The Wall of Storms, page 30
Jia nodded. “Clever. I’m sure he’s as blind as Rin’s spies.” But her elation soon faded as she clenched her fists in frustration. “Now if only those fools would make use of all the resources I’ve given them! I can’t do everything for them.”
“What do you want me to do with the opera troupe?”
“Give them the promised pay,” said Jia. “And also this.” She handed him a few paper packets. “Tell them it’s a formula for experiencing communion with the gods—it will be true if they try it, at least for a while.”
Otho nodded and did not ask for more information. He had decided long ago that not knowing all the details of what Jia planned was best for his peace of mind. One time he had seen one of the messengers running naked through the street, screaming that he was burning up from the inside before throwing himself under the hooves of a team of spooked horses. Another time he had heard rumors of men who had died in the throes of passion in an indigo house. Jia was creative with her formulations.
“Just to be sure,” she added, “leak the fact that the troupe is flush with money to a few gangs of thieves.”
Sometimes he felt that he didn’t understand her at all, but she needed him, and he would always be there for her.
“Don’t be troubled in your conscience, Otho.” Jia graced him with a regal smile. “I have tried to explain what I’m doing to you, but politics is not your natural realm. Trust that I act to protect the dream of Dara, the fragile peace that Kuni and I have built.”
And seeing that Otho was unconvinced, she affectionately wrapped her arms around him. “Then try this: Know that I act out of love for Kuni, even if he would not understand. Love makes us do strange things.”
Otho nodded. He could understand that sentiment.
As Théra and Kuni worked in the garden-farm, Consort Risana strolled by and stopped.
“I was just looking for you, Kuni!” she called out.
“Auntie Risana,” Théra said. “Sorry I can’t greet you properly. I’m a bit muddy at the moment.”
Risana waved to indicate that it was all right. “It’s so nice to see you two enjoying the spring sun together. I wish Hudo-tika would join you.”
“Hunting is good exercise, too,” said Kuni.
He wiped his sweaty face with a towel and left the field to join his wife.
“You look like you have some good news to share,” he said, smiling.
“I do indeed. Cogo has looked at my draft proposal for model leases between landlords and tenant farmers and thought it a good idea.”
“Of course he would,” said Kuni. “Standard lease terms will help curb the sort of abuses that Zomi Kidosu spoke of, and place the tax burden where it belongs. Getting the nobles to promulgate these models in their domains will be trickier, however. They’ll view it as more Imperial interference in their affairs.”
To the side, Théra continued to plant sweet lantern seedlings. Her ears perked up and her hands slowed down at the mention of Zomi’s name.
“I have a solution for that,” said Risana. “When you issue the edict, you can couch it as a request for comments. That way, each of the nobles will be able to offer suggestions and adapt the model for conditions unique in each fief.”
“Good,” said Kuni. “That way, they’ll feel consulted rather than imposed on.”
“And I will write privately to the wives of the most recalcitrant lords. I know what most of them are really afraid of, and by assuring the wives that this policy has nothing to do with the empress, they’ll pass the sentiment on to their husbands.”
Théra knew that both Consort Risana and her mother exercised much of their influence through informal means, and her father depended on them to maintain a web of social ties and unofficial communications to help smooth the running of the empire.
“Thank you,” said Kuni. “You are always so circumspect.”
“It’s enough that you know what I’ve done,” said Risana, and she and Kuni shared a kiss and continued to talk in lowered voices.
It’s too bad that she can’t take credit for her ideas, Théra thought.
“What do you think of Roné, Than Carucono’s nephew?” the empress asked.
Théra and Jia were arranging flowers in the courtyard outside the empress’s private suite. They’d always enjoyed doing this together, ever since Théra was a little girl and brought dandelion puffs to her mother so they could blow on them together.
“He seemed really full of himself,” said Théra. The Carucono family had come into the palace for a visit earlier, and Théra served them tea as they chatted with Jia.
