The Grace of Kings (40 page)

Marana had thought far ahead.

Silently, gracefully, she slid back next to the bed.

She smiled bitterly. Marana thought she was a peacock's feather, thought she was a drop of poison from the horned toad's sac. Yet she had a choice: Narrow and confined though it was, she would make the most of it.

She had thought long and hard. Mata was younger, but he was on the rise, just coming into full awareness of his own potential. Phin, on the other hand, was past his prime.

If she killed Mata, Phin might be accelerated on his arc of long and inevitable decline. But if she killed Phin, hot-blooded Mata might be so filled with rage and thoughts of vengeance that the empire would be forced to face a monster it had created.

She hoped that her decision was rational, wasn't influenced by her real feelings for Mata.

She looked at the naked body of Phin, at his balding head, at his muscles, just starting to lose their definition. How she wished she did not have to do this. How she wished she was not a princess, but only the daughter of a wealthy merchant. With privilege came duty, and sometimes one had to choose between one life and the lives of an island.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

She lifted Phin's chin, and as he stirred in his sleep, she plunged the dagger deep into the soft hollow of his neck. Holding the handle by both hands, she slid the dagger left and right, and blood spurted everywhere.

With a gurgle, Phin came awake and grabbed both of her hands. In the moonlight she could see his eyes, as wide as the wine cups. Surprise, pain, fury. He could not speak, but he squeezed until the dagger fell from her fingers. She knew that her wrists were broken. She would not be able to end her own life, as she had wanted to.

With all her strength, she grunted and pulled herself free and backed out of his reach.

“I do this for the people of Arulugi,” she whispered to him. “I made a deal. Forgive me. I made a deal.”

Marana had promised that she would be remembered in the hearts of the people of Amu. That generation after generation would sing songs about her sacrifice and tell stories about her heroism.

Did she deserve such praise? Yes, she had saved the people of Amu. But she had also cut down the Marshal of Cocru in cold blood and endangered the rebellion and the lives of countless others. She did not exactly regret it: She was a daughter of Amu, and for her the people of that island would always come first. Between two great evils, she chose the lesser.

Yet how could she bear to face Phin Zyndu and all those who were about to die under the sword of Marana in the afterlife? She must steel her heart for the accusing stares.

The writhing of Phin's body became slower and less vigorous.

In the cold moonlight, Kikomi's vision, momentarily obscured by the pain of her broken wrists, cleared. She shuddered as she finally understood the deviousness of Marana's plan: If Xana were to spare Amu in the subsequent wars and her name were then celebrated, Cocru would suspect an alliance between Amu and Xana and consider her act proof of Amu's treachery. Müning, that beautiful, fragile floating city, might yet be put to the torch by Mata's army.

A seducer is one who wins through deception rather than force, a harlot is one who wields sex like a sorcerer wields a staff, and “a mere bauble” may yet decide to put herself on display to guide the hearts and minds of thousands into an unstoppable force.

Marana was counting on her vanity, on her desire to be a great hero to her people, to be remembered for her sacrifice. But her glory would bring endless strife between Cocru and Amu and doom the Beautiful Island.

There was only one way to thwart his plan: She would have to desecrate her own memory to ensure the safety of Amu.

As Phin's body stopped moving, she began to shout. “I have killed the Marshal of Cocru! Oh, Kindo Marana, know that I have done this for you out of love.”

The sound of heavy running footsteps in the hallways and the clanging of swords came closer and closer. She stumbled to where Phin's body was and sat down.

“Marana, my Marana! I would rather be your slave girl than the Princess of Amu!”

They will cut me down,
she thought.
Cut me down as a whore of the Marshal of Xana, a silly girl who was blinded by love to betray her people and the rebellion. And that is how they will remember me. But Amu will be safe. Amu will be safe.

She continued to shout, until they silenced her with their swords.

I'm truly sorry, Little Sister. . . .

Though the Mingén falcons occasionally flew to every island of Dara, from that day on, they never approached Arulugi, the home of Tututika, last born of the gods.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LUAN ZYA'S PLAN

ZUDI: THE TENTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF RIGHTEOUS FORCE.

After paying his respects to Féso Garu, Luan Zya stopped in the mourning hall to offer a prayer for the repose of Lady Garu's soul and to light a candle.

