The Grace of Kings (52 page)

The world is drunk; I alone am sober.

The world is asleep, but I am awake.

My tears are not wept for you, King Thoto,

But for the men and women of Cocru.

“What a loyal and good man he was,” Jia said, sighing. She remembered Kuni's creative interpretation of the poem, and a smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“You know he had not wanted to go into politics at all?” said Soto. “He wanted to be a hermit poet in the mountains.”

“What changed his mind?”

“His wife, Lady Zy. She was far more of a patriot than he was, and she encouraged him to use his gift with words for some higher purpose than entertainment. ‘Politics is the highest of the arts,' she used to tell him, and eventually, he listened and wrote those passionate pleas for Cocru to go to war against Xana before it was too late. When King Thoto dismissed Lurusén from his post to sign the peace treaty with Xana, Lurusén and Lady Zy plunged into the Liru together to voice their protest.”

Jia was quiet for a while. “Had he not listened to her, perhaps they both would have lived out full lives in the mountains.”

“And died in obscurity,” said Soto. “But today every child of Cocru can recite the poems of Lurusén and revere his name. Not even Mapidéré dared to ban his books, though the poet had cursed the name of Xana on every page.”

“So you think he might be thankful to his wife?”

“I'd like to think they made their decisions together and were happy to face the consequences together,” said Soto.

Jia was thoughtful. Soto said no more and they continued their walk in peace.

Once more, Jia wondered just who Soto was—she was skillful at dodging questions about her past, and Jia hated feeling like she was prying.

Still, Jia liked Soto because she seemed to understand that sometimes all Jia wanted was for someone to be there, walking companionably next to her, so that she knew she was not alone. And in her presence Jia could complain, pettily and selfishly, or laugh, loudly and unladylike, and Soto never seemed to think there was anything wrong with what she did.

“Lord Garu has been away for a long time,” Soto said one morning, as she came to get Jia's instructions for the day.

Jia felt the ache in her heart again. “It
has
been a long time. And he probably won't be here when the new baby is born either.”

Speaking the fact out loud seemed to give it substance, make it real. When Kuni first sent word that he was leaving Zudi on a mission he could not speak about, she had been angry that he would be so reckless—though, hadn't the dream herbs always told her that some measure of heartache was inevitable with Kuni? She shouldn't really have been surprised.

As the days went by with no further messages, she grew more and more worried. Since Phin was dead and Mata was away at Wolf's Paw, Jia had no source for reliable news. King Thufi and the other nobles barely knew who she was.

“I understand that he and Marshal Zyndu are good friends,” Soto said.

“Yes. Marshal Zyndu and Lord Garu fought together, and they are as tight as brothers.”

“Friendships among men tend to not survive great rises or falls of fortune,” Soto said. She paused, seeming to hesitate over whether to go on. “What do you think of this Mata Zyndu?”

Jia was taken aback by Soto's tone. Zyndu was the Victor at Wolf's Paw, Bane of the Empire, the Greatest Warrior of Dara. Right now, he was sweeping through Géjira and mopping up the scattered bits of Imperial resistance in the old cities of Gan. Even King Thufi seemed to speak of the marshal with deference. Yet Soto spoke his name carelessly, as though he was a child. Was there some history between Soto's family and the Zyndus?

Jia answered carefully. “Marshal Zyndu is without a doubt the most important member of the rebellion. Without him, we would never have achieved victory over the crafty Marana and the stout Namen.”

“Is that so?” Soto seemed amused. “That sounds like what the town criers keep on telling us every day, as if they're afraid we'll stop believing the minute they stop. I only know that he killed a lot of people.”

Jia didn't know how to respond to this, so she stood up. “Let us speak no more of politics.”

“That may not be possible forever, Jia. You're a political wife, whether you want to be or not.” Then Soto bowed and left.

Soto's room was just down the hall from Jia's, and she was a light sleeper.