“He’s a firoa who barely missed the cutoff for the Palace Examination,” said Jia. “And Than treats Roné as though he were his own son. He has reasons to be proud.”
Théra scoffed. “I’d be more impressed if he had bolder ideas.” The memory of Zomi Kidosu’s performance at the Palace Examination three years ago came unbidden to her mind. She smiled to herself.
Jia stopped trimming the flower stems to look at her. “Then what do you think of Kita Thu? He certainly set the tone for boldness of presentation.”
It took Théra a few moments to remember who her mother was referring to. “The one who advocated for a return to the Tiro system? He was a joke!”
“There are more than a few in the Islands who support his ideas,” said Jia. “What may seem like a joke to your father doesn’t always appear that way to others.”
“I thought he was without vision,” said Théra stubbornly.
“What of Naroca Huza? The prime minister speaks well of him.”
It finally dawned on Théra that her mother’s tone was not at all casual. Why is she asking about my opinion of these men?
“I am perhaps too young to judge the character of men,” said Théra, now very cautious.
Jia went back to trimming the flowers. “Are you really? Half of the noblewomen your age have already been contracted in marriage.”
“But I don’t even like any of these people!”
“Our choices are limited, and you need to think about the most advantageous way to position yourself for the future. You’re a clever girl, but a suitable alliance is the best way to ensure that your cleverness is not wasted. Do not define your life by romantic notions.”
Théra’s heart pounded. She dared not speak lest she scream. Are these alliances for my sake or for the sake of my brother?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE EMPEROR’S SHADOWS
PAN: THE FOURTH MONTH IN THE NINTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
The small airship drifted over Lake Tututika, which glistened in the sun like an endless mirror. From this height, the small fishing boats appeared as water striders, and even the eagles hunting for fish circled below the ship like small gnats. A dozen palace guards manned the feathered oars, pulling to the beat of a light drum. Inside the gondola, the emperor, the empress, and Consort Risana sat around a small table, snacking on sugared lotus seeds and drinking hot green tea. It was rare for the Imperial family to find the leisure to enjoy a spring day together, away from the concerns and intrigue of the palace.
“Phyro is begging to visit Gin again,” said Risana.
Jia said nothing as she methodically wiped the porcelain teacups with a white cloth.
“That boy has always liked the company of generals more than books,” said Kuni. He chuckled. “I can understand that.”
“In a time of peace, books are more important than swords,” said Jia, as she carefully deposited powdered tea into the cups with a bamboo scoop.
“Phyro grows restless,” said Risana. “He complains that Master Ruthi’s lessons, while valuable, are not teaching him what he needs to know.”
Kuni closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in the fragrance of the powdered tea. “There is only so much you can learn from books. No book could have prepared me for being emperor, and I doubt my children would be any different.”
This was as close as Kuni ever got to acknowledging the awkwardness of his lack of a plan of succession. Risana glanced over at Jia, but Jia seemed to be concentrating only on the brazier over the hot coals.
Risana bit her lip and decided that she had to risk it. “It’s best for both princes to learn the art of administration.” She kept her eyes on Jia as she continued, “Phyro can help Timu as an adviser when the day comes for Timu to take over.” She hoped that she had done enough to assure Jia, whose moods she had always found hard to read.
Jia waited until the water was just boiling in the brazier, the bubbles covering the surface like the foam blown out by fish over a quiet corner of the pond. Then she lifted the kettle off the brazier and poured the scalding water into the three teacups, flexing her wrist so that the stream of hot water shot out like a concentrated beam of light, dipping into the cups in quick succession.
“The princes do need practice to understand how to drive the carriage of state,” said Jia. “Please, have a taste. Lady Fina’s parents sent this from Faça.”
Risana sipped the tea. “It is excellent. Honored Big Sister, your skill at bringing out the best qualities of each variety of tea is unparalleled.”
