The Grace of Kings

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE. DASU AND COCRU

WOLF’S PAW AND THE BIG ISLAND:

THE SIXTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Mata Zyndu was in Wolf’s Paw again.

He did not want to be here, but that old coward, King Dalo of Gan, had given him no choice.

Once Mata had released him back to the island, King Dalo sank into a deep depression. He spent his days watching actors enact legends concerning the ancient splendor and enviable wealth of gleaming Gan’s past, and he lamented his own humiliation by the hegemon.

Mocri Zati, one of his generals, grew restless. Emboldened by the example Mata himself had set, he forced King Dalo to abdicate and hand over the Seal of Gan. Dalo put up little resistance. He declared that kingship was not compatible with his temperament and retired to tend to his goldfish ponds.

Thinking Mata preoccupied with the growing problem posed by Kuni Garu, King Mocri immediately began to prepare for war and revolt against the hegemon. Mocri Zati was a famed swordsman himself, but he had been bedridden with an illness during the Battle of Wolf’s Paw and thus did not witness Mata’s exploits on the field. He had always believed that tales of Mata’s valor were exaggerations, and that his victory was due more to corruption within the empire’s command ranks than true skill.

To inspire the populace, Mocri announced that he would recover the territories on the Big Island that Mata had taken from Gan. Then he immediately invaded Ogé, administered by King Hoye, the former Gan commander who had joined Mata during the final stages of the Battle of Wolf’s Paw and had been rewarded with the little isles for his effort. Hoye was quickly defeated, given that his entire Tiro state had fewer people than the city of Toaza. But Mocri celebrated his victory as though he had already defeated the hegemon himself and paraded in the streets of Toaza for ten days in triumph.

“Mocri is a fool,” Torulu Pering said to Mata. “Your real problem is Kuni Garu. Go west, Hegemon, and crush him before he stirs all the other Tiro states against you.”

Mata found Pering’s meddling annoying. Kuni might have landed on the Big Island, but he only had a toehold in Haan. The three newly created Tiro states in Géfica were all ruled by men who owed their elevation to Mata Zyndu, and they were certainly sufficient to hold back the cowardly Kuni and his girl general. Mocri, on the other hand, was a good fighter and far more dangerous.

In order to keep his world from unraveling, Mata had no choice but to strap on his sword and get back into the saddle. He had no one else he could trust to do the job right. He would deal with Kuni later, after he had pacified the east.

The Tiro states of Dara saw that they had to pick a side. They could either back Mata Zyndu of Cocru, the greatest warrior the world had ever seen, or Kuni Garu of Dasu, the man with a seemingly endless fount of luck.

The King of North Géfica, Théca Kimo, had fought by the side of Mata since the day he killed Huno Krima. Everyone always assumed that he was firmly in Mata’s camp.

But before he became a king, before he became a general, before he became a rebel, Théca had been a brawler in Tunoa, a criminal who lived by the tip of his knife. He was sentenced to hard labor for maiming a man. On his face were still frightening tattoos that prison guards had pricked into his skin under the laws of Emperor Mapidéré, so that everyone would always know what he had done. Like Mata, he was a physically imposing man and excelled in battle. But unlike Mata, he never considered himself to be serving a higher ideal.

He understood the culture of the dark alleys and the night streets far better than the formal dance of diplomacy and courtly intrigue. In his view, the life of a noble was no different from that of a petty street criminal. Kuni Garu and Mata Zyndu were like the top bosses of two rival gangs fighting for the control of a city’s markets and the rich protection money that merchants paid. And he was merely a lowly subboss caught in the middle.

You pick the stronger gang or you’re lost.

Théca came to Ginpen in secret to see Kuni Garu. He dressed plainly and did not take any guards. The meeting place was at an old, inconspicuous inn.

When he arrived in the appointed room, he found Kuni lounging in bed with two prostitutes. Théca found this perfectly understandable: It was exactly how he imagined a great crime boss who had everything would act.

Kuni dismissed the women but seemed distracted.

“I believe that Mata Zyndu is the past, while you, Great King Kuni, are the future.”

Kuni yawned. He got up and left the room.

Théca didn’t know what to make of his reception. He had come to discuss the possibility of an alliance, but Kuni behaved as if he didn’t care about him at all.

Cogo Yelu then came in and invited Théca to lunch. Théca was served a cold meal of the coarse and plain fare that the inn had to offer. The eating sticks were misshapen and cheaply made. His unease grew.

Kuni Garu must be treating him this way because he and Marshal Mazoti already had some plot under way to conquer North Géfica. The big boss had figured out a method to take over his territory without including him at all. He was at risk of losing his land and throne, like poor Cosugi, and worse, maybe even his life.

Kuni’s coldness was a warning, a last ray of hope.

He begged Prime Minister Yelu to speak to Kuni. Instead of an alliance of equals, now he pleaded to be allowed to submit to Dasu. He was willing to yield up North Géfica and fight for Dasu in exchange for the king’s promise of a new domain once the war was over.

Cogo nodded and said that he would do his best.

Once Théca was sent on his way, Cogo and Kuni clasped hands and laughed.

“He swallowed the bait, hook, line, and sinker!” said Kuni.

“Sire, you’re a very good actor,” said Cogo.

“Never doubt a Zudi gangster.”

The dismissive treatment of Théca had been Cogo’s idea, but Kuni had put the fine touches on it to exploit what he knew of Théca’s history. Sometimes a clever bit of psychology did more wonders than an army.

“Cogo, I’m going to miss you,” Kuni said, and he grabbed Cogo by the hands as though they were still in Zudi, where the two often worked late into night and chuckled together at some clever plan for city planning or civil administration that would have bored everyone else.

Cogo Yelu had come to Ginpen to help set up the occupation authority with the aid of the documents he had taken from the Imperial Archives, but now he had to go back to Daye, where he would keep the islands of Dasu and Rui productive and support the war effort on the Big Island.

“I am honored.” Cogo paused, moved by the tremor in Kuni’s voice. “Know that Mata has only his sword and cudgel, but you have the hearts of all your men.”

Once her generals had firmly assumed control of North Géfica, Mazoti sent Théca Kimo — now newly minted as the Duke of Arulugi — to attack King Ponadomu of Amu, confined to the beautiful island of floating cities. Ponadomu was terrified of the hegemon and had refused to even meet with Kuni’s messengers.

Mazoti reasoned that the best way to ensure Théca’s enthusiasm and loyalty was to send him to secure a new domain for himself; she had to turn her attention to the rest of the Big Island.

Central and South Géfica collapsed before Marshal Mazoti’s forces like termite-infested logs before a heavy axe. The two kings, Noda Mi and Doru Solofi, had neglected their own military preparations, thinking Théca would take the brunt of Mazoti’s assault. They had no choice now but to flee across the Liru River into Cocru for refuge.

As they crossed, they burned all the ships that they could find in towns along the northern shore of the river, hoping that the river, broad but too shallow for the mechanical crubens, would hold back the Dasu forces. They ordered all remaining ships on the Liru to stay anchored at towns and ports along the southern shore, where garrisons would guard them and make sure they stayed there. While Mi and Solofi kept a fleet of warships at Dimu to help control the Liru, they sent the bulk of the navy — or what was left of it after the devastating attacks by mechanical crubens — to patrol the western coast of Cocru with deep dragnets, hoping thereby to foil another surprise landing by underwater boats.

Mazoti stopped at Dimushi, where she found battle kites, balloons, and airships patrolling the Liru River, vigilant against signs of a Dasu attempt at crossing. Marshal Mazoti tried to construct rafts out of spare bits of lumber — doors, beams from abandoned temples, wagon wheels, even broken furniture — but the surveillance flights by enemy aircraft gave Noda Mi and Doru Solofi ample warning, and they ordered the airships to bombard these construction sites as soon as they noticed the gathering lumber. The few small rafts that Mazoti’s men did manage to construct in secret proved too fragile to survive the waves of the Liru and fell apart before even reaching the middle of the river.

Gin Mazoti ordered her own airships to the Liru to engage the defenders. Although the women-crewed Dasu airships were fast and nimble, the Cocru airships benefitted from more battle experience. Dogfights between airships in the sky over the river were cheered on by both sides but proved inconclusive.

Mi and Solofi finally let out a held breath. As Marshal Mazoti had no way to transport her troops across the Liru, the two sides settled down for an indefinite standoff.

Mocri was ferocious. He dug in on Wolf’s Paw and made Mata pay dearly for every inch of land he gained. Mata enjoyed the bloody battles against a worthy opponent, but reports from back home made him anxious.

The ever-dishonorable Kuni had reconnected with his old friend, the bandit Puma Yemu — Mata suspected that Jia played a role as well. Once again he was made the “Marquess of Porin” and led his horse thieves, the self-styled “Whirlwind Riders of Dasu,” on hit-and-run raids of Mata’s convoys and grain transports. Mata despised these tactics, but he was helpless until Mocri’s rebellion could be put to rest. He redoubled his efforts, and more blood spilled.

Mata came into the palace in Toaza, which he had taken from Mocri and made into his temporary quarters.

The courtiers whispered among one another, but none dared to approach him.

Mata frowned. “What is it?”

One of them timidly lifted a hand and pointed toward the women’s quarter.

Furiously, Mata walked over. One of Mocri’s wives must have made a nuisance of herself, perhaps slandering him. He had left the women’s quarter untouched when he marched into the palace, but often, he had found out, kindness was repaid unkindly.

As they saw him approach, the women of the palace pointed in the direction he should go and then scattered like frightened rabbits, and so Mata had to open the doors barring his way himself.

Finally, he threw open the door to one of the suites and stopped in the doorway.

Mira was sitting by the wall, embroidering.

It had been months since they had spoken to each other. The courtiers and ladies-in-waiting had not known what to do, uncertain if she had lost his favor. When he left for Wolf’s Paw, he had left her behind in Çaruza.

She looked up at him and examined his look of surprise. A smile broke out on her face.

“I see they decided to tell you nothing and let you find out for yourself. Ah, courtiers. They are uncertain if you’ll be happy or not to see me, and so this is their clever solution.”

Her cheerfulness soothed Mata. She acted as though they had never stopped talking.

“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “You’re blocking the light. Sit down, please. I’ve come to tell you a few things.”

Something has changed in her, he realized. She has made a decision.