She heard Jia's door open after everyone had gone to bed, and she knew she would hear the door open again right before dawn.

She had seen the way Steward Otho Krin looked at Lady Jia when he thought no one was watching. She had seen the way he lingered near her when he held the reins of her carriage. She had also seen the way Lady Jia furtively returned his smiles and carefully listened as he gave the reports on household finances.

More than anything else, the scrupulous way they avoided being too close to each other when others were around told Soto everything she needed to know.

Soto lay awake in the darkness, thinking.

She had come to the Garu household because she was intrigued by the wild tales of Mata Zyndu and Kuni Garu, the Marshal and the Bandit, the unlikeliest of friends who had become the most faithful of companions, whose exploits against Tanno Namen had inspired thousands in the rebellion. There were folk operas composed about them, and many spoke confidently of their favor in the eyes of the gods.

She wanted to see for herself the truth behind the legends, to understand Kuni the way his wife understood him. No matter how large a man grew in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of his wife he would always be life-size, or maybe even smaller-than-life. Unexpectedly, she had come to like Jia, the woman who was once only a means to an end for her. She saw a measure of the man Kuni was by the woman he loved.

Jia could become a force to be reckoned with, a shaper of the path of the rebellion so that its fruits might taste sweet for more than just men like Mata Zyndu, men who looked to an ideal past but were blind to messy realities. Soto hoped to nudge Jia along the path that she was meant to take, which would require Soto to reveal the truth of her own past. But now that she knew of this wrinkle in Jia's life, she had to consider what it meant.

There was a tendency by some to romanticize love, to make a fetish out of it. The poets made love seem like a bar of iron coming out of the furnace at the blacksmith's, red hot and staying so forever. Soto did not think much of such notions.

A man fell in love with a woman, married her, and the passion would cool. He would then go into the world, see other women, fall in love again, marry them, and feel the new passion cool in turn. After all, in all the Tiro states, a man was allowed to have multiple wives, if he could persuade all the wives to agree.

But if he was a good man, the passion would cool into a smoldering ember, ready to be fanned aflame again. As the great Kon Fiji wrote so long ago: A good husband remained in love with all his wives, but being good took hard work, and most husbands were lazy.

It was no different from how a lonely wife, away from her husband, would seek comfort in a lover. Yet, for the most part, she would not be lying to say that she still loved her husband.

For both women and men, Soto believed that love was more like food. The same dish tired the palate, and variety was spice.

The world did not tolerate such betrayals by the wives, if betrayal was what they were, as it tolerated the same betrayals by husbands. But the world was wrong. Accommodations for the vagaries of the heart should be made for women as well as men.

So Jia was not a woman bound by conventions when it came to matters of the heart. Soto hoped Jia would be as bold in making use of her position and influence as she was in her passions. She hoped it for Jia's own happiness as well as the happiness of the men and women of Cocru—and all of Dara.

Soto went back to sleep, and said nothing of what she knew.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE REAL MASTER OF PAN

GÉJIRA: THE FIRST MONTH IN THE FIRST YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Now that the empire was without a leader like Marshal Kindo Marana or General Tanno Namen, the remaining pockets of Imperial resistance in Géjira collapsed before Mata Zyndu like empty husks. Many garrisons surrendered without a fight.

But a few cities
did
fight, and the other rebel commanders vied to present Mata with stratagems for conquering them to prove their worth. A scrawny little man named Gin Mazoti, in particular, insisted on seeing him at every opportunity.

“If you give me fifty men, we can enter cities as disguised merchants long before your arrival and open the gates for you when you do.”

“There is a drainage pipe that empties out into the sea here; we may be able to enter the city through the sewers.”

“It is exceedingly strange that Pan has been completely silent. Why has the regent not appointed a new leader to rally the troops in Géjira? Marshal, something is afoot, and we must redouble our efforts to spy in Géfica.”