Jia smiled in acknowledgment. “Kuni, you’re not the eldest in your family, and yet it is you, not your brother, who has become Emperor of Dara. We should not be tied to the idea of primogeniture. The prince who is most suited to rule should ascend the throne.”
Risana almost felt pity for Jia. It must have taken Jia every ounce of strength to acknowledge her weakness. Kuni had come to power with the aid of men (and women) who were more at home in a saddle than in a court, and almost all of them found Risana the more sympathetic queen and Phyro the better future heir. And although Kuni had never explicitly broached the idea of designating Phyro as the crown prince, anyone who had eyes could see how Kuni favored the younger boy.
With her last statement, Jia was practically conceding the struggle at this point.
“You are truly an extraordinary woman,” said Risana, determined to be gracious in victory. “I am humbled by your grandness of spirit.”
Jia sighed inwardly. The awkwardness between Kuni and Timu was a complicated matter that many thought was rooted in the prolonged separation between father and son during the Timu’s earliest years, when Jia and the children had been the Hegemon’s hostages. By the time father and son were reunited, Timu had become more attached to Jia’s lover, Otho Krin, than his father. Timu’s formal demeanor and timid nature in the following years had not helped things.
But she knew that it would be a disaster if Phyro were to become the emperor. It was up to her to see that future never come to pass, not just for the sake of Timu and herself, but all of Dara.
“I have an idea,” Jia said. “The best way to tell who is most suited to rule is to observe them in practice—a friendly competition, if you will.”
Kuni chuckled. “It is good that we have only two princes to worry about.”
Years ago—after the death of Consort Fina—Kuni, Jia, and Risana had all agreed that Jia should prepare herbs for both wives that would prevent further pregnancies. Even with the skill of someone like Jia at hand, childbirth was an extraordinarily dangerous event for women, and Kuni didn’t want to see anyone else close to him die in that manner. There were enough children, he had declared, and though he didn’t voice it aloud, he was perhaps also worried about more children intensifying future rivalries over succession.
“A kingdom is not as large as the empire, but it has similar problems on a smaller scale. It would be good for the princes to get some experience at ruling.” Jia sipped her tea. “Just like a shadow puppet play can portray the world in miniature, the princes can play at being the Emperor’s shadows.”
“The Emperor’s Shadows,” mused Kuni. “I like it. Where do you suggest the princes be given their realms?”
“Kado is not doing much in Dasu,” said Jia. “In fact, I get the feeling that he would be perfectly content to retire from the throne in favor of one of his nephews. You might as well leave Kado and his family with a hereditary title with no fief—they’ll be taken care of, but they won’t have to bother with the responsibility.”
Kuni nodded. He wasn’t particularly close to Kado, and this seemed like a good solution. “Timu or Phyro?”
“Dasu is in need of a ruler with more care for the spiritual and intellectual development of its population,” said Jia. “Advocate Kidosu had said as much. I think Timu would be more suited for the fief, and Imperial Tutor Zato Ruthi can assist him.”
The suggestion made sense to Kuni. “What about Phyro?”
Risana tensed and disguised her anxiety by sipping from her cup. She regretted not seizing the opening earlier to suggest that Phyro be an apprentice of sorts for Gin Mazoti—that would have given Phyro the experience he needed as well as bringing him even closer to the most powerful general in the realm. But Jia now had the initiative, and she could do nothing but wait.
Jia looked thoughtful. “This is the Year of the Wolf, potentially a time of strife and danger. Since forces loyal to the Hegemon are plotting mischief in Tunoa, why not send Phyro to the new fief and give him the power to fully pacify the land? Rin Coda could be his adviser. After all, you cannot fight all your sons’ battles for them.”
Risana turned over Jia’s suggestion in her mind. She could find no fault with it. Both Dasu and Tunoa were similar in size and population (indeed, Tunoa was slightly bigger). Jia’s idea matched the skills of both princes with local needs, and it really did seem that she was trying to do the best for both boys. “I’m grateful for your thoughtful care for our children,” said Risana.