“Are you leaving me?” he blurted out.

As soon as he said it, the question struck him as ridiculous: Why should he care? He had countless women to pick from, and many were far younger and more beautiful. Yet he wanted her to like him, to come to his bed of her own free will, to apologize for her impudence and ignorance, and to acknowledge what a great man he was, how lasting a mark he would leave in the world.

The fact of it was that ever since that day, when she had told him what she thought of his glorious deeds, he had been unable to see himself except through her eyes: cruel, unnecessary, inelegant, and trivial.

“No, not at all.”

Relieved, he sat down on the cushion next to her.

“The first thing is about my brother,” she said.

He waited.

“I used to suffer nightmares where my brother would speak to me, asking about whether you have succeeded in fulfilling the vision that he believed.”

Mata’s face twitched.

“But lately, the dreams have stopped. Thinking that perhaps his spirit lacked sustenance, I asked a merchant traveling to Pan to burn some incense and make an offering at Mado’s grave. He came back and told me that the tablet in front of my brother’s grave is the largest in the whole graveyard and that you had ordered the garrison to place fresh chrysanthemums before his altar every day. In fact, you’ve ordered the same at all the graves of any of the Eight Hundred who had followed you out of Tunoa and died fighting. It’s a generous thing you’ve done.”

Mata said nothing.

She put down her hoop. “The second thing is this.” She got up, walked to a small traveling trunk in the corner, and came back with a bundle wrapped in cloth.

“What is it?”

She said nothing.

He unwrapped it and stared at the bone dagger that was revealed. He had seen it once before, when it lay next to his uncle’s dead body lying in state. Thufi had gravely explained to him that Princess Kikomi, Kindo Marana’s lover and assassin, had killed Phin with it.

“Your enemies want to use me to get to you.”

Mata stared at her. He did not know how to feel. Was betrayal to be a constant in his life?

“But I am tired of being treated as a tool,” she said. “I want to live for myself.”

He dropped the dagger on the ground and stumbled out.

Mira continued her embroidery.

Her style grew ever more abstract, more consumed with energy and suggestion than representation of reality. A few bold threads, barely a shadow of an outline, was all she stitched for the figure of Mata against a field of broken lines and chaotic colors, the world that he had put together so carefully falling apart. She stitched radiating starbursts around him — equal parts twirling swords and blooming chrysanthemums. He felt as if he himself were fading in her hands, becoming more legend than reality.

He had each of her embroidered kerchiefs carefully framed and handed them out as rewards for those who pleased him or achieved some deed of merit. His commanders and advisers fought to get a piece of Mira’s embroidery, the symbol of the hegemon’s esteem. Mira herself seemed amused by this and paid no attention to what happened to her work after she was done.

One day, Mata came back from another bloody day on the battlefield, exhausted with the sight of pain and slaughter and the effort of hacking through bone and sinew. Still dirty with the stench of death, he went directly to Mira’s rooms.

Calm as ever, she asked him if he wanted to stay and dine with her. “I’ll have my maid draw you a bath. I was thinking of steaming the carp I bought at the market. It’s been a while since you’ve had Tunoa food, hasn’t it?”

She did not ask him in a way that was submissive and seductive. She did not ask about his day’s exploits on the battlefield or express admiration at his valor or strength. Always, she simply offered him simple things that they might share.

She treated him as a friend, he realized. Not as the Hegemon of the Islands of Dara.

He strode up to her and pulled her to his lips. He could feel her heart fluttering against him like a surprised bird. Her hands, which had been holding the needle and the hoop, dropped to her sides. After a moment, she returned the kiss.

He pulled back and stared into her eyes. She stared back steadily. Other than Kuni Garu, she was the only person who seemed to have no trouble looking into his double pupils.

“I understand you now,” she said. “I now know why I could never stitch a proper portrait of you.”

“Tell me.”

“You are frightened. You are frightened by the legends that have grown up around you, by this shadow of yourself that lives in people’s heads. Everyone around you is afraid of you, and so you begin to believe you should be feared. Everyone around you flatters you, and so you begin to believe you should be flattered. Everyone around you betrays you, and so you begin to believe you deserve betrayal. You are cruel not because you want to be, but because you think people expect you to be. You do the things you do, not because you want to, but because you believe the idea of Mata Zyndu would want to do them.”

Mata shook his head. “You are not making any sense.”

“You think the world should be a certain way, and you’re disappointed that it does not live up to your vision. But you’re also a part of this world, and you fear that your mortal flesh cannot live up to this vision of yourself. So you have constructed for yourself a new image, an image that you think is easier to live up to, an image of cruelty and bloodlust, of death and revenge and injured pride and stained honor. You have erased yourself and replaced you with these words, these words copied from old and dead books.”

Mata kissed her again. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“But you are not a bad man. You do not have to be afraid. There is passion and compassion in you, but you have locked them away as though they are signs of weakness, of your similarity to other, lesser men. Why do you do this? So what if you leave no mark on the world? What if your work falls apart after your death?

“I was once uncertain whether it was right to love you, when the whole world seemed to quake in fear of you, and a thousand voices told me what was the right thing to do. But Mado was right: In all things that matter, faith in the heart is the only measure. But our mortal hearts are small; they are limited in what they can contain. What joy did it give me to hear that a thousand men lived to glory, when my heart grieved only for the loss of my brother? What does it matter if ten thousand men think the man I care for a tyrant, as long as I see him in a different light? Our lives are too brief to worry about the judgment of others, let alone that of history.

“You think my embroidery trivial, and yet all the works of men must be trivial in the fullness of time. There is no need for either of us to be afraid.”

And she kissed him back and pulled him into her, and Mata found that he was no longer afraid.

A male voice, hard as obsidian and strident as sword striking against shield.

My brother, it was clever to try to copy the trick of Kindo Marana, but you seem to have done no better. Cruben’s Thorn will not taste the blood of another Zyndu.

Another male voice, filled with the rage of storms.

The mortals are unreliable as ever.

A female voice, rasping, distorted, like the air shimmering over lava.

Stop this nonsense, Kiji. You should be working with me and Fithowéo against the real enemy. Do you really want to see that trickster, the thief of the Immaculate City, win?

May both their houses fall.

Gin Mazoti contemplated the wide expanse of the Liru, and her frustration grew daily.

Constructing a navy would take too long; she needed some way to cross the river, quickly.

Word spread along the Liru that the marshal was offering rich rewards for shipowners in Cocru to defy the hegemon and sail their ships to the northern shore of the river. A few daring merchants took the gamble, but their trading vessels were completely unprepared against airships. Burning wreckage, dead bodies, and the goods the ships had carried — chests of cloth, jars of oil, barrels of food, wine, flour — drifted down the river, bobbing along the surface like so many warnings against others who might think of betraying the hegemon.

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.

“How about Timu?” said Kuni.

“‘The Gentle Ruler’?” said Jia, translating from Classical Ano. She pondered the name. It was regal and proper, of course, being an allusion to Kon Fiji’s poem:

The gentle ruler governs without seeming to govern.

But she had hoped for something a little more distinctive, something that referenced the boy’s wily father and fierce mother. She was about to protest when she remembered the next line in the poem:

He honors his subjects as he honors his own mother.

Jia smiled. What better way was there for Kuni to express how he really felt? “It’s perfect,” she said. “From now on, Toto-tika will be known as Prince Timu.”

“We might as well name our daughter, too,” said Kuni, smiling. “She’s a little young, but I think she’s brighter than her brother and plenty reasonable now. How about Théra, meaning ‘Dissolver of Sorrows’? Though we know her life, like ours, may be full of joy and sorrow, rise and fall, yet perhaps she can dissolve the sad parts and keep on laughing, as her parents have always tried to do.”

“Of course,” said Jia. “Princess Théra it is.”

And her heart was indeed glad.

Mata arrived back on the Big Island to news that his realm was on the edge of collapse. Puma Yemu was making it impossible to safely transport grain anywhere in Cocru. Kuni had settled in Zudi, and rumors flew that he was planning to sweep down to Çaruza any minute. Stories of Marshal Mazoti’s victories spooked Mata’s men, who believed that she could conjure soldiers from the sky.

Mata did not despair. In fact, he welcomed the news. Ever since the fall of the empire, life had seemed dull to him, to have lost some of its flavor. Mocri was a good opponent, but he did not think big enough. Kuni Garu, on the other hand, was an enemy worthy of his full attention.

The more desperate the situation, the calmer he felt. He would defeat Kuni the way he defeated all his enemies, through strength and honor.

He asked for five thousand of his best riders and requisitioned fifteen thousand horses.

When Marshal Mazoti went north to deal with Rima, she left behind the bulk of the Dasu army at Zudi. Fifty thousand men and tens of thousands of horses, too many to garrison in the city, camped on the Porin Plains. This was a larger army even than the combined forces of Tanno Namen and Kindo Marana at Wolf’s Paw. Cogo Yelu, always meticulous and careful, kept the provisions smoothly flowing.

At noon, scouting airships arrived at Zudi with the news that Mata Zyndu and five thousand warriors were riding toward Zudi and would arrive by the afternoon. The main part of Mata Zyndu’s army, however, was still in the process of landing at Nokida, on the northern shore of the Itanti Peninsula, returning from Wolf’s Paw. Mata and his five thousand had been riding nonstop for three days, and many of their horses had collapsed from exhaustion.

Kuni’s men mustered into orderly formations before the city gates.

Surveying his army from atop the walls, Kuni saw that his troops were not daunted by the prospect of facing the legendary hegemon.

The infantry formed phalanxes, fronted by pikemen to unseat the riders from their horses. To the sides were lines of longbowmen, prepared to launch their deadly missiles long before the riders got close. And in the wings were the cavalry, ready to circle around Mata Zyndu to cut off his retreat.

Kuni’s army outnumbered Mata’s attackers ten to one.

“Will you speak to the soldiers?” asked Than Carucono.

Kuni shook his head and turned away from the neat formations arrayed in front of him.

“Is something bothering you, Lord Garu? Do you think our preparations inadequate?”

Kuni shook his head again.

“Yet your look…” Carucono hesitated. “Forgive me, but I believe you’re sad.”

“I am thinking of another time,” Kuni said. “Perhaps a better time.” And he would speak no more.

