The Grace of Kings (35 page)

Kikomi stood on the docks of Müningtozu and watched the fleet departing the harbor. She was dressed from head to toe in blue, the color of Amu, and from a distance she looked like a manifestation of Lady Tututika.

She waved at the sailors, young men whose faces still held the wonder and naïveté of boys as they stood at attention in rigid lines along the decks. Some smiled at her and waved back. Officers standing on the foredecks saluted the king and assembled ministers on shore. Below them, the great oars dipped into the water in unison and propelled the ships away, like graceful water striders.

In the distance, ten glowing oval shapes, the empire's airships, floated over the horizon. The tiny orange blobs seemed to possess light, feathery wings, like some hybrid moth-firefly that would be at home in the orchid-strewn forests of Arulugi.

How can something so beautiful be so deadly?
Kikomi thought.

In the cockpit of
Spirit of Kiji
, flagship of the Imperial armada, Marshal Kindo Marana gazed at the glowing lights of Müning on the horizon. Closer to him, flickering over the dark sea, he could make out the faint lights of the torches on the decks of the Amu fleet oaring out to meet him.

He had visited Müning on holiday in the past and enjoyed its beautiful classical architecture and the hospitality of the Amu people. Nowhere else in the Islands did they make orchid-bamboo-shoot tea as fragrant as in Müning. A hundred varieties of orchids led to ten thousand combinations, and one could spend an entire life sampling the hanging teahouses of Müning and still never taste all the flavors Müning had to offer.

It was tragic that he might have to destroy something so beautiful.

Below him, sailing in formation, were eighty ships of the Imperial navy, and in the air around him were the other nine airships of the Imperial air force. The airships were propelled by giant battle kites, and the naval ships were rigged with full sails to conserve the arm strength of the oarsmen. During battle, they would need the agility and speed that only muscle could provide.

Behind the ships, down on the dark sea, the slow, bulky transports rode the waves, filled with ten thousand fresh troops from Rui and Dasu, the newest recruits of the Imperial army.

He continued to watch as the Amu fleet approached the armada. News that Namen had suffered a crushing defeat in Cocru meant that they had to win a victory here quickly to quell the rising rebel sentiments in Haan, Rima, and the rest of Dara.

As the Imperial armada came into range, Admiral Catiro of the Amu fleet gave the order to assume battle formation by releasing two orange lanterns. The tiny lanterns, made of paper stretched over a woven grass frame, floated into the sky, propelled by candles hanging below them.

The fleet extinguished all torches, reefed their sails, opened their oar ports, and dipped their long battle oars into the water.

Admiral Catiro cautiously allowed himself to smile at his luck. It appeared that this Imperial tax collector wearing the armor of a marshal knew nothing about naval tactics. He was a fool to pack his ships in such a dense formation and to attempt a risky night assault on Arulugi.

Given the reduced visibility, the heavier Imperial ships would have to move slower lest they run into one another. The lighter, faster Amu ships could neutralize the Imperial advantage in numbers by quickly driving between the tightly packed ships of the armada, breaking their oars and flinging burning tar bombs onto their decks.

The Imperial captains seemed to sense the foolishness of their tight formation. The ships slowed and then began to reverse their oars, backing away from the approaching Amu fleet.

“You have nowhere to run, Marana.” Admiral Catiro launched a quartet of bright-red lanterns, the signal for all-ahead assault. All forty Amu ships began to oar furiously, chasing after the retreating Imperial ships.

But the ten great airships continued to move forward and were soon on top of the Amu fleet. As they drifted over the Amu ships, they began to drop flaming bombs.

Catiro was prepared for this. The flammable sails had all been stowed away, and his sailors had cleared the decks of all obstructions and covered them with a layer of wet sand before ducking belowdecks. These were old tactics developed during the Xana Conquest. With the sand in place, the flaming tar bombs splashed and fizzled, but the fire could not spread far. After a while, the airships seemed to exhaust their supply of bombs and began to oar back as well, following the retreating armada.