“I’m only doing my duty,” said Jia. “You’re the sister I never had.”
And the three continued to drink tea and admire the lovely lake laid out beneath them. Between the sky and the water, the airship was a single pearl that connected everything to everything else in a web of light.
The announcement of the Emperor’s Shadows set all of Pan abuzz.
Many wondered whether this meant that the emperor was thinking of a bigger role for the princes to play—and a smaller one for himself; some praised the decision to send Prince Timu to focus on the cultural development of Dasu; others worried that the appointment of Prince Phyro indicated a rise in the dissatisfaction of old nobles with Emperor Ragin’s rule; still others thought of the whole thing as an episode in some exciting shadow puppet show, wherein rival princes built independent bases of power at the ends of Dara.
Lady Soto was reading to Fara in the western end of the garden when Jia came down the path, a small basket in hand.
“Aunt Empress,” said Fara. She stood up and bowed in deep jiri.
“Go on and play by yourself in the orchard,” said Soto. “I’ll come and find you later, and we can finish the story.” Fara scooted away, and Soto laid the book down next to her.
Jia glanced at the title on the book. She frowned. “Isn’t Fara a bit too young for the story of the Queen of Écofi and the Seven Princes?”
“Children can deal with bloody tales a lot better than we give them credit for,” said Soto. “It’s real bloodshed that we should save them from.”
Jia inclined her head and considered Soto. The corners of her lips lifted. “Soto, I think we’re far past the time when we need to be playing games. If you have something to say to me, say it.”
Soto took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to figure out what you’re doing, but I confess I’m stumped.”
Breezily, Jia said, “I’m on my way to the hothouse to pick some oranges for the children.”
“I think I’ve earned the right to be spoken to without jest. I’ve gone through the palace accounts—Chatelain Krin may be careful, but it’s impossible to not leave marks when so much money is involved.”
The smile faded from the empress’s face. “You’re wondering if I’m still trying to ensure that Timu will be the crown prince. The answer is yes.”
“I know that. But I can’t figure out how the Emperor’s Shadows will accomplish that, or what it has to do with your secret diversion of funds from the Imperial Treasury. You once worried that Phyro was going to gain the loyalty of Kuni’s generals with his easy manners and admiration for the martial arts, and I can only imagine you’d try to remedy that by either reducing the power of the generals or by gaining Timu some respect with them. But your plan doesn’t seem to do either of those things.”
“When you try something repeatedly and it doesn’t work, continuing along the same path would be madness.”
Soto took a deep breath. “I’ll always be loyal to you, Jia. But I have affection for all the children. I don’t like to see any of them hurt.”
Jia looked back, her eyes level. “Why is it that a mother’s actions are always assumed to be selfish? I’ve watched all the children grow up together, and I have affection for them all, even if I didn’t give birth to every one. But I’ve also seen blood flow when men grow ambitious and wish to seize by force that which is not theirs. I must do what I can to prevent that future. I am the Empress of Dara, and my first duty is to the people.”
“Do you see such a future with Phyro on the throne?”
Jia looked away for a moment and seemed to come to some decision. “Soto, you chose to serve my husband because you believed that he would give Dara a better future than the Hegemon. Do you still believe that’s true?”
Soto nodded.
“Your belief is the greatest danger of them all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like the Hegemon, Kuni places too much faith in personal trust. During the Chrysanthemum-Dandelion War, he allowed Gin Mazoti to declare herself queen, gambling that the gesture of trust would buy her loyalty. He allows each of his nobles to keep an army large enough to bring ruin upon the land, though the Islands are at peace. Like the man he once called brother, Kuni has decided to build his empire upon bonds of trust between him and those who serve him.”
“And why is that wrong?”