Mata dismissed him contemptuously. Men like him wanted to rely on tricks rather than real mettle. Unworthy.

After he conquered each recalcitrant city by brute force, Mata gave his troops three days to do whatever they liked to the inhabitants. For good measure, he decided to wreck Géjira's industry to ensure the conquered territories would not rise up behind him. Water mills along the Sonaru were smashed, and windmills irrigating the fields burned like giant torches.

King Dalo, whom Mata Zyndu dragged along as a prisoner, sometimes tried to intercede on behalf of Géjira, which had belonged to Gan before the Conquest. Even Marana, now a “guest” of Marshal Zyndu in the rebel army, occasionally joined King Dalo in calling for mercy.

People were so eager to give Mata advice. He was tired of it.

“You understand, of course, that by making examples of these cities, I discourage further resistance in the rest of Géjira and so save more lives in the long run, especially the lives of my men?”

Dalo had no answer to that. Marana had the grace to sometimes blush, as he had once used the very same logic.

But in Zyndu's mind, the people of Géjira were also cowards and traitors because they had not risen up against the empire back when the rebellion could have used their help. In a way, he thought the soldiers' brutality toward the conquered Géjira cities was just.

After Wolf's Paw, he did not ever want his own mercy to cost the lives of those who followed him.

Although the fiction that the armies of the other Tiro states remained under independent command was still maintained, Owi Ati and Huye Nocano, the Faça and Gan commanders, increasingly became more like puppets. Their troops were tightly incorporated into Zyndu's own chain of command. King Thufi sometimes also tried to send messengers with “suggestions” for Marshal Zyndu, but Mata only glanced at them and then threw them away.

For all intents and purposes, Mata Zyndu was now the real princeps—no, more than a princeps, a hegemon—and all the Tiro states understood this.

Géjira was finally pacified after a month. But reliable news of happenings in Géfica, the heart of the empire on the other side of the mountains, were hard to come by. The caravan traffic through Thoco Pass had ceased, and none of Mata's spies came back. The remaining Imperials seemed to huddle in the Immaculate City and sent no reinforcements to Géjira.

Mata's messengers to Zudi also returned empty-handed: Duke Garu was missing, and no one knew where he had gone. Mata wasn't overly concerned; he had wanted to have Kuni by his side as he prepared for his final assault, but he knew that Kuni was wily and could take care of himself.

As the new year arrived, Mata brought his rebel army to Thoco Pass, from where they would begin the march on Pan and the boy emperor Erishi.

Finally,
he thought,
the dream of freeing Dara is about to come true.

He felt as light as a feather, as giddy as a child.

The snow-topped peaks and sheer cliffs of the Shinané Mountains and the Wisoti Mountains formed two walls impenetrable to all but birds and mountain goats.

The only place to pass from Géjira, on the east side of the two mountain ranges, to Géfica, on the west side, was through Thoco Pass, a twenty-mile-long valley between the towering Mounts Kana and Rapa, to the south, and Mount Fithowéo, to the north. Thoco Pass was narrow, dark, and covered by towering trees that stretched as high as they could to catch the bits of light that filtered down through the gap between the steep mountains. Rumblings from the great volcanoes on both sides set off occasional rockslides that blocked the pass until the debris could be cleared. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

Over the years, the various Tiro states around the junction fought over the series of walled forts that guarded Thoco Pass. Whoever controlled them controlled the spine of the Big Island.

Coming from the eastern end, the first fort in Thoco Pass was Goa, a massive stone citadel built more than two hundred years ago.

Marshal Zyndu's army approached Goa cautiously and sent out several scouting parties. As the last barrier before Pan, Thoco Pass was likely heavily defended.

Doru Solofi, the captain of the scouts, came back with the surprising news that the red flags of Cocru were flying from the walls of Goa.

Mata Zyndu took a few personal guards and rode up to Goa's gates.

“Open up!” Ratho called out. “We're with Marshal Zyndu, commander-in-chief of all rebel forces. Who's your commander?”