This would be the day that the mighty hegemon would finally fall.

And then there they were, great clouds of dust and the sound of thousands of horses panting and neighing as they drew near. The five thousand attackers, true to the code of Mata Zyndu, did not deviate from their course as they plowed straight toward the center of Kuni Garu’s defensive formation, the densely packed phalanxes of infantry.

The Dasu longbowmen and spearmen unleashed their missiles as the riders got into range, and the sky darkened as clouds of arcing projectiles momentarily obscured the sun. Many of the arrows and spears hit their marks, and some of the riders fell from their horses, lifeless, unmoving. But other riders ignored the arrows that pierced their armor and kept on coming.

Closer and closer they rode. The ground shook. But the armored and masked riders were eerily silent. There were no battle cries. They pushed on relentlessly, fearless of the dense forest of deadly spikes that the pikemen raised in front of the infantry, their shafts braced firmly into the ground, the tips leaning forward, ready to skewer both men and horses by their own momentum.

Like a wave breaking against the craggy shores of fog-shrouded Faça, the riders of Mata Zyndu burst against the phalanxes of Kuni Garu. The air was filled with the screams of dying horses as the pikes impaled them.

Men fell from their steeds. But the horsemen behind them kept on coming, keeping up the pressure. They leapt over their dead comrades or rode roughshod over them, using their bodies as stepping-stones to break through the wall of pikemen. The center of Kuni Garu’s formation was slowly pushed back, as the pikemen dropped their weapons and unsheathed their short swords to join the infantry in hand-to-hand combat.

The sides of Kuni Garu’s formation of foot soldiers began to envelop and surround the riders like soft dough wrapping around a dollop of stuffing. Kuni’s cavalry rode behind the last of Mata’s riders and closed the circle. Mata Zyndu had nowhere to go.

Mata faced ten times as many men as he had under his command; the hegemon’s valor would not save him. Even if each of his soldiers were a berserker and fought with the strength of three, they would still all leave their bones on the battlefield today. Kuni’s men rejoiced and shouted, anticipating victory.

But those closest to the surrounded Cocru riders realized that something was wrong. The men on the horses made no attempt to resist as they closed in. One slash; a rider fell down and did not raise his sword as ten more swords cut into his fallen body.

Kuni’s soldiers withdrew their swords and saw no blood. When they flipped the dead body over, they saw why: They had not been fighting a man of Cocru, but a puppet made of straw and cloth.

Everywhere there was confusion and disbelief.

The sun was again momentarily obscured. Kuni’s soldiers looked up and saw a fleet of fifty airships flying the colors of Cocru. The airships hovered over Zudi, and soldiers began to jump out of them, their descent slowed by large balloons of silk that the men opened over their heads.

TWO HOURS EARLIER.

Mata was aware of the world around him only faintly, a dim mix of light and sound. He had been riding nonstop for two days and two nights across the plains of Cocru. But he did not feel tired. He found the world distracting: All he needed was to see the narrow path before him, to feel Réfiroa’s flesh rise and fall below him, to move his body in harmony. He would arrive at Zudi, and then he would achieve victory or die trying. Nothing else mattered. His life was simple.

But there was an obstacle ahead. Pulling on the reins, he slowed his great black horse for the first time in two days. A fleet of airships hovered before him. One of them had landed right in the path, and Torulu Pering was standing in front of it.

“Without access to Mount Kiji,” Pering explained, “the airships have no way to replenish their lift gas. We will not be able to keep our fleet aloft much longer, not unless we begin to salvage some ships to refill others.”

Mata nodded. “I intend to win at Zudi today.”

“The odds are against you, but there is a way to even the odds.”

Mata listened to Pering presenting his plan. And he laughed. He loved the boldness of the idea, the symmetry of it. Unlike Kuni’s dirty tricks, Pering’s plan had honor, valor, manliness. It was glorious.

As Mata leapt out of the airship and plunged hundreds of feet in a few seconds, his only thought was how like the flight of an eagle this was, this dive toward the ground, toward helpless prey.

And then the air balloon, which Pering had designed, released from his back. With a loud whump it opened and caught the air racing past his falling body. Suddenly, he was jerked up and began to descend at a much slower pace.

And now I am a Mingén falcon.

He looked up and saw the bright white circle of silk that caught the air. He looked down and saw Zudi’s tiny houses and orderly streets and the confused faces of the people looking up at this novel sight.

Mata laughed. While the defenders of Zudi were distracted by straw decoys, he was going to deal death from the air over Zudi, just as he had done once before. Though that seemed a long time ago now, when he and Kuni had fought side by side.

The houses, streets, and faces below grew larger and larger. Mata drew forth Na-aroénna and felt battle-lust course through his veins.

He began his war cries. There would be no doubt this time.

Mata Zyndu’s surprise attack from the sky was a complete success. The Cocru soldiers quickly overwhelmed the small garrisons stationed at the city doors and turned the walls of Zudi against the Dasu army.

Since the gates were sealed, the army of fifty thousand outside could only mill around the city’s walls helplessly as Mata’s men set fire throughout the city and searched for Kuni. Only a few dozen Dasu men managed to make their way back into the city using battle kites — among them Mün Çakri and Than Carucono, who could not bear the thought of abandoning their lord. But this was like trying to put out a fire using teacups, and the Dasu army soon gave up.

Captain Dosa, Mün Çakri, Rin Coda, and Than Carucono rushed into the mayor’s house, where Kuni and his family were staying, with the bad news.

“Sire, Zudi has fallen! Mata’s men will be here soon. We have one messenger airship that Marshal Mazoti had left behind for an emergency. It’s ready to take off in the courtyard. You must get on it right away.”

“I’ll hold them off in the streets as long as I can,” Captain Dosa said, and left with his soldiers.

Kuni ran around to round up everyone. The messenger airship was small, however, and all the servants would have to be left behind. Kuni’s father, Féso Garu, Kuni, Jia, the children, Risana, Soto, Otho, Mün, Rin, and Than climbed aboard. There was hardly enough room left to turn around in, let alone move.

The airship would not take off.

“There’s too many of us,” Mün said.

“Mata has left me alone all this time, and he’ll probably continue to do so. And if I’m going to die anywhere, I’m going to die here, in my home.” Féso Garu climbed off despite the protests from Kuni. But the ship still refused to lift.

“We must have forgotten to check the lift gas level earlier,” Than said. They heard the clashing of swords and screams from the inhabitants of Zudi in the streets. Mata’s men were not far.

Than, Rin, and Mün all got off. The ship remained stubbornly on the ground.

Soto went next. “Mata would never harm me,” said Soto. “Don’t worry.”

Jia and Otho caught each other’s eyes for a brief moment. Otho smiled at her and stepped off the ship wordlessly. Jia closed her eyes, her heart pounding.

They both knew that such a day would come. It might be true that a heart has room for more than one love, but in this world, a woman still had to make choices that a man did not have to. Jia looked away.

The ship budged, but settled down on the ground again.

Risana and Jia looked at each other. Risana turned and gave Kuni a kiss and began to walk off the ship. Her movements were slow and difficult due to her very pregnant belly.

“No, no,” Jia said. “You go with Kuni and the children. I’ll stay with Soto and Otho. I’m used to dealing with Mata. I’ll be fine.”

Kuni’s face became twisted with anxiety and pain. “No, that is not right. Both of you stay on board. I will stay and speak with Mata myself.”

Everyone protested at this. Mün’s voice rang out the loudest. “There’s no point to any of this if you don’t get out. Lord Garu, you must leave so that you can rescue us or avenge us.”

Kuni looked at Jia, and then at Risana, then at Jia, then at Risana. Suddenly he turned to the children and knelt down. “Timu and Théra,” he said, using their formal names, which he rarely did, “you have to do something brave for me, all right?”

He carried the children to the door of the airship and asked for Soto to come and get them.

“You’re insane,” shouted Jia. “How can you even think of such a thing?”

“Mata won’t harm children,” said Kuni. “But no matter what, I can’t leave you behind again. There won’t be another you, but there can always be more children.”

“Jia is right,” said Rin Coda. “This is madness.” He blocked the door and pushed the children back onto the ship. Kuni continued to shout for Soto and pushed the children out again, and Rin pushed them back in again. Soto stood by and watched expressionlessly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Jia said. She firmly pushed Kuni back into the ship and bent down to kiss the children. Then she turned to Risana. “Little Sister, please take good care of them.”

Risana nodded, and Jia resolutely stepped off the ship.

“Mama, Mama!” Timu and Théra cried out, and Risana had to hold them back as Kuni, also teary-eyed, closed the door of the airship.

Now that the ship had only the weight of Kuni, Risana, and the two children to deal with, it rose slowly into the sky. Rin Coda had taken care to drape the ship in black cloth. Pursuers both in the sky and on the ground would have a hard time picking it out against the night sky unless they knew exactly where to look. The ship rose until it was a small shadow against the stars, then turned north, heading toward the safety of Géfica.

For a second, Jia wished she did not always appear so strong, so capable of taking care of herself that Kuni actually believed her.

Soto and Jia stood on one side of the group left behind. Soto gave her a meaningful look and said in a low voice, “That was a nice bit of theater by both you and Kuni back there.”

Jia flushed with anger momentarily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Soto rolled her eyes. “Kuni made a show of loving both of you equally, to the point where he would give up his children. Since few men would pick their wives over their heirs, he was trying to score some points with you. This would also make a nice story among the people of Dara.”

Jia smiled a sad smile. “Kuni was always clever.”

“Not as clever as you. By staying behind with me while leaving the children with her, you put both of them in your debt. She’ll now always think that you saved her life, and Kuni will always feel guilty about your sacrifice. You’ve laid the foundation for future palace intrigue. This investment may well pay off a hundredfold someday.”

“You make both of us sound so calculating and cold,” Jia said. “Can’t you just attribute our actions to love?”

Soto laughed, and after a while, Jia reluctantly joined in. Truth be told, even Jia wasn’t sure why she had done what she did. It wasn’t just about jostling for political position with Risana, but it also wasn’t purely unselfish. Sometimes it was hard to tell where the performance ended and the real self began — but what was this “real” self other than a set of performances?

Love was a complicated thing, she conceded.

“The only fool I pity here is that girl, Risana. She has no idea who she’s dealing with,” Soto said.

