The Shadowed Sun (Dreamblood) (23 page)

The shunha were the stones around which this churning social river flowed. While their fellow nobles, the zhinha, led the drive to spread Gujaareen trade and power ever farther, it was the shunha who kept that drive from forging too far or too fast and overtaxing the land’s resources. And if they were sometimes derided as old-fashioned or stagnant, that did not change the fact that Gujaareh could never have become as great as it was without their steadfast, sensible restraint.

But Sunandi never allowed herself to forget that for all their adherence to Kisuati tradition, the shunha were still incontrovertibly,
insanely
Gujaareen.

Lord Sanfi and his daughter Tiaanet had come to the palace Yanya-iyan at Sunandi’s invitation, as she had continued the habit from her years as an ambassador of dining with all the notables of the city. The meal had gone well and both her guests had behaved with perfect decorum—yet there had been something off about the pair from the very beginning. It was a subtle thing, but persistent, and by the end of the meal Sunandi was sure of only one thing: that she did not like Sanfi. Not at all.

“It would be easier for you,” Sanfi said, “if you had kept one of the old Prince’s children alive.”

Sunandi, sipping fresh-made palm wine and relaxing on cushions after their meal, said nothing. She had learned, throughout the evening’s conversation, that Sanfi responded better to Anzi than herself in discussions of controversial topics. He got more defensive when Sunandi questioned his stances, and showed more temper when she pointed out flaws in his reasoning. Most likely he had some prejudice against women: it was a common failing in Gujaareen men. Perhaps, she mused, that was why Sanfi’s daughter Tiaanet had been largely silent ’til now.

Her Anzi, who had no such problem, had taken the lead in the conversation: he had grown used to playing off her most subtle cues over the years. “There are still a few children of the Sunset here in the capital,” Anzi said. He took a deep draw from his pipe, which Sunandi permitted him to smoke in their apartments only after meals like this. Evening had fallen, humid but cooling, and in the palace courtyard below, a hired chantress offered a lilting paean to the dusk. “If they swore off all claim to the Gujaareen throne and pledged allegiance to us, we let them live.”

“Not those,” Sanfi said, his tone laden with scorn. “The ones in
the city are mostly daughters, and sons too young or foolish to have any clout. No one would follow them.”

“There have been female Princes in Gujaareh’s past,” Sunandi said, turning her cup in her fingers.

“True. But they all had to work harder to earn respect and power than a man would have.” Sanfi leaned forward to pour more wine for Sunandi, the picture of solicitousness. “A son of the lineage could be more easily made into a figurehead. Dress him in fine robes, put the Aureole behind him, and the people will be so happy to have their Avatar back that much of the unrest you’ve seen lately would ease. Even if, in fact, Kisua remained in control.”

Did the man think them such fools, Sunandi wondered as she nodded thanks and sipped more wine, that they had not thought of such a possibility long ago? Sunandi herself had suggested using one of the Prince’s sons to the Kisuati Protectors’ Council. Unfortunately, after the Hetawa’s purges and the necessary power consolidation were done, those of the Prince’s older offspring with sense had fled north or west into exile, or protected themselves through marriages and alliances with Kisua’s elite. The few who remained were all but useless—children, wastrels, or worse.

And the one who might have served best, who had a respectable lineage, his father’s favor and, by all accounts, the wit and bearing of a true Prince… no one had seen or heard from that son since the day of the old Prince’s death. Though after her conversation with Nijiri, Sunandi now had an inkling of what the boy had been up to.

Just as well. If he had stayed in the city, most likely I would’ve had to kill him.

“And have you a candidate in mind for this figurehead?” asked Anzi, amused.

“No, no, not at all.” Sanfi laughed, though there was an insincere edge to the sound. Beside Sanfi, his daughter did not smile. “And frankly, it’s too late these days for Kisua to put forward a figurehead
who wouldn’t be a laughingstock. Your people, I’m afraid, have lost much credibility in Gujaareh these last few years. That tax on exports to the north, for example—”

“A necessity,” Sunandi said, smiling although she would have preferred not to. Firstly because it was impertinent of Sanfi to bring it up, but also because the Protectorate had insisted on the tax over Sunandi’s protests that it would further alienate the wealthier families of the land. The occupation of Gujaareh had grown increasingly unpopular back in Kisua, and the Protectorate now sought to increase profit from that occupation so as to appease its angry citizens. But even with the tax, Gujaareh had not yielded up the riches that the Protectors had expected. Deprived of imported northern luxuries, Gujaareen did not accept the southern goods that Kisua offered in replacement; they did without. Forced to buy Kisuati timber for construction, they stopped building. Pressured to bind their servant caste into contracts that more closely resembled Kisuati slavery—a highly profitable enterprise in Kisua—the damned Gujaareen had started shipping their servants to relatives overseas. Now labor costs in the city and larger towns had tripled, and it was only a matter of time before there were shortages of food, cloth, and everything else.

Sunandi herself had been surprised by all of it, because there had been no warning. Her spies would’ve known if there had been any sort of collusion—a concerted effort on the part of the merchants or farmers, perhaps, or a revolt among the servants. But as far as she could tell, the whole kingdom had suddenly, spontaneously, decided to turn contrary in every possible way. They did not fight back. They did not protest. But neither did they
obey
.

The longer Sunandi remained in Gujaareh, the more she was beginning to realize that something critical, some delicate balance that kept Gujaareh stable—and
safe
—had been disrupted. But Sunandi had no intention of explaining this to Sanfi.

Instead she said, “We’ve seen already what happens when the northfolk are permitted to acquire superior weaponry and goods. Why, Anzi tells me that after the war, when the northern troops were rounded up, they had more Gujaareen bows than those of their own design! They brought those bows to our shores, to draw Kisuati blood.”

