The Grace of Kings (61 page)

Risana laid out some sweet snacks and bitter tea on a tray and set it on the table between them. Kuni thanked her.

“What is this thing you do with . . . smoke?”

She got up and lit a stick of incense and set the burner down also on the table.

“Watch.”

She moved her hands through the air, trailing the long, oversized sleeves behind them. The air currents in the room changed and shifted, and the smoke, rising in a straight line, began to curl into a spiral. She stopped moving, but the spiral stayed in place, as though it were solid.

“That's amazing,” said Kuni. “How did you do that?”

“My family was from Arulugi, the Beautiful Island. I don't know who my father was; it was just me and my mother. She was an herbalist who discovered the secret of creating smoke that can be sculpted. It requires certain ingredients in the incense that, when burning, do not follow the expected patterns of normal smoke.

“We traveled from town to town and made a good living entertaining in the teahouses. My mother improved on the technique and devised ever more elaborate smoke displays. She could create labyrinths out of them, and guests would pay to be lost in them and laugh and scream and feel the thrill of danger that is not really danger.”

He heard a trace of sorrow in her voice. “But something happened, didn't it?”

She nodded. “My mother realized that the smoke also had an effect on the minds of men and women, made them more compliant, willing to follow suggestions. It was part of what made her labyrinths so effective: She could give the suggestions of monsters moving behind the smoke, and those within would believe they were real.”

Kuni nodded. He had heard of such things, street entertainers who offered to put volunteers into a semi-asleep state in which they would do all kinds of silly things that they would not do normally: The shy would give a rousing oration, the bold would cower at shadows, dignified men and women would cluck like chickens and bark like dogs. It was close to madness.

“One day, a prince famed for his bravery came to experience her smoke labyrinth. Trying to give him a thrill, my mother enclosed him in a thick fog and suggested that he was beset by monsters wielding tongues of fire. She had intended to make the monsters back off when the prince defended himself with his sword, so that he could feel the satisfaction of battling mythical creatures.

“But the prince, despite his reputation as a skilled fighter, turned out to be a coward. As the monsters my mother put into his mind began to appear, he dropped his sword and ran screaming from the labyrinth, having soiled his clothes in the process.

“King Ponahu of Amu was not amused and arrested my mother for witchcraft. She was scheduled to be executed, but she convinced her guards to slip her some herbs—for her womanly troubles, she claimed—and then used them to create a smoke screen that enveloped the guards. She had them open her cell under the influence of the smoke, and she escaped. And then she came to Cocru, and we've tried to live here inconspicuously since then.”

“That is a sad story,” said Kuni. “King Ponahu thought your mother's smokecraft witchery, but isn't authority itself a form of smokecraft too? It relies on performance, stage management, and the power of suggestion.”

Risana tilted her head and stared at him, until Kuni felt awkward and embarrassed under the gaze of those light-brown eyes.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, but I wish my mother were still alive. She would have liked you.”

“Oh?”

“She always said that the world would not be set aright until the powerful vied to entertain the powerless, rather than the other way around.”

Kuni laughed, but then, after a moment, looked serious. “There's much truth worth following in your mother's words.”

“That was her motto as a smokecrafter: to delight and to lead.”

Being with Risana reminded Kuni of his childhood days when life was simple, and it put him at ease.

He had not realized how much
politics
there was in his daily life. Every word, every gesture, every expression had layers of meaning that he had to be attentive to. Cogo had drilled into him the belief that a king was always on display, and always speaking, even when he was silent. People were always watching, inferring meaning from how he held his hands, how he seemed to listen or not listen, how he stifled a yawn or drank his tea. In the minds of those around him, there were plots and plots upon plots.

He had to admit that a part of himself enjoyed this, and he was good at it.

Jia, in her own way, was master of the same art. She had long been the center of attention, the one others looked to for approval, for strength, for signs of one kind or another. Though their hearts were connected in a way that made them understand each other like few others could, when they were together, they couldn't help but continue to play the game, put on a performance, parse each other's words and acts for clues.

But with Risana, Kuni felt no pressure. She spoke what was on her mind and saw through whatever evasions he put up. She waved her hands, and fog seemed to clear from his mind. There was no need for any flattery, deceit, lies. She was not interested in the kind of mental games that he and Jia were trapped in. Because she saw through layers of guile in men so easily, she seemed to have no guile herself.

