The Grace of Kings (71 page)

Mazoti left the main body of her forces at Dimushi, facing the defenders in Cocru across the wide mouth of the Liru. She journeyed up the river, to Coyeca, a small town where the locals were famous for making earthenware: pots, vases, planters, and so on. These came in all shapes and sizes, some large enough to cook an entire shark in, others suitable only for brewing tea.

She wore a wig and dressed herself as a well-to-do lady from Pan who was here for pleasure, to sightsee and to pick out some suitable furnishings for the new house that would be built to replace the one that Hegemon Zyndu had burned down during the occupation. She browsed through the markets, fondling the earthenware vessels with obvious pleasure.

Dafiro, who was disguised as her servant, observed Marshal Mazoti's actions with puzzlement. She had never shown an ounce of interest in the implements of domesticity before.

Small caravans of merchants began to arrive at Coyeca. They purchased many large pots and planters and jars and amphorae. The workshops of Coyeca were happy for the boost in business. The town had always relied on commerce up and down the Liru, but now that Cocru had sealed its borders and barred all merchant ships from the river, business had slowed to a trickle. These caravans from up north were very welcome.

Then, on a moonless night, the merchants of the various caravans, their servants and footmen, their drivers and errand boys, gathered on the shore of the Liru outside Coyeca. They unloaded the pottery they had purchased and unpacked uniforms and armor from the carriages.

Marshal Mazoti stood before them. She was dressed again in battle gear, and her face was filled with the satisfaction of a plan carried out to perfection. “Gentlemen, I've always said that we must make the most of every advantage we can get. Today, we put that credo into action. Mi and Solofi think they're safe because they destroyed all boats in their desperate retreat across the Liru, but we don't need boats. They think they can catch us whenever we try to build rafts, but we've been buying rafts right under their noses.”

She directed the men to stopper and seal the jars, amphorae, pots, and planters. They then tied collections of these air-filled vessels together with strong twine. To increase floatation, she had the soldiers fill their wineskins with air and tie these also to the makeshift rafts.

A Cocru airship drifted over the moonlit Liru. The lookouts leaned outside the gondola, keeping their eyes peeled for any ships or rafts on the surface. They saw bobbing masses of flotsam in the water below—clusters of jars and pots and other containers bumping against one another. Apparently, another greedy merchant had tried to make a run for it to the north with his ship, and a Cocru airship had made quick work of the traitor. It was a pity that perfectly good merchandise had to be ruined.

The airship sailed away.

In the darkness, undetected, the men of Dasu floated across the Liru on pockets of air trapped in kitchenware. The soldiers held on to the rafts with their hands and treaded water with their legs; they wore large pots over their heads to keep up the ruse. A few of the rafts fell apart, and some of the men, unable to swim back to the northern shore, drowned in the crossing. But most of the three hundred soldiers picked by Mazoti for this secret mission made it across safely.

After landing in Cocru, Mazoti's men divided into small squads and made their way west along the river. The squads easily overwhelmed the small garrisons at dozens of river towns and liberated their ships, directing them to sail toward the northern shore of the Liru—the Dasu men did not hesitate to use whatever method of persuasion was most effective with the shipowners.

Even Cocru airships could not stop such a mass exodus.

Mata finally cornered Mocri, and Mocri invited Mata to duel.

From sunrise to sundown, the two matched blow for blow, strike for strike. Sweat poured off their bodies, and their breath became labored. But still Na-aroénna swung through the air like the lobtailing fluke of a cruben, and Mocri's shield met it like the eternal, unyielding sea; Goremaw smashed down like the falling fist of Fithowéo, and Mocri's sword parried it like the hero Iluthan turning aside the jaws of a wolf. When the sun finally sank and the stars blinked into the black-silk sky, Mocri stepped back and held his arms open.

“Hegemon!” His heavy breathing sounded like the gasps of an ancient bellows; his dry tongue could not even form the syllables properly; he stumbled and had to support himself by leaning on his sword. “Have you ever fought a man like me?”

