The Grace of Kings (68 page)

Soto sipped her tea. “True. Though your plan was worth a try. You're getting to be as crafty as your husband.”

Jia laughed. “I can't hide anything from you. It did seem to me that I might be able to connect with more of Kuni's old followers in Zudi if I was allowed to leave.”

“You would have had a better chance if you had gotten your parents or Kuni's father to manufacture some sickness or death in the family—Mata respects the old traditions and would have probably permitted you to go in mourning. If you want to succeed in future palace politics, you're going to have to think through your moves more.”

Jia blushed. Soto had a sharp eye and a sharper tongue, but Jia actually found her to be a kindred soul. Jia had abandoned life as a wealthy merchant's daughter to marry a man who seemed to have no future, and Soto had left a life as a great hereditary lady to live as someone else's maid. They both knew something about adapting to the vagaries of life. Soto's criticism was well meant: She had decided to become a political wife, hadn't she? Then she needed to adapt to its requirements, both pleasant and unpleasant.

Soto had saved her life and the lives of the children, and Jia was grateful for that. But Soto was also full of secrets. Today, Jia was determined to dig into them.

“Do you sometimes wish,” Jia said, “that Mata would win instead of Kuni? He's family, after all.”

“I don't know what it means for someone to
win
in this, Lady Jia. Whatever happens, a great many people will suffer. But I do think that Kuni will be gentler on this world than Mata.”

“Is that all? Do you not wish to gain an advantage for yourself?”

Soto put down her teacup. “Speak plainly, Lady Jia.”

“You told Kuni who you were before he left, didn't you?”

Soto gazed at Jia, utterly amazed.

“Kuni is a gambler, but he's not reckless, and he would not endanger me or our children with an invasion of Rui unless he knew of a way to keep us safe. He must have known who you were before he went to war. Did you make some kind of bargain with him? Mata would not take kindly to women meddling in politics, but Kuni is far more flexible.”

Soto chuckled. “I see that I've been trying to give advice to a mind already subtle. You're right that I told Kuni my secret so that he would feel free to make his move when the time was right.”

“And you kept the secret from me because you weren't sure I could continue to act the part of the proper hostage. If I grew too confident or bold in my dealings with the hegemon, he might have suspected that I was no longer afraid of him, and thus deprived Kuni of the cover of my being essentially at his mercy.”

Soto nodded. “Forgive me for my deception, Lady Jia. I had always hoped you would be a force, but I wasn't sure if you were ready. I assure you, though, that I do not wish to become a puppeteer behind Kuni's throne. What I said to Mata is the truth: I believe there must be an end to the killings, and Kuni is far more likely than Mata to achieve that vision.”

“How did Kuni win you over?”

“You won me over
for
him; and during his visit, his actions and words confirmed that he's a lord worthy of my loyalty.”

“You didn't suspect us of just acting? Great lords are often good at theater, as in the stories you tell the children.”

Soto considered this. “If it's a mask, it's a very good mask. How can you ever truly know the heart of someone? You and your husband are both natural actors, but if you're performing, you've kept up that performance for your servants, for the powerless, for the low and base. Sometimes there is no distinction between the role and the player.”

Jia gazed at her. “No more secrets, Lady Soto. I want at least one real friend in the palace. As you said, I have much to learn about poli­tics, and there will be more of it in the future.”

Soto nodded. She and Jia continued to drink tea, talking of inconsequential things.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

THE CRUBEN IN DEEP SEA

ÇARUZA: THE FIRST MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

By throwing out everything that added weight—armor, weapons, extra provisions and water, even the mattresses in the sleeping quarters for the crew—Marshal Mazoti turned a few of the airships captured from Mount Kiji into sleek speedsters. True to the vision she and Risana had shared, Mazoti staffed them with all-women crews.

Unmatched in speed and maneuverability, these airships evaded the hegemon's airships and flew all over the Islands of Dara; their heavier pursuers were slower and could not stay aloft for as long.