Their brief moment of merriment was interrupted by the sound of shouting men and clashing swords in the street. The gates to the mayor’s house flew open, and a blood-soaked Captain Dosa stumbled in, his body pierced by arrows.

Mata was here.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN. THE STANDOFF AT LIRU RIVER

DIMU AND DIMUSHI: THE NINTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Mata Zyndu’s surprise victory at Zudi soon entered into the realm of myth all over Dara.

“Each of his men fought with the strength of twenty, and that was how the hegemon defeated a force ten times greater than his.”

“Mata Zyndu is Fithowéo incarnate. When he waves his hand, soldiers fall from the sky to fight for him.”

“Kuni Garu may have ridden a cruben, but Mata Zyndu eats cruben steaks for dinner.”

After Kuni safely escaped to Dimushi, he immediately recalled Marshal Mazoti.

“What’s next?” Kuni asked.

“I have to first re-create the army you lost.”

Kuni Garu winced at this, but Marshal Mazoti never bothered to sugarcoat things.

“I think most of the troops escaped back to Géfica after the fall of Zudi, though undoubtedly many deserted. It will take some work to restore morale after the humiliation you suffered, with even Lady Jia taken prisoner. Marquess Yemu’s ‘noble raiders’ are still making trouble for the hegemon in Cocru, though, so he can’t invade Géfica until he secures his supply lines.”

“What about the other Tiro states?”

“Many of them now think it wiser to side with Mata rather than you. However, Duke Théca Kimo remains firmly in your camp. He has now pacified Arulugi, and his fate obviously depends on your success. He has asked for permission to sweep through both Crescent Island and Écofi, which, given the tiny populations on those islands, will be easy.”

“Let him.”

“You are not concerned that he might grow too strong and declare independence, like Mocri did in Wolf’s Paw?”

“Mata’s weakness is that he doesn’t trust people, so of course everyone who follows him eventually betrays him. I don’t intend to make the same mistake.”

Mazoti nodded thoughtfully.

Cocru and Dasu again stood off across the Liru River.

Mata brought to Dimu the prisoners he’d captured in Zudi. In exchange for Kuni’s release of Noda Mi and Doru Solofi, Mata agreed to return Mün Çakri, Rin Coda, and Than Carucono. But he kept Kuni’s family despite repeated entreaties from Kuni.

Mata decided to press the psychological advantage he had to the fullest. On a large flat-bottomed boat — slow and shallow-drafting and thus not a military threat — he rode into the middle of the Liru and asked Kuni to join him for parley.

Kuni rode out on a flat-bottomed boat of his own. The two sat in formal mipa rari on the top decks of their respective vessels, staring at each other across a sliver of river water.

“Brother.” Mata spat out the word like a curse. “I had hoped to see you in Zudi, but apparently you were too ashamed to see me.”

“Brother.” Kuni sighed. “I wish we were still friends. This all could have been avoided if you had not been so jealous and full of rage when I entered Pan before you. We could have rebuilt Dara from the ruins of the empire together.”

The two sat quietly for a while, contemplating what might have been.

“Yet events have proven my foresight. You’re now in rebellion against me.”

Kuni shook his head. “It’s not you I’m fighting against, but the idea you represent. I mean to re-create the dream of Emperor Mapidéré, but this time I’ll do it right. You want to leave the world to be divided between Tiro states, full of endless wars to serve the empty martial glory of the great nobles. I want to end all that and give the common people a chance to live their lives in peace. Mata, don’t stand in my way. Abdicate and hand me the seal of the world.”

“You’re as ambitious as I am, only you dress up your desires with lies. If you really believe your pretty words, why don’t we settle our differences in single combat? Let no one else die for our dispute. You and me and our swords will decide our fate. Whoever wins gets to remake this world with his will.”

Kuni laughed. “You know me too well to think that I’d agree to something like that. I’m no match for you in a fight, but wars are not won by the strength in one’s arms alone.”

Mata gestured to his men, and they went inside the ship and brought up a large cutting board.

Kuni stared at it, confused.

They went inside again and brought up a pot large enough to cook a whole shark in. Setting it over a fire in the open-air hearth on top of the deck, they boiled water in it.

Kuni’s heart tightened.

They went inside again and brought up a kitchen knife, but it was so large that it was like a giant’s axe. A man would have to use both arms to wield it.

Kuni stood up. He wanted to tell Mata to stop.

They went down a final time and brought up a naked man trussed up like a pig. Kuni saw that it was his father, Féso Garu. He had been gagged, and his eyes bulged in fear.

Mata’s men laid Féso on the cutting board, and a burly man gripped the oversized kitchen knife and held it over his head like an executioner.

“Kuni, surrender. Or I will cook your father in front of you and eat him.”

Blood rushed to Kuni’s head, and he almost fainted. But he held on to the railing before him and drove all emotions from his face. He couldn’t tell how serious Mata was with this threat. This was just like playing a game of cards during his time as a gangster, except this time, he had much more at stake.

“If you surrender, Kuni, I will allow you to stay in Dasu and Rui, and all your men will be pardoned for their acts of disloyalty to me.”

He’s lying, Kuni thought. Mata hates betrayal more than anything else. He’ll never forgive me or any of my men. If I agree to surrender, all of us will die.

Kuni sat back and relaxed his legs into thakrido. He laughed. “Go ahead, Mata. Cook him. Cook our father.”

Mata Zyndu narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“You once called me ‘brother,’ so my father is also your father. If you want to cook our father today, I won’t stop you. Just make sure you save some for me. I’d like a taste too.”

“What manner of son are you?”

Kuni focused every ounce of attention to the muscles of his face and his tongue and throat. Perform! “Do you think that if I intend to replace you, I would be stopped by the loss of a single life? I invaded Rui when Jia was in your hands; I was prepared to leave my children behind in Zudi; do not underestimate me, for I am as dangerous and ruthless as you. I’ve seen plenty of men die. Now hurry up and kill him.”

Mata stared at Kuni with sorrow. He had staged this execution as a test, and this speech from Kuni had confirmed that he was right to distrust the man, for he was utterly cold, calculating, and without morals. How could Kuni even believe for a minute that I would kill and eat his father? He has such a low opinion of me only because he’s irredeemably corrupt himself. There were no lines the man wasn’t willing to cross; ambition had consumed him. To think that he had once called this man brother!

It’s impossible to see into men’s hearts. The last glimmer of hope in his mind died.

Kuni leaned forward, eagerly looking into Mata’s eyes. “Cook him! Cook him so I can focus on how to get you into the pot one day.”

Mata shook his head. He would demonstrate his moral superiority to Kuni today and shame him with his lack of filial piety — even if it was doubtful that Kuni had any sense of shame left. That had always been Kuni’s problem, utter lack of honor.

Mata ordered the fire extinguished and Féso Garu taken away. “Men ultimately sink to their true stations. You’re a heartless thug, Kuni, and the people of Dara will see through your facade.”

He sailed back toward Dimu, and behind him, Kuni waited until Mata was out of sight before collapsing to the deck. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, and he felt as though his heart had been pried from him.

Just because Kuni managed to bluff Mata, it didn’t mean that Mata’s trick wouldn’t work on others. Rin Coda immediately suggested that Kuni put Mata’s idea to work for himself.

“Several of the Tiro states have agreed to ally themselves with you,” said Rin. “It wouldn’t hurt to get a little bit of insurance. Also, having those princes and princesses here will give me more opportunities to gather intelligence.”

“Ah, Rin,” Kuni said, a bitter smile on his face. “Now I wonder if it was a good idea to make you spymaster. You’ve been hanging around with men comfortable with darker methods for too long.”

“Whether the path is well-lit or dark,” said Rin, “what matters is that we get there.”

Kuni sent out messengers to his allies, saying that he was concerned about the safety of their families. Perhaps, he suggested, it would be best for them to send their families to Dimushi, where the Dasu army could protect them. “With your families by my side, you can continue the fight against the hegemon without worrying about your loved ones.”

Reluctantly, the Tiro kings sent their hostages to Kuni.

THE THIRD MONTH OF THE FIFTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

An informal armistice was now in place along the Liru. The people along the river tried to carry on their lives the best they could while living in a war zone that could heat up again at any minute. Merchants and fishing ships cautiously sailed up and down the river. Zones of control and safe passage for civilian vessels had to be negotiated. From time to time, Kuni and Mata sent each other envoys to work out these issues.

One day, a messenger from Mata arrived at the docks of Dimushi, where Luan Zya greeted him.

“Welcome, welcome! You come bearing a message from Master Pering? How is he?”

The messenger, whose name was Luing, was confused. “A message from Master Pering?”

“Oh, of course.” Luan Zya looked at him and winked conspiratorially. With a show of nonchalance, he glanced at the two guards the messenger had brought with him. “Too many ears here. May I inquire after the health of the hegemon?”

Luing replayed the comment from Luan in his head again and again. What did Luan mean about Pering? And why was he so happy to see me?

Luan brought Luing to the best restaurant in Dimushi, where Luan ordered a lavish lunch of thirty courses, served with eating sticks made from ivory and inlaid with gold. A serving woman came in to light incense burners that filled the room with thick, fragrant smoke.

“It’s fashionable to eat Dasu food with smoke,” explained Luan. “It cleanses the palate and brings out the flavor of the spices.”

The meal went on for hours. Luing felt light-headed and drowsy. After a while, the two guards accompanying Luing seemed to have trouble staying upright.

“They’ve drunk too much,” said Luan, laughing. He summoned servants to bring them downstairs to nap in a private room.

“Now that we are alone, you can feel free to give me the message from Master Pering,” Luan Zya said.

“There is no message from Master Pering,” Luing said, bewildered. “I’m here on the hegemon’s orders to discuss fishing rights around Kidima upriver.”

“You are not sent by Torulu Pering?” Luan asked, incredulous.

“No,” said Luing.

Luan sighed, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. He then forced himself to smile. “I have no idea what I’m talking about. I think I’m drunk. Forget everything I said today. It must be this herbal mixture I’m taking for my gout — it’s making me very confused. Please excuse me… I… need to go.”

He got up and hurried downstairs.

Though the smoke from the incense burners continued to hover in fantastic, shifting shapes — flexing rings, pulsing domes, translucent, billowy bubbles — the air in the room seemed to clear, and Luing felt clarity return to his mind. He thought and thought about the day’s events and came to a bold conclusion, like a monstrous shape glimpsed through fog. But he needed more evidence.