He had ridden nonstop from Haan to Çaruza, and thence to Zudi. For much of the journey, when he was in Imperial territory, he had had to ride at night and hide during the day to avoid the emperor's spies. Living for so many days in the saddle thinned his already-gaunt body and coated his robe in a thick layer of mud and dust. But his eyes were brighter, more feverish, and filled with more excitement than ever.

Naré's death had finally softened Féso's heart and caused him to rescind his order that Kuni was never to be allowed in his house.

Kuni Garu got up as Luan Zya entered his room. Kuni was dressed all in white, and wore ashes on his face and draped rough sackcloth around his shoulders. His eyes were red and tired. The two men grasped arms and shared a moment of silence.

Luan sat down, back straight, knees bent in
mipa rari
. “A mother's love is the strongest thread in the tapestry of life. My heart rings in tune with your loss.”

Instead of replying with an equally flowery cliché, as most cultured men would, the duke simply said, “I've been a great disappointment to my mother. But she loved me no matter what.”

“I've often thought the pleasure that parents take in their children is like the pleasure a man gets from releasing a wild bird. I would venture to guess that Lady Garu had plenty of joy, though she had seen but a little of how high you would fly.”

Kuni Garu bowed his head. “Thank you.”

“Lord Garu, you and I do not know each other well, and yet I have often thought of you in the months since we met. I believe you to be among the few who will one day stride across this world like a colossus and drink with the gods.”

Kuni laughed lightly. “Even in mourning, I enjoy such flattery. What a strange beast is Man.”

“I come not to flatter you, Lord Garu, but to offer you an opportunity.”

Luan Zya had been in Haan on a secret mission to rouse up hot-blooded young men who would be willing to risk their lives and perform acts of sabotage in the Imperial heartland. It was dangerous work that held little promise, but Luan took to it without complaint. When a man loved his homeland enough, even the slimmest hope was worth pursuing, contrary to prudent calculation and careful forethought.

But one night he was awakened by the sound of paper rustling. As he sat up, he saw in the starlight that the pages of
Gitré Üthu
, the tome given to him by that old fisherman by the sea, fluttered by themselves on his desk.

He got up from bed, sat down next to the desk, and saw that the book had opened itself to a new section he had never seen before. Slowly, the blank pages were being filled with a new landscape of words and pictures.

There was a map of the Islands of Dara, filled with tiny black and white symbols that he recognized as representing the armies that the empire and the rebellion respectively commanded. Below the map was the beginning of what appeared to be a long treatise.

He read. The sun rose and set and rose again. He continued to read, forgetting hunger and thirst.

Three days later, he got up, closed the book, and laughed.

The book had simply shown him what he had learned in his years of travel among the Islands. It was as if his mind had been poured out onto the pages—but systemized, made orderly, and presented in one place. And the new way of seeing what he already knew gave him a new idea. All his life, he realized, had been a prologue to this moment.

It was time to fulfill his promise to his father.

Luan Zya had first presented his plan to King Cosugi.

“I'm an old man, Luan. Such risks are for men who have seen seen little enough of the world to retain faith in themselves. I am content to be King Thufi's guest and let others perform the great deeds that you dream of.”

Luan then went to visit Mata Zyndu at Nasu, on the Maji Penin­sula. But the general, still brooding over the deaths of his uncle and Princess Kikomi, turned away all visitors, and Luan never even got to speak to Mata.

Kuni Garu was his last hope. Garu was no great warrior, and he was born only a commoner. But Luan Zya had felt something stirring in the depths of the man's heart, a willingness to be persuaded and to gamble.

“King Thufi has promised to make anyone who captures Emperor Erishi the king of a new Tiro state.”

Kuni nodded. He thought of Mata Zyndu. If anyone had the bravery and prowess to march into Pan, it was his friend.

“Tanno Namen left Pan with minimal defenses when he departed for Thoco Pass to join Marana at Wolf's Paw. He thought it enough for the Imperial navy to hold the Liru River and the Amu Strait, with the Alliance focused only on Wolf's Paw.”

“Namen is right. We have no navy to speak of on the west coast of the Big Island.”

“A navy does not mean only ships.”

Kuni looked at him, his expression a question.