“Never,” said Mata. He had never felt so tired, not even during the Battle of Wolf's Paw. But his heart had never felt more joyful. “You're the most skilled opponent I've ever faced.” Pity arose in him. “Yield. You have fought well, and I will leave you in charge of Gan if you swear fealty to me.”

Mocri smiled. “I am both glad and sorry that we met.” And he pulled up his sword, lifted his shield, and came at Mata again.

The stars spun overhead as two great shadows fought in their cold, faint light. Mata's and Mocri's soldiers watched their lords, mesmerized. As their movements grew slower and more deliberate with their exhaustion, the two men seemed to be engaged in a dance rather than a fight. A dance that few mortals had the honor to witness.

Finally, as the sun rose again, Mata's strike with Goremaw broke Mocri's shield, and he took a step forward and thrust Na-aroénna into Mocri's chest.

Mata sheathed the Doubt-Ender and stumbled. Ratho Miro, his personal guard, rushed forward to support him. But Mata shook him off and picked up Mocri's sword. It looked old, battered, unadorned, the edges of the blade full of notches and the handle slick with Mocri's sweat: a weapon fit for a king.

He turned to Ratho. “Rat, you need a better sword, and this weapon deserves to not be buried in obscurity.”

Ratho accepted the sword gingerly, overwhelmed by the honor.

“What will you name it?” asked Mata.

“Simplicity,” said Ratho.

“Simplicity?”

“Ever since following you, my life has become as clear as the simple songs my mother sang to me as a child. My happiest memories are of that time and this.”

Mata laughed. “Well named. Most rare now is our old simplicity.”

Back in Toaza, the hegemon ordered that Mocri be given a funeral befitting his station as a king.

Mocri's family would also be spared and continue to be treated as nobles—though they would have to live in Çaruza. Those who fought with Mocri to the end were pardoned. If they would now swear fealty to Mata again, they could even keep their ranks.

Mata's men were confused. They had expected Mata to treat Mocri and his followers harshly, since they had betrayed him.

“Do you understand why?” Mata asked.

Mira was the only one who spoke up in the silence that followed.

“Mocri fought you in the field with no tricks, trusting only that his strength would overcome yours. There was no shame in his loss. He is a hero who lost not because of any fault of his own, but because the gods had decided to put you in the world along with him.”

Mata hoped that someday the world would understand him as well as she did.

The Dasu army crossed the Liru in a giant flotilla of captured ships. They found Dimu an empty town.

With memories of their humiliating defeat in Géfica still fresh in their minds, the soldiers of Mi and Solofi had fled as soon as they heard that Marshal Mazoti had landed. She might be only a woman, but she was also a sorceress who could conjure ships out of thin air. What was the point of fighting? Might as well surrender or, even better, desert and find a way to get back to Géfica and be a farmer. Kuni Garu was said to be a good administrator who let the people figure out how to feed themselves without taking everything away in taxes.

Noda Mi and Doru Solofi were preparing to commit suicide in Dimu when Mazoti entered the city and captured them. She treated them well, in accordance with Kuni's wishes.

Marshal Mazoti continued to march south from the Liru. The Dasu army arrived at Zudi, on the edge of the Porin Plains. The head of the garrison at Zudi, Captain Dosa, had always been thankful to Kuni for sparing his life; he and the elders of the city opened the gates wide and raised the flag of Dasu—begged from the officially licensed cooks of Dasu, with hand-painted scales and horns on the whales to turn them into crubens.

A few loyal men escaped from Zudi and brought news of Dasu's victories to Wolf's Paw. For a long time after hearing their report, Mata sat still on his throne. No one dared to speak up in the tent as the torches flickered and shadows danced across Mata's stony face.