“Gujaareen bows are famous the world over,” Sanfi said with a shrug. “Our merchants are just as happy to sell them to Kisua as the north. Come, now, Speaker—we all know that isn’t the reason for the tax.”

“It may not be,” said Sunandi, still smiling although she allowed an edge to creep into her voice. She was tired of this man, who seemed to believe his charm was sufficient to excuse his insolence. “But it is the only reason that should matter to
you
.”

Sanfi’s smile faded. For an instant anger flickered in his eyes, along with a high gleam that would have unnerved Sunandi deeply had they been alone. She had seen that look in other men’s eyes during her lifetime, and knew it for what it was: hatred.

But before Sanfi could voice that hatred—or act on it—Tiaanet surprisingly broke the silence. “It should matter to all of us, Speaker,” she said. Her voice was deep for a woman’s, husky; Sunandi imagined she broke hearts with her words alone. “I’ve heard the Protectors are less than pleased with the revenue losses in Gujaareh, especially since the Banbarra raids began. Does that not bode ill for Gujaareh’s governance—and governess?”

Silence fell over the chamber. Anzi stared at Tiaanet, stunned at her audacity, while Sanfi whirled to glare at her. Sunandi, after a moment’s astonishment, realized the evening had suddenly become much more interesting.

Clever little leopardess! Your father is a fool to keep you leashed.

In a silent acknowledgement of the verbal parry, Sunandi inclined her head to Tiaanet. Tiaanet returned the nod, solemn as ever.

“Your daughter is well informed, Lord Sanfi,” Sunandi said. She could not help smiling. Sanfi threw her a look of consternation, but when he realized that she was far from offended, he relaxed.

“As the heir to her mother’s esteemed lineage should be,” he said, though he shot Tiaanet an expressionless glance. And—again a great strangeness—Tiaanet lowered her eyes as if in shame.

She may have just saved her father from political suicide. He should be proud of her; she should be smug. That is the Kisuati, and shunha, way. What in the gods’ names is wrong with these two?

Setting down her own cup, Sunandi politely waved away Anzi’s offer to refill it. “And she’s right, in essence. But rest assured, Lord Sanfi; if the Protectors grow too displeased, the security of my position will be the least of Gujaareh’s worries.”

“What would likely happen?” Sanfi took a sip from his cup, perhaps to appear casual. But he was too tense; Sunandi could see that he was listening intently.

“I am here as a courtesy, Lord Sanfi,” she said. “I’m known in Gujaareh, and—more or less—respected. I respect your people in turn. Because of that, this occupation has gone more gently than it could have.” She swirled the liquid in her cup, from the corner of her eye watching him watch her. “But if the Protectors remove me, it will mean they’ve lost interest in gentleness. They will take direct control of the capital and the larger towns. They would then institute harsher measures to maintain control. Even higher taxes. Summary executions and mandatory slavery. Conscriptions to the Kisuati army. Rationing.”

Sanfi frowned. “And what of the Hetawa?”

Sunandi raised an eyebrow, wondering what had made him think of that. “I’ve made it clear to the Protectors that the Hetawa has cooperated with us thus far. In token of that cooperation, and the favor your Gatherer Ehiru did us in dealing with Eninket, I believe
the Protectors would allow the Hetawa to continue operating as usual—for the time being, at least.”

Sanfi sniffed. “You would do well to watch them more closely, Speaker. They once ruled Gujaareh, after all, and bent every other power in this land to their will. Your people are unfamiliar with magic. It can be a formidable weapon in certain hands.”

“A weapon.” Anzi looked skeptical, though Sunandi knew that was a front. They had both been on the plateau at Soijaro ten years ago, and seen the horror of Eninket’s Reaper. “Sleep-spells and healing? What will they do, attack my men and leave them healthy and well-rested?”

Sanfi smiled, but shrugged. “Magic comes in many forms, not all of which are benign. Who is to say what the Hetawa could do, if they wished?”

Anzi glanced at Sunandi; he was as puzzled as she. Why had the man brought this up? Sunandi frowned and turned back to Sanfi. “I shall keep that in mind,” she said, with absolute sincerity.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. There was no more talk of politics; after delivering his warning about the Hetawa, Sanfi seemed inclined to move to less sensitive subjects, like gossip about his fellow nobles. Sunandi was happy to let him. After the last flask of wine was served, Sanfi offered all the usual praises and thanks to his hosts, made a closing libation to their ancestors, and finally took his leave along with his daughter. In the wake of their absence, Sunandi found herself staring at the cushions they’d sat upon, turning and turning the evening’s conversation over in her mind.

Anzi, relaxing now that he could toss aside his general’s mantle—he hated being formal any longer than strictly necessary—came over to rest his head on her thigh. “Are you done being the Protectors’ Voice?”

She smiled and stroked his forehead, amused. He had never had
much interest in politics; she often marveled that he’d made it to such a high rank. Perhaps it was only that he played the game well when he had to. It was solely for her sake, however, that he put up with evenings like this. “I am always their Voice, my love. But for you, I can be a little less so for a while.”

He frowned, his broad forehead crinkling beneath her fingertips. “A strange pair, those two. Never seen a shunha daughter so… I don’t know.
Cowed.
”

Sunandi nodded in hearty agreement. And why did it seem that Sanfi’s whole purpose that evening had been to raise her suspicions about the Hetawa?

But Anzi chose that moment to sit up and kiss her. He would want attention now: for a flinty-faced warrior, he could be as demanding as the most pampered pet when the mood took him. And so, as Sunandi had promised, she put aside her responsibilities and worries to become, for the rest of the night, just his wife.