“Because trust is fickle and will not bear a heavy load. Kuni has made the empire dependent on him because he thinks only he can see a path forward. That is a fragile state. Phyro, though he is young, shows the same tendencies.”
“What do you want me to do with the opera troupe?”
“Give them the promised pay,” said Jia. “And also this.” She handed him a few paper packets. “Tell them it’s a formula for experiencing communion with the gods—it will be true if they try it, at least for a while.”
Otho nodded and did not ask for more information. He had decided long ago that not knowing all the details of what Jia planned was best for his peace of mind. One time he had seen one of the messengers running naked through the street, screaming that he was burning up from the inside before throwing himself under the hooves of a team of spooked horses. Another time he had heard rumors of men who had died in the throes of passion in an indigo house. Jia was creative with her formulations.
“Just to be sure,” she added, “leak the fact that the troupe is flush with money to a few gangs of thieves.”
Sometimes he felt that he didn’t understand her at all, but she needed him, and he would always be there for her.
“Don’t be troubled in your conscience, Otho.” Jia graced him with a regal smile. “I have tried to explain what I’m doing to you, but politics is not your natural realm. Trust that I act to protect the dream of Dara, the fragile peace that Kuni and I have built.”
And seeing that Otho was unconvinced, she affectionately wrapped her arms around him. “Then try this: Know that I act out of love for Kuni, even if he would not understand. Love makes us do strange things.”
Otho nodded. He could understand that sentiment.
As Théra and Kuni worked in the garden-farm, Consort Risana strolled by and stopped.
“I was just looking for you, Kuni!” she called out.
“Auntie Risana,” Théra said. “Sorry I can’t greet you properly. I’m a bit muddy at the moment.”
Risana waved to indicate that it was all right. “It’s so nice to see you two enjoying the spring sun together. I wish Hudo-tika would join you.”
“Hunting is good exercise, too,” said Kuni.
He wiped his sweaty face with a towel and left the field to join his wife.
“You look like you have some good news to share,” he said, smiling.
“I do indeed. Cogo has looked at my draft proposal for model leases between landlords and tenant farmers and thought it a good idea.”
“Of course he would,” said Kuni. “Standard lease terms will help curb the sort of abuses that Zomi Kidosu spoke of, and place the tax burden where it belongs. Getting the nobles to promulgate these models in their domains will be trickier, however. They’ll view it as more Imperial interference in their affairs.”
To the side, Théra continued to plant sweet lantern seedlings. Her ears perked up and her hands slowed down at the mention of Zomi’s name.
“I have a solution for that,” said Risana. “When you issue the edict, you can couch it as a request for comments. That way, each of the nobles will be able to offer suggestions and adapt the model for conditions unique in each fief.”
“Good,” said Kuni. “That way, they’ll feel consulted rather than imposed on.”
“And I will write privately to the wives of the most recalcitrant lords. I know what most of them are really afraid of, and by assuring the wives that this policy has nothing to do with the empress, they’ll pass the sentiment on to their husbands.”
Théra knew that both Consort Risana and her mother exercised much of their influence through informal means, and her father depended on them to maintain a web of social ties and unofficial communications to help smooth the running of the empire.
“Thank you,” said Kuni. “You are always so circumspect.”
“It’s enough that you know what I’ve done,” said Risana, and she and Kuni shared a kiss and continued to talk in lowered voices.
It’s too bad that she can’t take credit for her ideas, Théra thought.
“What do you think of Roné, Than Carucono’s nephew?” the empress asked.
Théra and Jia were arranging flowers in the courtyard outside the empress’s private suite. They’d always enjoyed doing this together, ever since Théra was a little girl and brought dandelion puffs to her mother so they could blow on them together.
“He seemed really full of himself,” said Théra. The Carucono family had come into the palace for a visit earlier, and Théra served them tea as they chatted with Jia.
“He’s a firoa who barely missed the cutoff for the Palace Examination,” said Jia. “And Than treats Roné as though he were his own son. He has reasons to be proud.”