As they flew over the cities, Dasu airships dropped leaflets denouncing Mata Zyndu for his sins: the Massacre at Dimu, the Slaughter of Prisoners at Wolf's Paw, the Destruction of Surrendered and Peaceful Pan, the Betrayal of the Promise of Just Rewards for Rebel Leaders, the Usurpation of the Throne of Cocru, the Murder of King Thufi . . .

The self-righteous tone, the lurid language, the manipulative illustrations—these had troubled Kuni when Cogo Yelu first presented them.

“The facts in these accusations may be true, but why do we have to tell them as if they are stories whispered in teahouses?”

“Sire,” Cogo said, “this is the only way to get the common people to be interested.”

“I know that. But this seems . . . too much. We've done some things that we are not proud of either, and we may yet commit more sins in the future. If we denounce Mata like this, people will think us hypocrites.”

“Hypocrisy troubles only the unrighteous,” said Rin Coda.

Kuni was unpersuaded, but he always listened to counsel.

He nodded reluctantly.

Torulu Pering, who had more than a little experience fighting against airships, came up with a plan.

As one of the Dasu ships headed for Çaruza, Pering ordered Cocru airships near the capital to lay a trap. They took off from the airfield at the last possible minute and plotted an intercept course from the east. This allowed them to take advantage of the rising sun that temporarily blinded the Dasu ship's pilot. By the time the Dasu ship realized the danger, the Cocru ships would be too close. They'd have to engage in an air fight, and the Dasu airship, lightly armed and outnumbered, would be no match.

But it was deep winter, and just as the ships were about to let loose their volleys of flaming arrows, a heavy, punishing storm of freezing rain began to fall. As the ice sheets thickened on the hulls, the weight gradually pulled all the ships down. The Dasu ship was going to have to land, even though it wasn't being shot out of the sky.

However, Luan Zya, who had studied the weather patterns around the Islands of Dara during his extensive travels, had been prepared. He had advised Gin to equip the crew with long-handled pikes that they now used to loosen the sheets of ice as they leaned out of the gondola. The Dasu ship rose, unscathed, and for good measure, dropped a full load of pamphlets on the capital of Cocru.

Rapa, my other half, are you really going to work now against a son of
Cocru?

Kuni is also a son of Cocru; as was Thufi, and countless others who have died. You have picked your favorite, and I have mine.

I never thought we'd see the day when sister works against sister among the gods.

I'm sorry, Kana. But our hearts are as varied and tumultuous as those of the mortals.

Mata Zyndu read through the pamphlet and grew angrier with each line.

Lies, all the words are lies.

When he killed, he killed only cowards and traitors and enemies. He was always forgiving and generous to his real friends.

Kuni Garu the betrayer, despite his dirty tricks and dishonorable band of hooligans, preened and paraded like a saint before the ignorant masses. Meanwhile, even Mata's own aunt treated him as some tyrant. There was no justice in the world.

His own room was too confining. Mata strode into the courtyard to get some fresh air.

There was Mira, sitting under the shade of a sweet olive, embroidering. Clusters of pale-yellow flowers hung from the evergreen branches over her, giving off a sweet, pungent fragrance that lingered in the lungs. He walked closer to see what she was making.

It was a picture of him. The needlework was very fine. Mira had used only black threads so that the result was like an ink painting.

She did not faithfully reproduce his face or figure. His body was represented by a rough, elongated diamond, and his head an oval with two triangular patches for his eyes. Yet, with ragged lines and these bold geometric patterns, somehow Mira managed to suggest Mata Zyndu in flight, brandishing his sword while hanging from a kite. It was not a picture that hewed close to nature, with its soft curves and shades of light, but seemed to somehow supersede it, as though showing the skeleton beneath the world's flesh. The Mata Zyndu in her picture was all spirit and energy.

“It's very good,” he said, his anger momentarily forgotten.

