tried to warn him of
    something, and it had to do with the backs of the people now at the
    rails, turned away from the Galts and the negotiated future forming
    behind them. Eiah had known. Otah felt he had still only half-grasped
    it. Fatter Dasin, he thought, might see it more clearly.
     
    "It appears to be going quite well, wouldn't you say, Most High?"
     
    Balasar Gice stood beside the dais, his hands in a pose of greeting. The
    cool night air or else the wine had touched his cheeks with red.
     
    "Does it? I hope so," Otah said, smoothing away his darker thoughts. "I
    think there are more trade agreements than wars brewing tonight. It's
    hard to know"
     
    "There's