Being with Risana made Kuni realize how tiring his life was. There was no longer room in the life of
King Kuni
for the young man who once felt such pure elation at the sight of a lone man flying across the sky.

Risana had not told Kuni the whole truth about her talent, which was similar to, but also different from, her mother's.

Whereas her mother had been skilled in planting suggestions in an audience while smoke dulled their senses, Risana was best at the opposite: clearing the minds of those in thrall to the smoke. She was the one who would lead them out of the labyrinths after they'd had their fun, the one who would show them that the monsters they thought they saw were not real.

If she wished, she could also manipulate the smoke in people's hearts and behind their eyes, making them see visions where there was nothing, to have doubts where there was clarity. But she far preferred to do the opposite.

Even without the aid of her herbal smoke, she had always found it easy to speak with people—she had a talent of seeing what was in their hearts through the fog and smoke of their self-deception and their wish to seem other than they were. Most of the time, she chose to go along with the deception; indeed, that was often what it took to be well-liked.

But sometimes, when she thought the person needed it, she did something different. With a word, a song, a judiciously enforced bit of silence, she showed them what she had seen, giving them that most precious of gifts: acceptance of the truth.

When men and women realized what she was capable of, often they pulled away in fear. They did not like to be so naked.

There was, however, a limit to her skill.

She discovered that some hearts were opaque to her sight, like sealed boxes. She could not tell what their owners wanted or what they feared, and she knew not whether they were friend or foe.

“I'm afraid for you,” her mother had said, when Risana tried to explain this particular blindness.

“What for?” Risana had asked.

“You've never learned to navigate the darkness, as the rest of us must.”

And then she had pulled Risana into an embrace, and would explain no more.

At first, Risana had thought Kuni was just such a man, a man whose heart was sealed against her sight. And then she realized that it was simply because she didn't look hard enough.

Kuni was such a complicated man. There were so many layers in his heart that it appeared opaque. He was like a cabbage, one leaf nestled inside another, each half-formed idea enclosed by another, desires and suspicions and regrets and ideals wrapped tightly lest they spread too far. There was a growing ambition in him and an overwhelming desire to be liked. Yet there was also sorrow and a gnawing sense of doubt, of not being as good a man as he thought he was, of not being as certain of the right path as he wished.

He intrigued her. Powerful men, in her experience, were usually not so full of doubt. Kuni was consumed by the desire to do good for others, but uncertain what “good” might be and whether he was the right man for the job.

Kuni was the sort of man, Risana realized, who, rather than deceive himself, was so full of self-doubt that he could no longer see himself.

And what should I do?
Risana asked herself.
What is my role when
I see a king in need of counsel?

To delight and to lead
.

Kuni stayed with Risana for two weeks. At first he told himself that it was because he was still hiding from Mata's men. But it was impossible to lie to himself with Risana around.

So he asked her to come with him. And she agreed, as she already knew she would.

And that was how King Kuni married his second wife, Lady Risana.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

LETTERS

DASU AND OUTSIDE ÇARUZA: THE NINTH MONTH IN THE FIRST YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

My Beloved Jia,

As usual, forgive me for writing only in zyndari letters like a schoolboy—a problem we'll have to endure until you figure out how to form solid logograms from invisible ink; though given my handwriting, perhaps it's best I can't use logograms here.

Do you have everything you need? If you need money, let me know—I'm sure I can send you some, and Mata would be too proud to interfere with something like that. It can't be easy to keep everything running, even with Soto and Otho's help. I pray that Toto-
tika
and Rata-
tika
are not giving you too much trouble.

I'm overjoyed to have received your gifts and the letter of congratu­lations for me and Risana. She asked me to tell you that she very much loves the box of herbs you sent her, though she would not tell me what they are, only smile mischievously.

Imperfect as we are, I can only resolve to never again make assumptions and cling to ideals and to be honest and reveal to you everything in my heart. She is different from you, and I love you both.

The wedding was a lavish affair, though I think our wedding in Zudi was more fun—I had more freedom then to say outrageous things. Tiro kings from across Dara sent gifts, which will certainly help the Dasu treasury. Even Mata sent a case of fine wines from Zyndu Castle.