Servants came to show Luing to his room in the inn. When Luing asked when he would get to speak with King Kuni’s representatives about the matter he came to discuss, the servants replied that they had no idea.

The next day, a minor Dasu functionary named Daco Nir came to see Luing. Daco was rude and cold to Luing, and the negotiations went nowhere. When it came time for lunch, Daco handed a few copper coins to Luing and told him to get some food from the street vendors.

“I don’t think we’ll make any more progress, right? I’m busy for the rest of the day, so I don’t think I can see you off at the pier. Have a safe trip home.” Daco disappeared.

Luan Zya, Lady Risana, and “Daco Nir” watched from the window of a warehouse as the small boat of the hegemon’s emissary left the docks.

“Your skill is indeed unparalleled,” Luan said to Risana. “He saw exactly what you wanted him to see yesterday.”

Risana inclined her head in acknowledgment. “You’re too kind. It was but a parlor trick.” She turned to Rin Coda and smiled. “But look at you! Your face today was so frosty, I could have sworn I heard ice chunks clink in his tea.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. When I use that expression, people pay me more to get access to the king.”

Luan shook his head, and all three laughed.

Luing compared his treatment today with his treatment yesterday. The day before, Luan, Kuni Garu’s closest adviser, treated him as an honored guest because he thought Luing was a secret envoy from Torulu Pering. But today this minor bureaucrat dealt with him arrogantly and dismissively because Kuni’s men had ascertained that Luing was an ambassador from the hegemon. The facts spoke for themselves.

“Hegemon, don’t you see that this is nothing but another trick from Garu?”

Mata regarded the trembling figure of Torulu Pering coldly. He had always found Pering untrustworthy.

The man was not a warrior, but an adviser, the sort of man who naturally gravitated toward Kuni Garu, who relied on tricks. He had no appreciation for the nobler virtues that could only be understood in battle. Even though Pering had come up with some good ideas, generally, he was meddlesome and often got in the way. Mata was quite willing to believe that he was secretly in league with Kuni Garu, plotting against him.

“Luan Zya was expecting a message from you. Were you going to offer a detailed listing of my order of battle? Were you going to offer to bribe my officers? Were you going to offer to present Kuni my head on a platter?”

Torulu Pering trembled not from fear, but anger. He had served Mata Zyndu loyally all this time, trying to get him to fight smarter, to be more vigilant against the wily Kuni Garu. Yet Mata was falling for such a simple trick, a trick that a five-year-old would have seen through.

“If you really don’t trust me,” Pering said, “then please accept my resignation. I would like to go home, to my ancestral farm near Çaruza, and plant yams. I won’t serve a lord who cannot tell friend from foe.”

“I accept. Go home, old man.”

Torulu walked along the road, but his mind was all chaos and his heart in turmoil.

He was consumed with grief and anger at his own failure. He had failed to teach Mata Zyndu to appreciate the value of strategy. He had failed to make him see how dangerous and manipulative Kuni Garu was. He had failed as an adviser. For all his service, in the end, he had only earned the dismissive moniker of “old man.”

But Torulu was indeed old, and he was not used to the exertion of journeying far on his own, without a comfortable carriage and a staff of young aides. His stomach ached, and in the heat he felt dizzy, but he was too angry and sorrowful to stop and rest and drink some water. He pressed on.

Men and women rushed by him, telling him to turn around and run. “Bandits are coming!”

Torulu didn’t hear them. He was still thinking about what he could have done differently. Foolish Mata, know that I could have guided you to victory!

The Whirlwind Riders of Dasu rushed by. Carelessly, casually, one of the passing horsemen slashed out, and Pering stopped feeling sorry for himself, stopped thinking altogether. His head flew through the air.

Luan and Kuni toasted each other on the success of their plot.

“Now Mata has no one to counsel him at all.”

Kuni drank, but he felt a gnawing sense of regret. Torulu Pering was a capable man who had saved the rebellion at a critical moment, and he deserved better. Kuni was uneasy about how much blood he was spilling in the pursuit of victory. Did the end always justify the means?

He wished the gods would give him a clear answer.

“There are no clear answers,” Luan Zya said.

Kuni realized that he had paused, mid-drink. He laughed weakly and drained the cup.

“To know the future is to have no choice,” Luan continued, “to be words fixed on a page by someone else. We can only do what we think is best, trusting that it will all somehow work out.”

“I know,” Kuni said. “The people think I see a clear path, but I’m stumbling in the dark too.”

“Maybe that’s what the gods are doing, as well.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT. THE MARSHAL’S GAMBIT

RIMA AND FAÇA: THE THIRD MONTH OF THE FIFTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

As Cocru and Dasu were evenly matched along the Liru, Luan Zya and Gin Mazoti presented a plan to Kuni Garu to shift the strategic balance of power.

Up north, Faça and the reconstituted Rima — which everyone assumed was following Faça’s lead — had switched their allegiance between Dasu and Cocru several times and thus avoided being invaded by either. Most recently, they had both declared for Mata, given the lack of recent military success from Kuni.

They could become examples for the other states.

Taking only a small force of five thousand, Marshal Mazoti left Dimushi and marched to the coast of Zathin Gulf, close to Rima. There, she said good-bye to Luan Zya, who put on a disguise and, alone, piloted a small fishing skiff toward fog-shrouded Boama, capital of Faça.

Within the territories of old ring-wooded Rima, Mata Zyndu had created six new Tiro states. After a year of warfare, most of the new Tiro states were gone, and all the land was now consolidated under the control of Zato Ruthi, who had been one of King Jizu’s teachers when he first arrived at the palace in Na Thion. Later, he had immortalized Jizu’s sacrifice to save Na Thion from Namen’s army in a eulogy that every child in Rima could recite.

The rise of Zato Ruthi was the result of a series of accidents that was unlikely to ever repeat again. He was a scholar through and through, in the mold of someone who preferred neat books to anything in the messy real world.

As a child, rather than playing with friends, Zato memorized all the numbered sayings of the ancient Ano epigrammatist, Ra Oji. As a young man, rather than carousing with friends in bars, he stayed home and read all the commentaries on the ancient Ano moral philosopher Kon Fiji’s treatise on an ideal society. Disdaining the civil service examinations because they interfered with the pure contemplation of ideas, he refused to seek gainful employment but journeyed deep into Rima’s ancient woods to study in a tiny hut he constructed himself. By the time he was thirty, he was recognized as one of the greatest scholars of ancient philosophy in all of Dara, a rival of Tan Féuji and Lügo Crupo, though he had never studied in the famed academies of Haan.

Tanno Namen spared him when Na Thion fell, and he then traveled between the capitals of the new Tiro states, which Mata Zyndu had created in his beloved old Rima, teaching and lecturing.

As wars destroyed one Tiro state after another, the new conquerors always made a point to seek out Zato to get him to “bless” the new administration as being in harmony with Kon Fiji’s moral principles. On some level, Zato Ruthi surely understood that he was being used as a tool of propaganda, but he appreciated the attention that the powerful gave him, and he liked being treated as if his opinion mattered.

The last two Tiro states left in old Rima then went to war, as all along they knew they would. Neither could subdue the other, and as their armies clashed all over Rima, the people suffered.

Then King Shilué of Faça, as was his habit, decided to intervene again in the affairs in Rima and sent his troops to Na Thion to add to the chaos.

As the people of Na Thion suffered yet another military occupation, anger and despair filled the streets. One day, students of the Na Thion Academy took to the streets, demanding that Shilué go home with his foreign army, that the two kings of Rima stop the war, and that the people be left to live in peace.

Idle merchants, who had no business to conduct because of the war; idle farmers, who had no land to till because of the war; and idle workers, who had nothing to do because of the war, joined the students, and mobs of rioters filled the streets. The students led them to the Palace of Na Thion, where Shilué was negotiating with the ambassadors of the two kings of Rima.

The students carried Zato Ruthi on their shoulders, and they hailed him as their leader. “Teacher! Teacher! You’ve always wanted to build a state in the image of Kon Fiji’s ancient virtues. Now’s our chance!”

They chanted before the palace, and before he even understood what was happening, Zato Ruthi found himself standing on a makeshift stage in front of the palace, speaking to a crowd of thousands of angry men.

He rehearsed his old themes about the obligations of the ruler toward the ruled, about the importance of restraint and respect and justice and the right to eat, about the need for harmonious relations among all people in a state, and about the injustice of foreign military interference.

It was nothing new, and there was nothing special to the way he spoke, but the crowd roared and clapped, and he felt as though he was being lifted on their voices, on their strength of will. And his words became more fiery in response. He called for the people to tear the palace down, to usher in a more harmonious and just Rima.

Shilué and the ambassadors trembled in the palace, but Shilué shrewdly saw an opportunity. He pressed the two kings of Rima to not only agree to a cease-fire, but to abdicate their thrones and to support Zato Ruthi as the king of a unified new Rima.

“The people have spoken,” he said, “and they are not calling for either of your names.”

In reality, Shilué thought that Zato, being a mere scholar with no experience at administration, would be an easier puppet to control from Boama than either of the two kings, and he made it clear that Faça’s troops were ready to “support the people of Rima and their choice.”

Thus did Zato Ruthi become the King of Rima.

Marshal Mazoti called on King Zato to surrender three times. Each time her messengers were rebuffed but returned with earnest letters addressed to Mazoti from Zato:

It is known to every child of Dara that all Tiro states are equal, and none can claim lordship over another. King Kuni has breached this principle, which was set forth by the infallible Aruano and approved by the wise Kon Fiji. The hegemon will surely punish King Kuni for these violations of the moral principles governing relations among states.

Even worse, King Kuni has made a woman into a soldier and elevated her above men. This is at odds with the principles governing harmonious relations among the sexes that Kon Fiji so eloquently explained centuries ago. Rima hopes that King Kuni will soon recover from his errors and apologize for his mistakes. It is the only way for Dasu to be restored to honor.

Mazoti rolled her eyes. The words from Zato were as musty and stale as the old books that no one read. Coming from anyone else, the words would have been understood as sarcastic insults, but Mazoti knew that Zato was completely serious. He genuinely believed that there were “moral principles governing relations among states” and didn’t see them as the codification of the robber’s logic employed by strong states seeking to impose their will on weak ones.