Torulu Pering was right: I must deal with Kuni Garu once and for all.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

MATA'S COUNTERATTACK

ZUDI: THE EIGHTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Kuni's return to Zudi brought tears from his father—who had finally decided that it was time to throw his lot in with the son who would not stop rebelling—and wild jubilation among the people.

To add to the good news, Puma Yemu had managed to rescue Jia and the children right from under the noses of the Cocru troops in a daring raid at Çaruza. The family would finally be reunited in their hometown.

Kuni waited at the city gates from morning until evening, when the torchlights of Puma Yemu's men escorting Jia's carriage finally showed over the horizon.

Toto-
tika
and Rata-
tika
had no memory of their father and shrank back when he held out his arms to them. The little girl clutched Jia's hand while the little boy hung on to Otho Krin's robe. “Who is that man, Uncle Otho?” Toto-
tika
asked before Soto shushed him, and Otho awkwardly backed away.

“Oh, you must be Fa-father,” said Rata-
tika
, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

“The children will warm up to you soon enough,” said Soto to Kuni.

The momentary look of pain disappeared from Kuni's face as he bowed deeply to Soto. “The Garu family is in your debt.” Soto returned with a deep
jiri
.

Then Kuni turned to Jia. Their embrace at the city gates lasted a long time as the citizens of Zudi clapped and whistled and laughed.

As Kuni repeatedly kissed Jia, he whispered into her ear, “I'm so sorry for everything you've suffered. I know you don't think I understand, but I do. I've chewed on bitter herbs every morning so that I can feel a fraction of what you felt, alone, frightened, surrounded by enemies and trying to raise two children.”

Jia, who had always maintained a stoic face in front of the others, finally broke down. She hit Kuni in the chest, hard, a few times, and then pulled him to her in a hungry kiss. Tears and laughter mingled in her face.

Kuni took out of his pocket a small bouquet of dandelions, all wilted.

“They were fresh this morning,” he said apologetically.

“There will be new flowers,” she said. “Life moves in cycles, like the tide.”

“I want us to feel this close, always.”

“Then we must treasure the moments we have, for who can predict what tomorrow will bring?”

Kuni nodded, and there were tears on his face too.

The crowd continued to cheer as the couple went on holding each other, swaying slowly in the moonlight.

The reunion of the Garu household continued back in the mayor's house, as joyous as it was awkward. No matter what kind of understanding Kuni and Jia might have shared, they understood that emotions and passions had a way of flowing along channels no one could anticipate.

Kuni introduced Jia and the children to Risana, who was very visibly pregnant. Soto and Otho Krin took the children away to play. Then Kuni seemed to have trouble finding things to say.

Mün Çakri went on and on about the tactical genius of Marshal Mazoti, and Jia politely said “Really!” and “Oh my!” in the appropriate places. After a while, Mün felt Rin Coda pulling on the hem of his robe under the table. He stopped talking. The room became very silent.

“Marshal Mazoti is thinking of planning an invasion of Rima. Mün, Rin, and I have to”—Than Carucono hesitated—“be somewhere else to help her.”

The three got up and left, discreetly closing the door behind them. Kuni was alone with his two wives.

“Honored Big Sister,” said Risana, “my heart is glad to finally be in your presence.”

“I should thank you, Little Sister,” Jia said, “for taking care of our husband all this time. His letters never mentioned how beautiful you are.”

The two women smiled at each other.

I can't see.

Risana paced inside the bedroom that had been designated hers.

Jia's heart had appeared as a solid piece of obsidian to her. She could not tell if she liked her; she could not tell if she hated her; she could not tell if she was sincere; she could not tell if she was trying to insult her.

She didn't know what to do. Others whose hearts were sealed to her sight had only passed through her life. She had never had to live with anyone whose fears and desires she had to guess.

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

Jia was glamorous, regal, a woman who had known Kuni when he was but a commoner. About her was the air of someone used to command and servants and wealth. But what was Risana? An entertainer, a woman who had scraped for a living from creating illusions for the amusement of teahouse patrons.