The Imperial ships, predictably, ran into trouble in their hasty retreat. The ships, not having time to turn around, were unable to steer effectively. As they backed up, they bumped into one another and slowed down. They were sitting ducks for the bow rams and catapults of the Amu fleet. As the Amu ships got closer and closer, some impatient captains began to launch tar bombs and rocks at the Imperial ships, but most of the projectiles fell harmlessly into the water.

“Patience,” Catiro whispered. But it didn't matter. The Amu ships were going so fast that they would ram into the Imperial armada soon. The seas would soon be strewn with broken oars and the dead bodies of Xana sailors and marines.

The ship next to Catiro's flagship suddenly lurched to the right, its oars an uncoordinated jumble. Something had fouled the oars and turned the ship into a centipede with half of its legs no longer obeying, and it was spinning in place on the sea. It began to careen toward Catiro.

“Move out of the way!” Catiro shouted. But the rowers on the left side of the flagship cried out in surprise. Their oars were also myster­iously out of control. The oars seemed stuck in some thick, heavy medium, and the more the oarsmen pulled, the more they refused to obey. The two ships crashed into each other with a thunderous thud. Some oars were broken in the chaos, others ripped out of the oarsmen's hands.

As panicking Amu marines lit torches to examine the damage, Catiro looked over the side of the ship and saw small boats full of men hacking at his ship's oars.

Only now did Catiro understand what Marana had been up to.

As the Imperial armada retreated, they left behind small boats with men dressed in dark clothing and holding nets studded with hooks. As the Amu fleet passed by them, completely unaware of their existence, the crew on the small hidden boats had thrown their nets onto the banks of oars of the Amu ships and tied them into jumbled messes. The Amu ships spun out of control and crashed into one another.

The airships again approached overhead, dropping a fresh salvo of deadly tar bombs that caused the marines on deck to duck for cover or scream and jump into the sea. The great warships of the Imperial armada now advanced on the disabled Amu fleet, ready for slaughter.

Kikomi closed her eyes. She did not want to see the Amu ships, now distant flaming arks adrift on the sea, or to imagine the desperate cries of drowning men.

King Ponadomu, her granduncle, said nothing as he began the walk back to Müning. It was time to prepare for the surrender.

Ponadomu was stripped naked and put into a cage. He would be taken by airship to the Immaculate City, where he would be paraded around the streets to the jubilation of the capital crowds. But Marana was far more interested in Kikomi, the Jewel of Amu.

“Your Royal Highness, I regret that we have to meet under such circumstances.”

Kikomi regarded the thin man and his humorless face. He looked like a bureaucrat, the same as hundreds of others she had known in her life. And yet this man was responsible for the deaths of thousands.

While he held in his hands the reins of the killing machine of the empire, she had nothing but herself.

But she knew the effect that she had on men.

“I am your captive, Marshal Marana. You may do with me as you wish.”

Marana caught his breath. Her voice seemed to have fingers in it, fingers that caressed his face and lightly stroked his heart. Her bold tone made the implication of her statement unambiguous.

“You are a very powerful man, Marshal. I do not believe that there's another like you in all of Dara.”

Marana closed his eyes and savored her voice. He could fall asleep to it and dream beautiful dreams. It was like the orchid-­flavored tea of Amu: sweet, lingering, ever-refreshing. He wanted to listen to her forever.

She came up to him and placed her arms around his neck. He did not resist.

“What's next?” Kikomi combed her hair in front of the mirror. The morning light, filtered through the curtains, seemed to Marana to turn her tresses into a glowing golden halo.

“I will have to take the captives back to Pan,” he said from the bed.

“So soon?”

Marana chuckled. “I can hardly tarry. The other states are still in rebellion.” He mused for a while. “But it might make sense to leave someone the population trusts in charge here. Someone who's more sensible and willing to collaborate with the emperor.”

The princess's hand slowed for a moment, but she resumed combing her hair.

“How would you like to be the Duchess of Amu?” Marana asked. “It is said that you are far more suited for this throne than your uncle.”