“I've made several of these,” she said. “But none of them
feels
right. I can't seem to fully capture the idea of you.”

Mata Zyndu sat down. He felt relaxed in her quiet presence, like a cool breeze in early autumn. She never talked to him about matters of state, never plotted to gain some advantage from him for one faction or another. When she expressed a longing for something, it was simple: a house, a flower she remembered seeing once, the song of birds in the morning.

He wished he could be so easily satisfied as well.

“What's it like?” he asked idly. “To make pictures like that? It seems to require so much effort, one stitch after another. And it's so . . . small.”

Mira went on embroidering, not lifting her eyes. “I imagine it's not very different from what you do.”

Mata Zyndu laughed. “I am the hegemon of all of Dara. When I stomp my foot, thousands tremble. Comparing what I do to your idle feminine pursuits is like comparing the path of a cruben in the sea to that of an ant beneath my foot.” As he spoke, he put his boot down on an ant crawling nearby and crushed it into a smear.

Mira glanced at the ant and then looked up at him. Something seemed to change and shift inside her. When she spoke again, her tone was different.

“When you lead an army into the field, you make a picture. I use a needle; you wield a sword. I make stitches; you make bodies. I leave behind a figure on fabric; you leave behind a new arrangement of power in the world. In the end you work on a larger canvas, but I do not think the satisfaction we get from our respective work is very different.”

Mata had no answer to this. Mira's words infuriated him, yet he could not say why. It would be easy to dismiss her as a woman unable to understand the grandeur of his vision, but he stubbornly tried to get her to
see
. He had always been able to make her happy, hadn't he?

“It's silly to compare how you feel to what I feel. I change the lives of every person in these Islands. You are confined to a woman's narrow circle: a few feet in front of you.”

“That's true,” Mira said. “Yet in the eyes of the gods, you and I are not much different from that ant. But I do have the consolation that my enjoyment brings no death and suffering; when I die no one will jump up and down in joy; and I remember all the names and faces that matter to me.”

Mata stood up and lifted his hand. If he used his full strength, she would be dead in a moment.

He had been in this position many times on the battlefield, poised to strike a final blow against a foe with Na-aroénna or Goremaw. Always, he had seen something in their eyes: despair, terror, defiance, disbelief.

But she stared back at him with perfect equanimity; there was not even a hint of fear.

“I want to understand you, Mata. But I do not think you understand yourself.”

He put his hand down, got up, and walked away.

LUTHO BEACH: THE THIRD MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

The Tiro states, old and new, fell upon one another like squabbling children, and the nobles found themselves in a crowded world filled with newly minted aristocrats.

Kings sat uneasily on their thrones. After all, Zyndu had driven away King Thufi and took the Throne of Cocru for himself because he had the loyalty of the army. The example was tempting to the generals of the other Tiro states, and frightening to their kings.

Mata did nothing to discourage the trend, and coups happened in several places as ambitious generals took the places of their former masters.
Sometimes
, the change was bloodless.

Cocru ships circled around Rui and Dasu, boxing the islands in like a floating wall of wood. The few Dasu ships hid in the harbors, not daring to emerge into the open sea. Kuni Garu made no move to build up a navy to challenge the hegemon. And an airborne invasion was impractical as airships simply did not have that kind of capacity.

The lack of activity after the pamphlets led to whispers that perhaps King Kuni's ambition was simply to have a larger prison within which to stretch his legs. Gradually, discipline on the Cocru ships grew lax. Sailors on the ships spent their endless patrols playing cards and fishing to add a bit more variety to their monotonous diet of stale biscuits.

Sometime the sailors saw great pods of crubens passing under the ships in the sea lanes between Rui and the Big Island. Sighting a cruben was an auspicious occurrence, and most of the sailors were glad. Maybe it was a sign that the gods favored Hegemon Zyndu, and their time away from the comforts of home would soon be over.