To delight and to lead.

The words sounded like a joke to her.

Then she looked into her own heart.

She forced herself to be calm. She would not be afraid. She would not see monsters where there were none.

Wasn't acceptance of the truth about the self her talent? She would accept her limitations and strive to befriend Jia. There must be a voice next to Kuni who spoke for those just like her and her mother, the powerless who yearned for peace. She had come far and carved out a place for herself; Jia could be a powerful ally.

She would stumble through the fog, trusting that no wall would suddenly loom before her.

“Tell me about Lady Risana,” Jia said to Rona, Risana's maid.

Jia had cornered the fourteen-year-old girl in the kitchen, where she was trying to prepare a tray of snacks to take up to Risana's room.

“The mistress is very kind,” the girl said.

“But how is she with the king? What do they do together?”

The girl blushed.

“No, no. I'm not asking for bedroom gossip, silly girl. I mean what do they talk about?”

“Lady Jia, I don't know much. When they are together, she usually sends me away.”

Well, one thing is for sure, Risana knows how to instill loyalty in her servants.
But Jia had other tricks.

“I hear rumors that King Kuni never laughs when Lady Risana is around,” Jia said.

“That's not true!” The girl's tone was indignant. “I hear the king play the coconut lute sometimes after dinner, and the mistress sings. She has a beautiful voice, and sometimes if it's a funny song she laughs, and I hear the king laugh even louder. Other times she sings sad songs, and she cries, and I hear the king cry with her.”

“Is it true that Lady Risana is not much of a dancer?”

“Oh no, not at all. She will put on a dress with very long sleeves and loosen her hair. Then she twirls and bends at the waist and leaps into the air, her back arched like a bow. Her sleeves and hair will float and trace out long arcs in the air, like three rainbows in the sky, like the three rivers meandering across the Big Island, like three strands of silk in the wind—”

Jia dismissed her.

In the dark, Jia twisted and turned. Kuni was asleep next to her, snoring loudly as was his wont. She had forgotten about this habit of his. Otho Krin was a quiet sleeper.

She imagined Kuni and Risana together, and despite herself, she was consumed with fury. When they were first married, Kuni and she had shared an easy, joking rapport. But she wasn't much of a singer, and she didn't remember him ever laughing or crying with her the way the maid described him doing with Risana. She did not dance, could never have danced, like Risana. Suddenly she felt the ghost of her vanished youth. Gone was the redheaded girl who had once inspired the future king with a dandelion.

Visions came to her: Risana losing her unborn child; Risana unable to conceive; Risana surrendering the favor of the king. She knew how to make those visions come true: when she had worked out how to cure her own barrenness, she had studied certain herbal recipes that had the opposite effect. As was so often the case in nature, substances tending to opposite effects were bound together; a thin line divided poison from medicine.

She shuddered, revolted and disgusted with herself. It was but a passing moment of weakness, she hoped. No matter how desperate she got, she would never cross that line, for to do so was to give herself up to the maelstrom, to lose herself.

She got up, went to her dresser, and took out the bundle of letters that Kuni had sent her over the years. Without turning on any light, she leafed through them, her fingers tracing the blank surface, remembering the patterns of invisible ink. No matter how busy he was, Kuni always found time to write.

Jia wiped away her tears. She was the mother of Kuni's eldest son, the future crown prince. She would always be his first love, the one who had thrown her lot in with him before he was anybody, the one who believed that he was destined for greatness. She could not really blame him, seeing as she was the one who had told him to take another wife. She had done so to ensure his success, and it was a sacrifice that she would not betray.

Maybe Soto was right. It was silly to make a fetish out of love, and not to accept that love was like food, and each dish had its own flavor. The heart surely had room for more than one.

But she would ask Kuni to name their son, now that Toto-
tika
was four, the age of reason. It was time to secure her place and to prepare for the palace rivalries that were sure to come.