Kindo Marana came himself, and I made an elaborate show of how much I enjoyed the pleasures Dasu had to offer: fresh sea air, spicy foods, a population who considers me refined, a new wife.

“Do you not miss home, Lord Garu?” he probed, as he waved his eating sticks to refuse my offer of more spicy dumplings—he has a sensitive stomach.

“Home is where the heart is,” I said, looking over at Risana.

I hope my performance was convincing.

What a game we're playing, Jia, and may the gods protect us all.

—Your Husband, performing the role of his life

Kuni,

Don't worry about money. Though we are kept under watch by Mata, we are given all that we need materially. Since your departure, Toto-
tika
is now able to say a few words and walk on his own, and Rata-
tika
is just as cute as can be. They miss their father, as do I.

I am indeed curious about Risana. Another woman who has captured your heart . . . well, interesting. I can't wait to meet her.

Mata came to see me—just himself this time, and unarmed.

“Kuni seems to prefer his new home,” he said. “Loyalty comes harder to some than others.”

“I suppose some men think of women like clothes,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. “Newer is better.”

He looked at me, and for a moment it seemed as if he was the Mata I knew, the man who held my son in his palm and joked with you. And then his face hardened, and he left.

I hope you've looked over the other gifts I sent you carefully. The maps you asked for and engineering plans for water mills and windmills were hidden in the lining of the wedding blankets; a wedding is indeed a good opportunity for smuggling—Rin came up with that idea, didn't he? I hope he has enough now to do his work properly.

Courage, my husband, and faith.

—Your Jia, learning to spy, which is indeed one of the most interesting things

My Beloved Jia,

Now that I've been back in Dasu for a while, I've given much thought to what others call my ambition. The misunderstanding between Mata and me may appear to be a matter of competition for honor, for credit and empty fame. But the roots go far deeper than that. Now that I have seen the larger world, I wish to change it, as does Mata. But while he wishes to restore the world to a state that never was, I wish to bring it to a state that has not yet been seen.

I may not be much of a fighter, but I have always tried to do the best for those who have followed me, who have been put in my charge, who are dependent on me. I have seen the poor suffer when nobles seek the purity of ideals. I have seen the powerless die when princes believe in the nostalgia of their dreams. I have seen the common people torn from peace and thrown into war when kings yearn to test the clarity of their vision.

I have come to think that Emperor Mapidéré was misunderstood.

Let me finish, Jia.

In Pan, I saw with my own eyes the horrors of Mapidéré's madness, the bones of those he had killed were embedded in every wall, and the widows and orphans he had made cried in the streets. Yet there was also something else, something I found in the documents saved by Cogo from the Imperial Archives and which he secretly brought here.

The minutiae of administration show that for all that the emperor had done wrong, he had also gotten some things right. He had promoted the flow of commerce, the migrations of peoples, the exchange of ideas; he brought the wider world to each isolated corner of Dara; he had done all he could to destroy the nobility of the Seven States, the old centers of power, so that all of Dara could be one people.

Why should there be so many Tiro states, Jia? Why should there be so many wars? The ever-shifting lines between the Tiro states are drawn by men, not gods, and why can we not erase them altogether?

I don't yet know what the right answer is, but I believe that returning to the past is not the answer. I feel the heavy weight of a new responsibility. For the rebellion's promise of succor to the common people to not be betrayed, I must find a new path forward.

Meanwhile, I'm stuck on this island and must keep myself busy.

Now, contrary to what you might have heard, Dasu is actually a very nice place. There are so few nobles here except the ones I've made myself that there are no boring parties or ridiculous gossip. I'm working on getting everyone to stop calling me “Your Majesty.” I don't like the way people stumble over it, and I don't much feel like a king. Cogo hates how I'm so careless with protocol, and you know how stubborn he can be. Well, I can be stubborn too.

Daye is really just about the size of Zudi, though much poorer and with far fewer people. As a capital, I'm afraid it's not going to stand up to Çaruza.

Few traders make their way here, since all we have is fish. Well, if you ever come here, be prepared to eat lots of raw fish and shrimp. The crabs and lobsters here are not as big as the ones they catch in Zathin Gulf, but far tastier.