As Mazoti’s troops wound their way through tree-canopied Rima, they encountered no resistance. The woodsmen and hunters were told that Kuni Garu’s soldiers would leave civilians alone unless they took up arms against them. They stood silently in front of their cottages or moved off the trails as Mazoti’s army marched south through the thick forest.

Sometimes a soldier would exchange a knowing smile with a woodsman standing by the side of the trail.

War was fought mostly for the benefit of the nobles, and it was best if it could be fought quickly so as to bother the common people the least. King Kuni at least seemed to honor that principle.

The Dasu army came to a small and shallow river about fifty feet wide. It was now spring, and the river, swelled by the melting of winter snow, ran cold and fast. Mazoti could see the defenders of Rima on the other side. They were not stationed at the shore, however, but stood about a mile off.

“Why are they so far off?” one of Mazoti’s aides-de-camp asked. “It’s not as if they are holding a hill either. There’s no tactical advantage to their position.”

Mazoti saw the black flags of Rima waving in the distance. The one in the middle was extra large, with golden borders.

“King Zato is with them. That would explain the bizarre location of Rima troops. Kon Fiji wrote in his books that it is not moral to attack an army while it’s still fording a river. The defenders must give the attackers enough room to cross the river and set up its formation on the other side so that the fight will be fair.”

“Kon Fiji wrote about military tactics?”

“That old fraud wrote about lots of things he knew nothing about. But we should thank him. Since Zato is such a faithful disciple of everything Kon Fiji taught, we’ll have a safe crossing.”

Five hundred of Mazoti’s men crossed over first and set up defensive lines on the other side of the river, just in case the Rima forces did attack. To avoid being swept away by the swift currents, the rest of the troops linked their arms and held on to one another as they forded the river. At the deepest part of the river, the water covered their chests. Officers and soldiers alike worried that the defenders might decide to charge when the bulk of the Dasu army was still on the north side of the river or in the middle of the crossing. They would be defenseless in the water.

But true to Marshal Mazoti’s words, King Zato’s men stayed where they were and watched Mazoti’s army cross without harassing them.

“Unbelievable,” the aide-de-camp said in wonder as the soldiers laid out their gear on the grassy banks to dry. The Rima forces still made no move.

The officers around King Zato were ready to pull their hair out.

“Sire, we must attack now, before Mazoti’s troops complete the crossing.”

“Nonsense. We outnumber her forces three to one. Besides, she’s a woman. Kon Fiji wrote that an army imbued with righteousness would defeat an army steeped in immorality. How can attacking the enemy before they are ready to defend themselves be righteous?”

“Sire, we must attack now, before her men put their armor back on.”

“You wish to besmirch the name of our army? What would King Jizu, the Pure-Hearted Ruler, say of your plots? No, we must wait. Besides, look how she’s gathering her soldiers into formation! Kon Fiji taught us that when there’s a river around, one should never set up the infantry so that the soldiers’ backs are against the river because they will have no room to maneuver. We gave them plenty of space to properly form up, yet Mazoti is lining up her men against the shore of the river.

“I wonder if she has ever read the wise books of Kon Fiji or even can read at all. Poor men of Dasu! To be led by an ignorant girl into death is a truly tragic fate!”

“You’re taking a page from Mata Zyndu’s exploits, aren’t you?” Mazoti’s aide asked. He glanced back at the tight ranks of men right behind him, all the way back to the shore of the river. There was no room to retreat. The only way to go was forward.

“I’ve always said that we should make use of every advantage we can find,” Gin Mazoti said evenly. “Mata Zyndu had the right idea on Wolf’s Paw. Why shouldn’t I copy him? Putting your own men into a position where they believe they are dead unless they win is a good tactic — as long as it’s not used too often.”

They waited, as the forces of Rima finally began to move toward them.

King Zato’s soldiers pressed on, hoping to drive Mazoti’s five thousand men right into the water. But Mazoti’s men dug their heels in and fought with a ferocity that their opponents could not match.

The battle lasted all afternoon, but by the time twilight descended over the banks, Mazoti’s smaller force had the definite upper hand.

Finally, King Zato’s lines collapsed, and the surviving soldiers of Rima scattered into the woods.

Mazoti wiped the blood from her face and congratulated her soldiers. It was not quite as impressive a victory as Mata Zyndu’s at Wolf’s Paw, but for Mazoti’s men, it was a solid win that felt good after their humiliating defeat at Zudi.

Meanwhile, far to the north, Luan Zya’s fishing skiff pulled into the harbor at Boama, capital of Faça.

Faça was a land of craggy coastlines and rugged highlands in the north, where most of the population ranched, and deep valleys and sunny hillsides in the south, where most of the population planted orchards. Fruitful Faça was where one found sheep with the thickest wool, cattle with the fattest shoulders, and apples that were crisp and sweet, with a sun-kissed bite that lingered in the mouth.

The fierce fighters of Faça were as rugged as the terrain. They could move over the highlands faster than horsemen and were skilled at turning the landscape’s jagged rocky outcroppings and the capricious, ever-present fog against their enemies. Faça’s traditional swordfighting techniques were different from Cocru’s but no less effective: They emphasized surprise, unpredictability, and quick footwork.

Faça had rarely been successfully invaded in the past. Mapidéré’s conquest of Faça relied on assassinations, plots, and the deaths of many Xana soldiers as they finally overwhelmed the determined defenders through sheer advantage of numbers.

Another invasion of Faça would be costly.

Luan did not want to see Kuni or Gin repeat such a feat with the blood of Dasu, and so he had come to Boama in secret to try to persuade the greedy, crafty, politic King Shilué to surrender.

If I can.

The Palace of Boama was built right on the shore, over a cliff plunging into the ocean. Fog drifted through its courtyards and porticoed halls, making the castle seem to float in the clouds.

“King Kuni has always treated his followers with generosity,” Luan began. “Have you not heard that he negotiated for the return of his generals, Mün Çakri and Than Carucono, even before he asked for the return of his family? Have you not heard how Théca Kimo is now duke of the three islands of Arulugi, Crescent, and Écofi? Have you not heard how Marquess Puma Yemu, by raiding in the king’s name, now has a treasure hoard larger than the treasuries of many Tiro kings? King Kuni rewards those who fight for him.”

Shilué sat opposite Luan, carefully chewing oysters and listening without speaking. In the fog-filtered light, the expression on his pale face was unreadable, and his blond hair glowed like a veil.

Luan went on. “But Mata Zyndu has always treated his followers with whim and jealousy. Have you not heard how the hegemon stripped Puma Yemu of his title and land? Have you not heard how he blamed Noda Mi and Doru Solofi for losing Géfica and abused them with words of contempt and mockery until they left him in disgrace? Have you not seen how he hesitated to hand out the seals of power and was sorrowful at having to distribute treasure to men who risked life and limb for him? Mata Zyndu is not a lord you can rely on.”

Shilué continued to chew and listen, then he swallowed.

“Théca and Puma are brutes who serve King Kuni by risking their lives,” said Shilué. “But what promises can you make to someone civilized, someone who does not wish to die?”

Ah, he wishes to have all the advantages of surrender without any of the risks, thought Luan. And he spoke again.

Mazoti pursued the remnants of King Zato’s army until they reached another river, this one narrower. King Zato had finally learned his lesson. He set up his defenses right on the southern shore, not giving Mazoti a chance to cross.

“If we can’t get to him, we’ll make him come to us,” Mazoti said.

She directed a few hundred men to sneak through the dark forest in secret. Upstream, they felled some large trees quickly and built a dam to hold back the water, creating a large artificial lake.

As the water downstream slowed to a trickle, Mazoti’s men appeared to react with terror. They abandoned their cooking pots and weapons and backed away from the muddy streambed as if in panic.

King Zato gave the order for the Rima army to cross the stream and give chase. “Fithowéo and the spirit of Honored King Jizu must be with us! How else can we explain the sudden, diminished flow? Look at how the men of Dasu flee from our righteous arms! We must cross and punish the invaders.”

The Rima commanders said that this might be a trick and asked King Zato to stay behind with half of Rima’s forces just in case something went wrong.

But King Zato scoffed. “Kon Fiji taught that when victorious, one should pursue with every soldier to show that there is no fear. A righteous army has no need to fear treachery, for the gods will protect them. If Mazoti is righteous and follows the laws of war, she will give us the courtesy of waiting until we have safely crossed before she attacks, the very same benefit we gave her. If she is not righteous and attacks before we are done crossing, then surely she will lose.”

Mazoti waited until about one-third of Rima’s forces had crossed the stream and one-third was in the process of crossing. She ordered the trumpeters to give the order for the soldiers upstream to break their dam. The sudden flood washed the soldiers who were still in the streambed away and stranded the other one-third who were still on the southern shore. Then she gave the order for the “retreating” Dasu troops to counterattack. The Rima soldiers who had completed the crossing were quickly captured.

The remaining forces of King Zato fled in terror, and Mazoti dammed up the river again and walked leisurely across.

“You disobeyed the laws of war,” King Zato said. He knelt before Marshal Mazoti in the Palace of Na Thion, but his voice was defiant. “Have you ever read the books of Kon Fiji?”

“He had some good things to say about government,” Mazoti replied. “But he didn’t know anything about how to fight a war.”

King Zato shook his head sadly. “You cannot win true victory if you don’t follow the laws of war. You are only a woman, after all, and you do not understand the greater principles involved.”

“Right,” Mazoti said, smiling. She didn’t want to execute the old fool. Instead, she sent him to Dimushi, where Kuni Garu might find him entertaining.

Luan Zya came to Na Thion to see Gin Mazoti.

They occupied one of the many bedrooms in the Palace of Na Thion and spent some time not discussing the war.

In the morning, Luan congratulated Mazoti for her swift conquest of Rima and then explained that King Shilué of Faça had agreed to surrender.

“How?”

“I talked him into it,” said Luan, laughing.

Mazoti did not seem pleased at this news. She sat, deep in thought.

“What’s wrong?” Luan asked.

“I’ve fought for months in Rima, and hundreds, thousands of men had to die before I brought Rima under control. You, on the other hand, captured all of Faça by only wagging your tongue. What will Lord Garu think of our relative merit?”

