The Grace of Kings (5 page)

Jia made a face. “That sounds disgusting. The two flavors are not compatible at all—you're mixing up Faça and Cocru cuisines.”

“If you haven't tried it, how do you know it's no good?”

And Jia did try Kuni's invention; it was delicious. Surprisingly so.

“You have better instincts with food than you do with poetry,” Jia said, and she reached for another pot sticker dipped in plum paste.

“But you'll never think of Lurusén's poem the same way again, will
you?”

“Jia!” Her mother's voice pulled her back into the present.

The young man who sat before her now was not ugly, Jia decided, but he seemed to have gone out of his way to make himself appear so. His eyes roamed all over Jia's face and body, eyes devoid of any sign of intelligence, and a tiny rivulet of spittle hung from the corner of his mouth.

Definitely not the one.

“. . . his uncle owns twenty ships that ply the trade routes to Toaza,” the matchmaker said. She reached under the table and poked Jia with an eating stick. Earlier, she had explained to Jia that that was the sign for her to smile more demurely.

Jia stretched her arms and did not bother to cover her mouth when she yawned. Her mother, Lu, gave her a warning look.

“Tabo, is it?” Jia asked, leaning forward.

“Tado.”

“Yes, that's right. Tado, tell me, where do you think you'll be in ten years?”

Tado's face grew even blanker. But after a few awkward moments, his face wrinkled into a wide smile. “Ah, I understand the question now. Don't worry, sweet one. In ten years I expect to have my own mansion by the lake.”

Jia nodded. Her face was unreadable. She stared at the young man's salivating mouth without saying anything further. Everyone else in the room squirmed. It felt like an eternity.

“Miss Matiza is an accomplished herbalist,” the matchmaker offered, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “She studied with the best teachers in Faça. I'm sure she knows of ways to ensure her lucky husband's health and give him many beautiful children.”

“We will have at least five children,” Tado added magnanimously. “Maybe even more.”

“Surely you see me as more than just a field for you to plow,” Jia said. The matchmaker poked her under the table again.

“I hear that Miss Matiza is a skilled poet,” Tado ingratiatingly offered.

“Oh? Are you interested in poetry too?” She twirled a lock of her red hair in a way that would appear coquettish to someone who did not know her, but her mother understood her mockery and eyed her suspiciously.

“I
love
reading poetry.” He wiped away his saliva with the sleeve of his silk tunic.

“Is that so?” That mischievous smile appeared again. Jia was slightly sorry that the rivulet and her object of focus had disappeared. “I have a great idea! Why don't you write a poem right now? You may choose any subject, and in an hour I will come back and read it. I'll marry you if I like it.”

Before the matchmaker could say anything, Jia was already up and away, retreating to her bedroom.

Her mother stood at her door, fuming.

“Did I scare him off?”

“No. He's trying to write a poem.”

“Persistence! I'm impressed.”

“How many eligible young men must you send off ranting and raving? We spoke to your first matchmaker back in the Year of the Toad, and it's now the Year of the Cruben!”

“Mother, don't you want your daughter to be happy?”

“Of course I do. But you seem determined to become an old maid.”

“But, Mama, then I would get to stay with you forever!”

Lu stared at her daughter, eyes narrowed. “Is there something you're not telling me? A secret admirer perhaps?”

Jia said nothing but looked away. This had always been her habit. She would not lie, and so she would refuse to answer if what she had to say would not be welcomed. Her mother sighed.

“You keep this up, and soon no matchmakers in Zudi will want to work with you. You're gaining a reputation as bad as the one you left behind in Faça!”

When the hour was up, Jia returned to the living room. She picked up the sheet of paper and cleared her throat:

Your hair is like fire.

Your eyes are like water.

I want you to be my wife.

Your beauty gives new meaning to life.

She nodded thoughtfully.

The young man could barely suppress his excitement. “You like it?”

“It has inspired me to think of a poem as well.”

Your eyes are like empty wells.

Your drool like an inchworm.

I want you to have a wife.

How about this matchmaker? She's good at poking!

The young man and the matchmaker stormed out of the Matiza residence as Jia laughed, long and very loud.

There was no way that Kuni could call at the Matiza house. No matchmaker would be so foolish as to suggest that a prospectless gangster could be a suitable match for a respectable, if unestablished, family striving to move up in society like the Matizas.

Fortunately, Jia had a perfect excuse to be away from the house unchaperoned: She took many trips to the countryside around Zudi to study the local herbs and gather them for her potions.

Kuni brought Jia to his favorite haunts: the best bend in the river for fishing, the best gazebo and tree under which to nap, the best bars and teahouses, places no respectable young ladies of good breeding should be found, places Jia found refreshingly honest, without the stifling conventions and desperate anxieties that always seemed to gather around those concerned with what was “proper.” In these places, she enjoyed the company of Kuni and his friends, who did not care about how appropriate was her bow or how elegant her speech, but applauded when she drank with them and listened when she spoke her mind.

In turn, Jia showed Kuni a new universe that he had never paid much attention to: the grasses at his feet and the bushes lining the long country lanes. At first, his interest had been feigned—he thought her lips far more interesting than the flowers whose uses she tried to explain—but after she showed him how chewing ginger and evening primrose did wonders for his frequent hangovers, he became a true disciple.