The soldiers peeked carefully over the wall. “Without Lord Garu's orders, we won't let anyone through.”

“Lord Garu? You mean Kuni Garu, the Duke of Zudi?”

“The very same. Though now that he's captured Emperor Erishi, he's going to be King of Géfica!”

Mata rode forward. “He's done
what
? Open up the gates now and let me speak to him!”

The defenders of Goa, being former Imperial soldiers who had surrendered to Kuni, wanted to show their zeal for their new lord. They shot volleys of arrows at Mata Zyndu and his guards and laughed at this presumptuous man who thought he could just strut in and talk to their king.

Ratho lifted his shield in front of Mata, but Mata struck it out of his hand and tossed it away. An arrow struck him in the shoulder, but he didn't even seem to feel it.

But Ratho felt as if his heart were bleeding—how could Lord Garu take up arms against his friend? And after all he and the marshal had been through together, too.

“There must have been some mistake,” Mata Zyndu said.

Didn't Kuni tell me once that only I had the courage and strength to conquer Immaculate Pan, to take the prize promised by King Thufi?

Had I not spoken to Kuni of my dream of the Imperial capital covered in a tempest of gold, a tide of chrysanthemum, and, I had hoped, dandelion?

Are we not brothers who pledged to support each other in everything, to fight for the same goals and not for selfish gain?

Mata Zyndu could not understand it. How could Kuni have snuck into Pan like a thief while he was struggling for the very life of the rebellion on Wolf's Paw? And how could Kuni now raise swords against
him
like a gangster protecting his turf? It was impossible. It had to be some impostor.

“Everyone betrays me,” he muttered. “There is no honor in a woman like Kikomi or a man like Kuni Garu.” No matter how much he trusted people, they always ended up betraying him in the most despicable manner.

But Torulu Pering informed him that a follower of Kuni Garu, a man by the name of Ro Minosé, had escaped from Goa and come to surrender to him. He had seen the size of Mata Zyndu's army and decided that joining Mata made more sense.

“Tell me about Lord Garu's successes,” Mata Zyndu said. He worked hard to keep his face impassive and his voice calm.

Ro spoke to him of Kuni Garu's ride to Rui on the back of a cruben, of his surprise attack on Pan, of his careful manipulation of the surrendered Imperial troops, of his gentle administration afterward, and of the esteem in which he was held by the people of Géfica.

“The people love Lord Garu. They think that the gods blessed them when they made him the conqueror of Pan rather than . . .”

“Go on.”

“Than you, Marshal. Lord Garu's men often speak of what happened at Dimu, and Imperial deserters have spread rumors of what happened at Wolf's Paw and in Géjira. Some wish that Lord Garu would not only be their king, but perhaps the new emperor.”

Mata Zyndu's fury was sudden, scorching, and all-consuming.

He paced like a caged animal inside his tent. Everything inside the tent was already broken, and as he paced, he ground the broken pieces into the muddy soil.

While I and my soldiers used our lives to hold back the empire's greatest
army on Wolf's Paw, Kuni snuck through an unguarded back door like a
thief.

While I, by pure valor and strength, earned the greatest victory this world has ever known, Kuni stole the honor and reward that belonged to me.

And now, now? The thief does not even have the decency to face me and explain himself. Kuni Garu, who was like a brother, has locked the door against
me
, like a robber trying to keep a bigger portion of the loot.

“I'll die before I let
him
become King of Géfica!” Mata Zyndu roared. He was more outraged for his soldiers, young men, barely more than boys, who had followed him from Tunoa and fought for him fearlessly. They deserved to have their bravery recognized by the world.

To have people think of Kuni Garu as the one who finished the empire would be intolerable.

The other nobles and commanders, keeping their heads bowed submissively, gradually eased themselves step by step to the entrance of the tent, mumbled their excuses, and hastily retreated.