“Gin, you are not seriously jealous, are you?”

Mazoti said nothing. It always seemed that no matter how hard a woman worked, a man could eclipse her with no effort.

“Gin, I have to head back to Dimushi to advise Lord Garu. Can you go to Boama to formally accept the surrender and provide Shilué with the protection that is his condition?”

Gin Mazoti nodded, and she and Luan kissed and parted ways.

The men of Faça did not put up any fight as Marshal Mazoti and her soldiers marched through the highlands. On Shilué’s orders, they were hailed as allies, as the army of Faça’s new protector.

In the palace at Boama, King Shilué welcomed Mazoti with an elaborate banquet. Bare-breasted female dancers were brought out to entertain the honored guest, as was customary. Only when the music began did Shilué realize that this might not be the most appropriate way to entertain this particular marshal.

But Mazoti assured him that it was all right. She would enjoy the show as much as any man. King Shilué toasted her and said that he looked forward to working with her in the service of their common lord.

“Shilué, do you confess your sins?”

Shilué was feeling very drunk, so he wasn’t quite sure that he had heard the marshal correctly.

“What?”

“Your plot to betray King Kuni,” Mazoti said. She unsheathed her sword and killed Shilué on the spot.

As the assembled ministers and generals of Faça stood in shock, Mazoti’s men quickly secured the palace. Outside, the Dasu troops had already seized Boama’s gates and harbors.

Mazoti sent a fast messenger airship back to Dimushi with this note:

Faça has been conquered. The plan for surrender was a trick Shilué used to fool Luan Zya. He had planned to betray you and defect to Mata Zyndu again. But I saw through the ruse and executed him for treason before he could put the plot into motion.

She felt a twinge of guilt, but in war, every victory was good, whether against enemies, friends, or lovers.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE. THE TEMPTATION OF GIN MAZOTI

BOAMA: THE FIFTH MONTH IN THE FIFTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Now that Mazoti was in control of both Faça and Rima, as well as tens of thousands of newly surrendered troops, there was a lot of work to do.

People now addressed her as “Queen of Faça and Rima.” She had started it as a joke, but then, since no one else seemed to treat it as a joke, she began to think of herself that way.

She put the troops through war exercises, promoted those capable, asked for demonstrations of sword-fighting techniques from veterans. She distributed pensions to the families of soldiers who died fighting for Dasu and for her. She encouraged Rima’s bladesmiths with new tax breaks — a trick she had learned from Kuni Garu. She toured the ranches and orchards of Faça, promising the people safety.

It was nice to be queen. Everyone listened to her.

Kuni paced back and forth, unable to stay still for even a moment.

“She’s doing a fine job in Boama,” Luan Zya said.

“But what about this title?”

“Lord Garu, you know that I cannot speak of her without bias. You must decide what to do about her claim to the thrones of Faça and Rima while she remains Dasu’s marshal.”

“I need your advice, Luan.”

“I can’t tell you what to do. We’re all stumbling in the dark.”

“I don’t think what you two do in the dark is ‘stumbling,’ ” Kuni said, giving Luan a look.

Luan Zya spread his hands. “Gin keeps her own counsel, you know that.”

“If the hegemon were in my place, he would be marching to Boama right now.”

“But you are not Mata Zyndu.”

“Yet I wonder if Mata’s choice, in this case, would be right.”

Lady Risana came into the room. In her arms she carried her new baby. Kuni reached out, and Risana handed the baby to him. Timu and Théra were still awkward with Kuni, as they missed their mother and were not used to their father. The king was thus extra affectionate toward the little boy. The prince, still not formally named, was called Hudo-tika.

“If Gin were a man, would you know what to do?” Risana asked as Kuni stopped pacing and played with Hudo-tika.

Kuni considered the question. “Maybe. With ambitious men sometimes it’s best to let them go as far as they want, so long as they’re still helping you. You can’t tell how high a kite can fly without being willing to let all the string out. Trust is often better than jealousy as a path to loyalty.”

“That’s a lesson that Mata Zyndu never learned,” Luan Zya said.

“Does the fact that Gin is a woman make any difference?” Risana said. “Gin has always asked simply for the right to play by the same rules as the rest of you.”

Kuni nodded. “You have again cleared away the fog in my thoughts. None of us are perfect, yet our imperfections may complement one another and become something grand. I’ll congratulate Gin.”

“What of her query to send you the Seals of Rima and Faça?” Luan asked.

Kuni tickled Hudo-tika, and waved a hand at Luan dismissively. “That query is a test. For me. Tell her to keep them and to take good care of Rima and Faça.”

Queen Gin’s guards brought to her a bald beggar in a white cape.

“He claims to have important information concerning the hegemon.”

“What do you have to tell me, old man?” asked Gin.

“It’s for your ears alone.”

Gin waved the guards away. But she reached under her desk and grasped the handle of her trusty marshal’s sword.

“Speak.”

“Every once in a while, the gods send us gifts,” the beggar said. “But these gifts are not pure blessings, for the gods have pride and jealousy, the same as mortals. If you refuse a gift from the gods, great misfortune will follow.”

Gin laughed. “I grew up in the streets of Dimushi. Do you think I’ve not heard such speeches from a hundred frauds just like you? All right, how much money do you want? But I don’t need you to tell my fortune.”

“I’m no fortune-teller.”

Gin regarded the beggar more closely. She saw the contrast between his dirty face and his spotless white cape; how he did not really lean on his walking stick; the way his face seemed to flicker between youth and old age in the sunlight filtered through the fog outside the windows of the palace in Boama.

She nodded for him to go on.

“Your Majesty, the Islands of Dara today are divided among three great heroes. Kuni Garu has the west, Mata Zyndu has the south, and you have the north. Garu and Zyndu are deadlocked along the Liru, and neither can gain an inch of advantage over the other. If you aid Garu, Zyndu will lose. If you aid Zyndu, Garu will lose.”

“You’re very bold.”

“Yet if you aid either, in time the victor will turn on you, for great men do not like to be beholden to anyone. Thus, if you aid neither, that may be the most advantageous course for you. You now possess the realms of Faça and Rima. There’s no reason why you can’t conquer Gan and Wolf’s Paw as well. At that point, both Garu and Zyndu will have to beg for your support, playing suitor for your regal favor. You can then seize the opportunity to take over all of Dara for yourself, if you like.”

Mazoti pictured the Islands of Dara as a giant cüpa board. She imagined the stones being placed on the grid, a strategic vision that matched the beggar’s words.

“If this is a future you want, you must declare your independence now and sever your allegiance to Kuni Garu. Let the world know that you are your own woman and follow no one’s orders but yours.”

Mazoti looked at the Seals of Faça and Rima on the small table next to her. There was also a letter from Kuni Garu congratulating her: Your victories will live on in the annals of Dara forever.

The beggar was about to go on, but Gin stopped him.

“I must think about what you have said.”

Gin went to visit the Temple of Rufizo in Boama. It was built over the site of a hot spring that supposedly had curative powers similar to the Rufizo Falls in eastern Faça.

In front of the giant green jade statue of the healing god, Gin prayed.

“You once came to me to prevent me from going down a path that you judged to be a great harm.”

She looked at the white jade dove, Rufizo’s pawi, carved over the statue’s shoulder.

“Speak to me now, and tell me, what is the right road?”

She waited quietly. But the statue made no response.

On the way out of the temple, she dipped her hand into the pool that collected the water from the hot spring. The water was scalding hot, and she could not keep her hand in it for long. But she persisted and held her hand down until the skin blistered and she had to withdraw.

The pain seemed to echo the wounds in her heart that could never be healed: the cries of the children being maimed; the whippings administered by the self-righteous; the humiliation of crawling between the bully’s legs; the years of constant fear and terror she was forced to live through because she was small and weak. She clenched her fist: that was why she had to strive, to fight, to display, to achieve. To be safe.

But was that all there was in the world?

The gods were silent and capricious, she thought. She longed to find that doctor who had stopped her at the village in Dasu before she left. She wanted to grab him and shake him until he told her what she needed to hear.

Then, she composed herself and left the temple, nursing her burned hand.

She had to pick her own path, as she always had.

“When I was a nobody, King Kuni treated me as a friend,” Gin said to the beggar.

“The friendship of kings is like the promise of a drunkard,” said the beggar.

But Gin ignored him. “He shared his food with me and drove me in his carriage. He gave me his sword and elevated me to be the Marshal of Dasu above his other retainers. Kon Fiji always said that men should be willing to die for great lords who recognize their talent. It’s no different for a woman. I cannot betray him.”

“You think the words of Kon Fiji, that ancient fraud, should govern your actions? We live in a world of swords and blood, not of ideals.”

“If one abandons all ideals, then the world will be without substance. Kon Fiji may not have known much about how to win a war, but he did know about the moral way to live.”

The beggar shook his head and left.

As Puma Yemu continued to disrupt Mata Zyndu’s supply lines in Cocru, Mazoti made steady gains in the east. The Tiro states still loyal to the hegemon lost one battle after another, until she eventually conquered all land east of the Wisoti Mountains, including Wolf’s Paw and all the wealthy towns of old Gan.

Théca Kimo was similarly successful in the west. The three islands of Arulugi, Crescent, and Écofi fell to his control, and his ships, supported by the mechanical crubens, menaced the Cocru coast. The airships of Cocru finally lost so much of their lift gas that they could no longer rise into the air, and Kuni Garu sent his fleets of airships on raids to Cocru cities, dropping firebombs or leaflets denouncing Mata Zyndu for his numerous sins.

Mata Zyndu rode across the land putting out one fire after another. Kuni’s forces would often steal across the Liru River when Mata was away, only to be driven back when Mata returned. Kuni’s army could not stand against Mata in a fair fight, and time and again Kuni had to abandon everything and escape to Dimushi.

The stalemate lasted for three years.

CHAPTER FIFTY. GLORY OF THE CHRYSANTHEMUM

COCRU: THE ELEVENTH MONTH IN THE EIGHTH YEAR OF THE PRINCIPATE.

Mata’s army was finally running out of food. Years of warfare raging across Cocru and his neglect of administration took their toll. Puma Yemu’s incessant raids also played a part, and shipping by sea was impossible with Théca Kimo’s ships and mechanical crubens blockading Cocru ports.