Théra scoffed. “I’d be more impressed if he had bolder ideas.” The memory of Zomi Kidosu’s performance at the Palace Examination three years ago came unbidden to her mind. She smiled to herself.
Jia stopped trimming the flower stems to look at her. “Then what do you think of Kita Thu? He certainly set the tone for boldness of presentation.”
It took Théra a few moments to remember who her mother was referring to. “The one who advocated for a return to the Tiro system? He was a joke!”
“There are more than a few in the Islands who support his ideas,” said Jia. “What may seem like a joke to your father doesn’t always appear that way to others.”
“I thought he was without vision,” said Théra stubbornly.
“What of Naroca Huza? The prime minister speaks well of him.”
It finally dawned on Théra that her mother’s tone was not at all casual. Why is she asking about my opinion of these men?
“I am perhaps too young to judge the character of men,” said Théra, now very cautious.
Jia went back to trimming the flowers. “Are you really? Half of the noblewomen your age have already been contracted in marriage.”
“But I don’t even like any of these people!”
“Our choices are limited, and you need to think about the most advantageous way to position yourself for the future. You’re a clever girl, but a suitable alliance is the best way to ensure that your cleverness is not wasted. Do not define your life by romantic notions.”
Théra’s heart pounded. She dared not speak lest she scream. Are these alliances for my sake or for the sake of my brother?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE EMPEROR’S SHADOWS
PAN: THE FOURTH MONTH IN THE NINTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.
The small airship drifted over Lake Tututika, which glistened in the sun like an endless mirror. From this height, the small fishing boats appeared as water striders, and even the eagles hunting for fish circled below the ship like small gnats. A dozen palace guards manned the feathered oars, pulling to the beat of a light drum. Inside the gondola, the emperor, the empress, and Consort Risana sat around a small table, snacking on sugared lotus seeds and drinking hot green tea. It was rare for the Imperial family to find the leisure to enjoy a spring day together, away from the concerns and intrigue of the palace.
“Phyro is begging to visit Gin again,” said Risana.
Jia said nothing as she methodically wiped the porcelain teacups with a white cloth.
“That boy has always liked the company of generals more than books,” said Kuni. He chuckled. “I can understand that.”
“In a time of peace, books are more important than swords,” said Jia, as she carefully deposited powdered tea into the cups with a bamboo scoop.
“Phyro grows restless,” said Risana. “He complains that Master Ruthi’s lessons, while valuable, are not teaching him what he needs to know.”
Kuni closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in the fragrance of the powdered tea. “There is only so much you can learn from books. No book could have prepared me for being emperor, and I doubt my children would be any different.”
This was as close as Kuni ever got to acknowledging the awkwardness of his lack of a plan of succession. Risana glanced over at Jia, but Jia seemed to be concentrating only on the brazier over the hot coals.
Risana bit her lip and decided that she had to risk it. “It’s best for both princes to learn the art of administration.” She kept her eyes on Jia as she continued, “Phyro can help Timu as an adviser when the day comes for Timu to take over.” She hoped that she had done enough to assure Jia, whose moods she had always found hard to read.
Jia waited until the water was just boiling in the brazier, the bubbles covering the surface like the foam blown out by fish over a quiet corner of the pond. Then she lifted the kettle off the brazier and poured the scalding water into the three teacups, flexing her wrist so that the stream of hot water shot out like a concentrated beam of light, dipping into the cups in quick succession.
“The princes do need practice to understand how to drive the carriage of state,” said Jia. “Please, have a taste. Lady Fina’s parents sent this from Faça.”
Risana sipped the tea. “It is excellent. Honored Big Sister, your skill at bringing out the best qualities of each variety of tea is unparalleled.”
Jia smiled in acknowledgment. “Kuni, you’re not the eldest in your family, and yet it is you, not your brother, who has become Emperor of Dara. We should not be tied to the idea of primogeniture. The prince who is most suited to rule should ascend the throne.”