But my favorite thing about Daye is the view. Because we are on the northern coast, away from Rui and the other islands, we face the endless open ocean. The water is pristine, and we rarely see any trash drifting in. I've taken to swimming in the mornings in the cold water, before the sun comes up. It really wakes you up, and you're ready for the whole day. At night, we build bonfires on the beach and drink and tell stories. Yes, entertainment opportunities in Daye are a bit limited.

The locals say that beyond the ocean, beyond the scattered isles where the pirates hide, below the horizon, there are other islands, filled with other people far different from us. Elders speak of strange flotsam and wreckage washing up on shore years ago, bearing designs never seen in all of Dara. We repeat these stories around the bonfire and scare one another, but I do wonder. Wouldn't it be exciting, Jia, to find other lands out there that we've never seen?

Cogo, as always, has come up with some great ideas for improving the people's lives—but he's generous enough to let me take credit for them so that the people will think I'm a wise ruler. Ha!

For example, he thinks we should make the best of what Dasu is most famous for: our cuisine. Emperor Mapidéré had forced people to relocate all over Dara, and the most cosmopolitan inhabitants of the other islands have acquired a taste for Dasu's spicy cooking. Now Cogo is offering restaurateurs a special banner they can buy after completing a course here in Daye so that they can call themselves Authentic Dasu Cooks.

I came up with the design for the banner: a little leaping whale, which happens to be also on the new flag of the Tiro state of Dasu. So far we've already had fifty or so restaurant owners from Arulugi and the Big Island take up our offer, and it's a good source of revenue. Cogo tells me that one other benefit to this program is getting people all over Dara used to the sight of Dasu flags flying everywhere and associating them with good things—delicious Dasu food. That Cogo, always thinking.

He's also introduced some new crops—like the taro they grow over on Tan Adü—that seem to do better than the traditional varieties. The farmers who have tried them are very impressed.

Cogo is also experimenting with a new, simpler tax code—though it still seems plenty complicated to me. But when I speak to the business leaders in Daye and the elders in the countryside, they tell me that Duke Yelu is a genius. (And I remind them that I'm an even
bigger
genius for letting Cogo do what he wants.)

He has also managed to win over Kindo Marana, the man supposedly watching our every move, by humbly going over to Rui on a little fishing boat to seek advice on taxation. Only Kiji knows how they can spend weeks talking taxes, but Marana seems now disinclined to treat us as a threat. His ships used to patrol close to our harbors, menacing the fishermen, and his airships used to circle over Daye daily, which got all the children very excited. But more recently he's scaled back these spy missions.

On the recruiting front, things aren't as good. Though Rin has spread the rumor through our network of spies on the other islands—mainly recruited through his connections with smuggling gangs—that I'm looking for able men to join us, few have shown up. Dasu is simply too remote and too poor to be really attractive.

Indeed, every day, a few of my soldiers desert because they miss home or because they don't see much of a future here. They steal fishing boats at night and row over to Rui, where they board the bigger ships bound for the Big Island. Others have left to go join the pirates up north. It's all a bit dispiriting.

But I keep on telling myself that this is just a temporary setback. Mata doesn't have the patience for the boring details of administration, and the new Tiro states are already squabbling over the arbitrary borders he drew and fighting for advantages. Maybe I'm just fooling myself, thinking that I still have a chance to escape from my island prison, but hope is a good dish, even better than Dasu spices.

Above all, don't worry. I'll figure it out. I promise.

—Your Loving Husband

Kuni,

I must ask you to stop treating me like a delicate flower you must protect and stop thinking that you must come up with solutions for everything on your own. I fell in love with you not only because I knew you'd fly high one day, but also because I knew you'd always listen to my counsel and not dismiss me for “meddling,” the way the scribes and ministers are alway warning the noble ladies of Çaruza to not interfere in the serious affairs of their husbands, brothers, and sons.

Oh, I'm sure this will come as no surprise to you, but I've decided to no longer attend any parties among the nobles in Çaruza. It's insulting, and frankly, I don't feel like I'm accomplishing much. At the last party I went to—Mata actually sent the invitation himself: I guess he wanted to feel out your ambition by observing the way I conducted myself—a stupid man, some count or other from Gan, pretended to not know where Dasu was and called you the “king of a lobster pot.” And the other guests laughed like it was so witty. I had to go home before I did something I'd regret. Sorry, your wife is not much of a diplomat—I hope Risana will do better, for both our sakes—and I can never make my face say that which I do not feel.