Luan explained his plan to Kuni in a few broad strokes, striving to keep his voice even. He had to appear to be sane, in control, even if what he proposed was madness. He ended by saying, “To defeat a gang of thieves, you must seize the leader. To kill a great python, you must cut off its head.”

Kuni sat in silence for a while. “A bold plan,” he said finally. “And exceedingly dangerous.”

Luan locked gazes with Kuni. “Lord Garu, you must now choose: Will you soar as high as a Mingén falcon though you might die trying, or will you spend a lifetime safely pecking at grains of rice scattered under someone else's eaves?”

Kuni's face was unchanged. Luan could not tell if he had succeeded in kindling the man's ambition—in all his calculations, predicting Kuni's reaction had always been the hardest part.

“Even if I succeed, how will I hold the Immaculate City? It will be like trying to parry a sword with a sewing needle.”

“Lord Zyndu, your friend, will surely come to your aid. But only after—this plan cannot work unless it's known by as few people as possible ahead of its execution.”

“And then we will be kings together,” said Kuni. “Brothers in arms, brothers on the throne.”

Luan nodded. “You will be as well matched together as you were here at Zudi.”

“Provided I succeed,” said Kuni, after a pause. “You offer me nothing but a gamble.”

Luan was prepared for disappointment. Though Kuni had once been a gambler, he had already accomplished much. And achievement had a way of lowering a man's tolerance for risk.

“Tell me,” Kuni said, “what does Lutho think of your plan?”

Luan kept his gaze steady. “My father was chief augur to Lutho, and I have a bit of a reputation as a master of divination. But the truth, Lord Garu, is that the will of the gods cannot be ascertained. I have never witnessed a sign that cannot be interpreted multiple ways. I've always believed that the gods are like the wind and the tides, currents of great power that may be ridden only by those willing to help themselves.”

Kuni smiled at him. “An ignorant man might think such words from an augur's son impious.”

“It's a common sentiment among those who have studied long in Haan. It isn't by coincidence that Ginpen's schools, though small, have produced a disproportionate number of Dara's mathematicians, philosophers, lawgivers: We strive to calculate that which is knowable in favor of that which is not.”

“I apologize for my feigned surprise,” said Kuni. “It was a test. Had you promised the aid of Lutho's favor for your mad plan, I would have known not to trust you.”

Luan laughed. “You're a good actor, Lord Garu.”

“I learned my skill in a life of petty crime and street wagering. You probably know that among gamblers, there is a divide. Half of us pray to Lutho, and the other half to Tazu. Do you know why?”

Luan did not hesitate. “Those who prefer Lutho favor games of skill, believing that with sufficient knowledge and calculation, the future is predictable; those who prefer Tazu favor games of chance, believing that the world is as random as the path of his whirlpool and the future as likely to delight as to disappoint.”

“I have always prayed to both,” said Kuni. “And so, Luan, tell me again of your plan and the knowledge behind the madness.”

Luan proceeded to explain his reasoning, laying out detailed figures and maps and intelligence of troop movements and profiles of Xana commanders. Kuni listened intently, asking questions from time to time.

By the time Luan was done with his explanations, he looked at the pile of paper scraps in front of him in despair. His plan seemed preposterous, an impossible dream. The odds of success were so slim as to be nonexistent. By forcing Luan to explain himself, Kuni had succeeded in showing him that the plan was impossible.

“I'm sorry to have wasted your time,” said Luan, and he began to pack up.

“Even in games of skill,” said Kuni, “there is no guarantee of winning. In the end, there is always a gap that cannot be bridged by knowledge. Once you have worked out all the odds, you still have to toss the dice, to take that leap of faith.”

A passing breeze filled the courtyard outside with floating dande­lion seeds.

Kuni turned to look at them. He wished he had a plug of Jia's special chewing herbs like he did in the Er-Mé Mountains or Mata by his side on the walls of Zudi. But this time, he had to decide on his own.

Is this the particular moment when the breeze I have awaited all my life has arrived? Is this when I am to be plucked from my home and take flight?

“I've always promised myself an interesting adventure,” Kuni said, smiling. “There should be a little bit of Tazu in everyone's life.”

Then he went to say good-bye to the spirit of his mother and to apologize for having to leave early.