Risana almost felt pity for Jia. It must have taken Jia every ounce of strength to acknowledge her weakness. Kuni had come to power with the aid of men (and women) who were more at home in a saddle than in a court, and almost all of them found Risana the more sympathetic queen and Phyro the better future heir. And although Kuni had never explicitly broached the idea of designating Phyro as the crown prince, anyone who had eyes could see how Kuni favored the younger boy.
With her last statement, Jia was practically conceding the struggle at this point.
“You are truly an extraordinary woman,” said Risana, determined to be gracious in victory. “I am humbled by your grandness of spirit.”
Jia sighed inwardly. The awkwardness between Kuni and Timu was a complicated matter that many thought was rooted in the prolonged separation between father and son during the Timu’s earliest years, when Jia and the children had been the Hegemon’s hostages. By the time father and son were reunited, Timu had become more attached to Jia’s lover, Otho Krin, than his father. Timu’s formal demeanor and timid nature in the following years had not helped things.
But she knew that it would be a disaster if Phyro were to become the emperor. It was up to her to see that future never come to pass, not just for the sake of Timu and herself, but all of Dara.
“I have an idea,” Jia said. “The best way to tell who is most suited to rule is to observe them in practice—a friendly competition, if you will.”
Kuni chuckled. “It is good that we have only two princes to worry about.”
Years ago—after the death of Consort Fina—Kuni, Jia, and Risana had all agreed that Jia should prepare herbs for both wives that would prevent further pregnancies. Even with the skill of someone like Jia at hand, childbirth was an extraordinarily dangerous event for women, and Kuni didn’t want to see anyone else close to him die in that manner. There were enough children, he had declared, and though he didn’t voice it aloud, he was perhaps also worried about more children intensifying future rivalries over succession.
“A kingdom is not as large as the empire, but it has similar problems on a smaller scale. It would be good for the princes to get some experience at ruling.” Jia sipped her tea. “Just like a shadow puppet play can portray the world in miniature, the princes can play at being the Emperor’s shadows.”
“The Emperor’s Shadows,” mused Kuni. “I like it. Where do you suggest the princes be given their realms?”
“Kado is not doing much in Dasu,” said Jia. “In fact, I get the feeling that he would be perfectly content to retire from the throne in favor of one of his nephews. You might as well leave Kado and his family with a hereditary title with no fief—they’ll be taken care of, but they won’t have to bother with the responsibility.”
Kuni nodded. He wasn’t particularly close to Kado, and this seemed like a good solution. “Timu or Phyro?”
“Dasu is in need of a ruler with more care for the spiritual and intellectual development of its population,” said Jia. “Advocate Kidosu had said as much. I think Timu would be more suited for the fief, and Imperial Tutor Zato Ruthi can assist him.”
The suggestion made sense to Kuni. “What about Phyro?”
Risana tensed and disguised her anxiety by sipping from her cup. She regretted not seizing the opening earlier to suggest that Phyro be an apprentice of sorts for Gin Mazoti—that would have given Phyro the experience he needed as well as bringing him even closer to the most powerful general in the realm. But Jia now had the initiative, and she could do nothing but wait.
Jia looked thoughtful. “This is the Year of the Wolf, potentially a time of strife and danger. Since forces loyal to the Hegemon are plotting mischief in Tunoa, why not send Phyro to the new fief and give him the power to fully pacify the land? Rin Coda could be his adviser. After all, you cannot fight all your sons’ battles for them.”
Risana turned over Jia’s suggestion in her mind. She could find no fault with it. Both Dasu and Tunoa were similar in size and population (indeed, Tunoa was slightly bigger). Jia’s idea matched the skills of both princes with local needs, and it really did seem that she was trying to do the best for both boys. “I’m grateful for your thoughtful care for our children,” said Risana.