“What is this?” he asked, pointing to a weed with white five-­petaled flowers and two-lobed leaves shaped like praying hands.

“That is actually not one plant, but two,” Jia said. “The leaves belong to a grass called mercy flax. The flowers are called crowsbane.”

Kuni immediately got on his hands and knees to get a better look, careless about getting his clothes dirty. Jia laughed at the sight of this man behaving like a curious boy. Kuni acted as if the rules everyone accepted didn't apply to him, and that made Jia feel free too.

“You're right,” Kuni said, wonder suffusing his voice. “But they really do look like one plant from a distance.”

“Crowsbane is a slow poison, but the flowers are so pretty that the crows, as wise as the Blessed Kana and Rapa have made them, cannot resist their beauty. They pick them to decorate their nests with and over time die from their vapors and juices.”

Kuni, who had been smelling the flowers, pulled back sharply. Jia's loud laughter echoed in the field.

“Don't worry, you're much bigger than a crow. You won't be harmed by such small quantities. Besides, the other plant, mercy flax, is a natural antidote.”

Kuni picked a few leaves from the mercy flax and chewed them. “Strange that a poison and its antidote would grow so close together.”

Jia nodded. “One of the principles of herbal lore is the prevalence of such pairings. The deadly seven-step snake of Faça nests in shady coves where the crying boy mushroom, which secretes an antivenom, likes to grow. The fiery salamander weed, a good, hot spice for cold winter nights, grows better next to the snowdrop, known for its power to relieve fevers. Creation seems to favor making friends of those destined to be enemies.”

Kuni pondered this. “Who knew that so much philosophy and wisdom could be hidden among weeds?”

“You're surprised? Because the art of herbal healing is a women's art, beyond the notice of real scholars and doctors?”

Kuni turned to Jia and bowed. “I spoke in ignorance. I meant no disrespect.”

Jia bowed back deeply in
jiri
. “You do not assume yourself to be better than anyone. That is the sign of a truly capacious mind.”

They smiled at each other and kept on walking.

“What is your favorite plant?” Kuni asked.

Jia thought for a moment and bent down to pluck a small flower with a full yellow crown. “They're all dear to me, but I admire the dandelion the most. It is hardy and determined, adaptable and practical. The flower looks like a small chrysanthemum, but it's much more resourceful and far less delicate. Poets may compose odes about the chrysanthemum, but the dandelion's leaves and flowers can fill your belly, its sap cure your warts, its roots calm your fevers. Dandelion tea makes you alert, while chewing its root can steady a nervous hand. The milk of the dandelion can even be used to make invisible ink that reveals itself when mixed with the juice of the stone's ear mushroom. It is a versatile and useful plant people can rely on.

“And it's playful and fun.” She picked up a puff ball and blew at it, scattering the tiny feathered seeds into the air, a few of which landed in Kuni's hair.

Kuni made no move to brush them away. “The chrysanthemum is a noble flower.”

“That's true. It's the last flower to bloom in autumn, defiant against winter. Its fragrance is exquisite, and overwhelms all competition. In tea, it awakens the spirit; in bouquets, it dominates the arrangement. But it is not a flower that endears.”

“You don't care much about nobility?”

“I think true nobility is shown in far humbler ways.”

Kuni nodded. “Miss Matiza has a truly capacious mind.”

“Ah, flattery does not suit you, Master Garu,” Jia said, laughing. She turned serious after a moment. “Tell me, where do you think you'll be in ten years?”

“I have no idea,” Kuni said. “All life is an experiment. Who can plan so far ahead? I just promise myself to do the most interesting thing every time there's an opportunity. If I can stick to that promise most of the time, I'm sure in ten years I won't have any regrets.”

“Why do you have to make a promise like that?”

“It's very scary to do the most interesting thing when the chance arises. Most people don't dare to do it—like bluffing your way into a party you aren't invited to. But look how much more delightful my life is now. I got to know you.”

“The most interesting thing is often not the easiest thing,” Jia said. “There may be pain and suffering, disappointment and failure, for yourself and those you love.”

Kuni became serious too. “But without having endured bitterness, I don't believe one will treasure sweetness as heartily as one should.”

She faced Kuni and put a hand on his arm. “I believe you will do great things.”

A warm feeling suffused Kuni's heart. Until Jia, he realized, he had never met a woman who truly became his
friend
.

“Will I?” he asked, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. “How do you know you're not being fooled?”

“I'm too smart to be fooled,” she answered without hesitation, and they embraced, careless who saw.

Kuni felt like he was the luckiest man in the world. He had no money to pay her father a proper bride price, but he had to marry her.

“Sometimes the most interesting thing is also the most boring thing, the responsible thing,” Kuni said to himself.

He went to ask Cogo to get him a job in Zudi's city government.

“You don't know how to do anything,” Cogo said, his brows knit in a frown.

But a friend was in need, and Cogo inquired around until he found out that the Corvée Department needed a guard to watch the newly conscripted men and petty criminals sentenced to hard labor; they were kept in prison for a few nights until a full squad of them could be sent together to their work assignments. Once in a while, the guard might also be asked to escort the conscripts and prisoners on such journeys. This seemed a job that a trained monkey with a stick could do. Even Kuni shouldn't be able to screw it up.