“I’m only doing my duty,” said Jia. “You’re the sister I never had.”
And the three continued to drink tea and admire the lovely lake laid out beneath them. Between the sky and the water, the airship was a single pearl that connected everything to everything else in a web of light.
The announcement of the Emperor’s Shadows set all of Pan abuzz.
Many wondered whether this meant that the emperor was thinking of a bigger role for the princes to play—and a smaller one for himself; some praised the decision to send Prince Timu to focus on the cultural development of Dasu; others worried that the appointment of Prince Phyro indicated a rise in the dissatisfaction of old nobles with Emperor Ragin’s rule; still others thought of the whole thing as an episode in some exciting shadow puppet show, wherein rival princes built independent bases of power at the ends of Dara.
Lady Soto was reading to Fara in the western end of the garden when Jia came down the path, a small basket in hand.
“Aunt Empress,” said Fara. She stood up and bowed in deep jiri.
“Go on and play by yourself in the orchard,” said Soto. “I’ll come and find you later, and we can finish the story.” Fara scooted away, and Soto laid the book down next to her.
Jia glanced at the title on the book. She frowned. “Isn’t Fara a bit too young for the story of the Queen of Écofi and the Seven Princes?”
“Children can deal with bloody tales a lot better than we give them credit for,” said Soto. “It’s real bloodshed that we should save them from.”
Jia inclined her head and considered Soto. The corners of her lips lifted. “Soto, I think we’re far past the time when we need to be playing games. If you have something to say to me, say it.”
Soto took a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to figure out what you’re doing, but I confess I’m stumped.”
Breezily, Jia said, “I’m on my way to the hothouse to pick some oranges for the children.”
“I think I’ve earned the right to be spoken to without jest. I’ve gone through the palace accounts—Chatelain Krin may be careful, but it’s impossible to not leave marks when so much money is involved.”
The smile faded from the empress’s face. “You’re wondering if I’m still trying to ensure that Timu will be the crown prince. The answer is yes.”
“I know that. But I can’t figure out how the Emperor’s Shadows will accomplish that, or what it has to do with your secret diversion of funds from the Imperial Treasury. You once worried that Phyro was going to gain the loyalty of Kuni’s generals with his easy manners and admiration for the martial arts, and I can only imagine you’d try to remedy that by either reducing the power of the generals or by gaining Timu some respect with them. But your plan doesn’t seem to do either of those things.”
“When you try something repeatedly and it doesn’t work, continuing along the same path would be madness.”
Soto took a deep breath. “I’ll always be loyal to you, Jia. But I have affection for all the children. I don’t like to see any of them hurt.”
Jia looked back, her eyes level. “Why is it that a mother’s actions are always assumed to be selfish? I’ve watched all the children grow up together, and I have affection for them all, even if I didn’t give birth to every one. But I’ve also seen blood flow when men grow ambitious and wish to seize by force that which is not theirs. I must do what I can to prevent that future. I am the Empress of Dara, and my first duty is to the people.”
“Do you see such a future with Phyro on the throne?”
Jia looked away for a moment and seemed to come to some decision. “Soto, you chose to serve my husband because you believed that he would give Dara a better future than the Hegemon. Do you still believe that’s true?”
Soto nodded.
“Your belief is the greatest danger of them all.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like the Hegemon, Kuni places too much faith in personal trust. During the Chrysanthemum-Dandelion War, he allowed Gin Mazoti to declare herself queen, gambling that the gesture of trust would buy her loyalty. He allows each of his nobles to keep an army large enough to bring ruin upon the land, though the Islands are at peace. Like the man he once called brother, Kuni has decided to build his empire upon bonds of trust between him and those who serve him.”
“And why is that wrong?”
“Because trust is fickle and will not bear a heavy load. Kuni has made the empire dependent on him because he thinks only he can see a path forward. That is a fragile state. Phyro, though he is young, shows the same tendencies.”