The soldiers of Cocru resorted to digging for roots and planting their own vegetables, right in the army camps. Desertion was rampant, no matter how inspiring Mata was.

Every day, Mata launched himself into the air over the Liru on a battle kite.

“Kuni Garu, come into the air and fight me!” he shouted.

Kuni Garu never responded.

Instead, Kuni summoned an airship. To Mata’s way of thinking, such an act was despicable, like bringing a knife to a wrestling match. But Kuni was not bound by such scruples.

The airship sailed close to the battle kite, and the crew aboard fired arrows at the flying Mata.

Ratho, who was in charge of the crew winching the battle kite, cursed at the perfidy of Kuni Garu. He regretted defending this man at the banquet in Pan. There was no honor in sending archers when the hegemon asked for a fair duel between equals. He could not understand how Kuni Garu’s soldiers could bear to serve such a coward. He shouted for his men to winch the kite down.

But Mata shouted at the winch crew to stop. He opened his eyes wide, stared into the eyes of the sharpshooters on the airship deck, and laughed. He laughed and then let out a long, sorrowful, inarticulate howl that seemed the cry of a wolf in pain.

The sharpshooters flinched, and their shots fell wide. They could not bear to look at the lone figure soaring through the sky.

“How many more years must we fight this war?” asked Kuni. “How many more years before I can see Jia?”

His advisers had no wise counsel this time, not even Luan Zya.

Kuni offered to discuss the terms of a permanent peace treaty.

Again, Kuni and Mata rode out to the middle of the Liru River on flat-bottomed boats. They toasted each other.

“To continue this war would only harm the people of Dara. I cannot conquer Cocru, and you cannot move out of it. Can we agree to divide the world in half? All that is south of the Liru and Sonaru Rivers will belong forever to you, and all the rest to me.”

Mata chuckled without mirth. “I should have listened to Torulu Pering back in Pan.”

“The road both of us have traveled is full of regrets. I would like to call you brother again.”

Mata stared at Kuni, and Kuni’s face was full of pain. Mata felt a surge of something akin to compassion. Perhaps honor still resided in the hearts of all men, just hidden more deeply in some than others.

He raised his cup to Kuni. “Brother.”

Mata’s march back to Çaruza was long and slow. He had returned Kuni’s family to Kuni and granted Puma Yemu safe passage to Géfica if he ceased his raids. His men were tired but happy. The war was finally over.

“Hegemon.” Ratho Miro hurried his horse to ride next to Mata. “Kuni Garu never once defeated you in battle. We just had bad luck.”

Mata Zyndu nodded. He patted Réfiroa’s neck lightly so that he was once again ahead, in the lead, alone.

The reunion of the Garu family was bittersweet.

“Mama!”

Timu, now eight, and Théra, now seven, had always been formal and proper with Kuni. But now they left Risana’s side and ran with wild abandon toward Jia, hugging her tightly. Little Hudo-tika hung on to his father’s robe and looked with curiosity at this new, regal aunt he had never met.

Risana bowed to Jia in jiri. “Big Sister, since our parting in Zudi, not a single day has gone by without me and my son thanking you in our prayers. Now that Kuni has you back, Dasu again has a queen, and all is right with the world.”

Jia nodded in acknowledgment, a bitter smile on her face.

Lady Soto had also come back with Jia. Kuni was surprised.

“There are families you’re born into, and families you make out of those you love,” said Soto.

“I am honored,” said Kuni, and he bowed to her deeply. “What of Mata?”

“I love my nephew,” said Soto. “But his path and mine have diverged too far.”

Otho Krin had grown even more gaunt during the years of captivity, but there was also a strength in his eyes Kuni had not seen before. Timu and Théra, still hanging tightly on to Jia, called out to their “Uncle Otho” with a warmth that made Kuni’s heart clench.

Then he let out a held breath and smiled. “You have suffered. Thank you.”

Otho bowed and backed out of the room with Soto; Risana corralled the children and took them away to play.

Jia and Kuni embraced, both faces covered with tears. The warmth between them was reassuring but also faint, their smells now unfamiliar to each other with the separation of years. It would take time to rekindle that fire that had once warmed their little house in Zudi, that had once blazed into passion in the home outside Çaruza by the sea.

“You have paid a great price for our success,” Kuni said.

“As have you,” Jia said.

As Luan Zya packed his things to get ready for the retreat, he heard the sound of rustling pages. He looked and saw it was Gitré Üthu, the magic book given to him by the old fisherman in Haan.

There was no breeze in the tent.

He walked over: The book lay open to a fresh, blank page. As he stared at it, colorful logograms emerged from the paper like islands rising from the sea.

The logograms told of a fairy tale:

Once, two great crubens vied for lordship over the seas, one blue, the other red. The two great scaled whales, being of equal strength, fought for seven days without resolution.

Each day, by mutual agreement, as the sun set and as their strength diminished, the two crubens ceased their fight. They slept on two sides of an undersea trench to recover. When the sun rose in the morning, they would be back at it again.

On the seventh night, just as the red cruben settled down for rest, a remora attached to him whispered to his host: “Finish him. Finish him. Finish him. When his eyes are closed and his mind in deep slumber, stab him through the heart with your horn. Finish him. Finish him. Finish him.”

“What kind of counsel is this?” said the red cruben. “Such a path is neither fair nor just. I have come to admire him after so many days of fighting.”

“I’m attached to you,” said the remora. “I live off the detritus that drifts from your maw after you feed. I have traveled the four seas only by dint of your power. If you win, I’ll have more to eat, and perhaps I’ll puff up and show off my colorful fins to the other fish, but if you lose, I’ll just find another great fish to attach to. Though I’ll benefit from your victory, I’ll not share your dishonor — the memory of the sea is rarely kind to great creatures who blame their moral failing on those who but serve and advise at their pleasure.”

The cruben was surprised. “So you admit that you risk nothing, and I everything. Why should I listen to you?”

“Because I live so low, hanging from your belly, my duty isn’t to be your conscience, but to think thoughts you dare not think, devise plans you dare not utter. When you find a great cruben, a lord of the sea, whose scales are shiny, whose hide is smooth, whose muscles bulge with vigor and health, you may be sure that you’ll find a great many remoras attached to him gorged on filth. A cruben whose remoras are afraid to get dirty will not live long or find victory.”

And the red cruben listened to the remora and became the lord of the four seas.

Luan Zya closed the book and laughed bitterly. Was this how he’d be remembered by history?

Then he recalled the moonlight falling on the ruins in Ginpen and the song of the children of Haan. He remembered the promise he made to his father and felt again the restlessness in his soul.

The more perfect the ideals, the less ideal the methods.

Kuni’s army pulled back from Dimushi, toward Pan, which Cogo Yelu had rebuilt. Kuni’s family had been sent on ahead. The agreement was for both sides to not station troops within fifty miles of the Liru River.

“Have you thought about when we should attack?” Luan asked.

They were riding in Kuni’s carriage. The king was reviewing reports of harvests and tax collections and thinking about how to administer his vast new realm now that the war was over. All those old records from the Xana Imperial Archives saved by Cogo Yelu would come in handy, he realized, and he was again thankful for his prime minister’s foresight. Luan Zya’s question caught him off guard.

“Attack?”

Luan took a deep breath. “You don’t really think this peace treaty is the end, do you?”

Kuni looked at him. “The war has gone on long enough. Mata and I, neither of us can overcome the other. I’ve put my seal on the document. It is done.”

“A seal is only a mark on a piece of paper, with exactly as much force as you are willing to give it. The Cocru army has run out of provisions, and now they’ve scattered across Cocru and let down their guard. We, on the other hand, remain well stocked, thanks to Cogo’s efforts. This is the best opportunity to attack them from behind and hit them with everything we have.”

“Then I’ll be remembered by history as a great betrayer. Mata’s accusation against me will be carved in stone, made true by my own act. What you counsel is against all the laws of war. I will have no honor left.”

“The judgment of history cannot be ascertained from up close. You see the condemnation of the people of this generation, but you cannot foresee how their descendants will view your deeds in the future. If you do not attack now and end this war, the killing will never stop. In another ten years, or twenty, Dasu and Cocru will again face each other on the battlefield, blood will again stain the Liru River, and the people of Dara will again suffer and die.”

Kuni thought of the people of Pan, whom he had abandoned once in the hope of preserving Mata’s friendship. Their cries as the streets filled with blood still haunted him in dreams.

“You will have sacrificed the lives of the people for personal honor, an empty word,” Luan said. “That seems to me a most selfish act.”

“Is there no room for mercy? No sympathy among gods or men?”

“Mercy for your foes, my king, is the same as cruelty to your friends.”

“That sort of logic, Luan, could become the salve and loincloth for all tyrants.”

“Queen Gin has always argued that if one goes to war, one should do all one can to win. A knife is not malicious merely because it is sharp, and a plot is not evil merely because it is effective. All depends on the wielder. The grace of kings is not the same as the morals governing individuals.”

Kuni did not respond.

“If you do not make use of every advantage given to you, the gods will condemn you for your error.”

The treaty felt heavy in Kuni’s hands. Would the lives of the people feel even heavier?

I think I wield power, Kuni thought, but perhaps it is Power that wields me.

“Summon Mün Çakri and Than Carucono.”

Kuni sighed in resignation and tore the paper into pieces.

In a minute, the pieces had disappeared in the wind, like words spoken and then forgotten.

Mata Zyndu received the news of Kuni Garu’s betrayal at Rana Kida, a wall-less town near a hill in the Porin Plains, still miles from Çaruza.

Kuni’s army had crossed the Liru, and Théca Kimo’s army had landed at Canfin. In the east, Mazoti’s men had broken through the defenses in the hills at the southern end of the Wisoti Mountains. Fifty thousand Dasu soldiers and allies were now closing in on Mata.

Mata had already sent the bulk of his army in scattered detachments to garrison the towns all across Cocru, leaving only five thousand riders with him.

“This is just like Wolf’s Paw and Zudi,” Ratho said. “Though they outnumber us ten to one, we will yet prevail.”

“Ah, my brother,” Mata whispered. And he tore the treaty in his hand into pieces, scattering them like moths in the chill wind of late autumn.

The Dasu army swept over Cocru, a sickle swinging across fields of wheat. It was winter, and the hard pounding of their horses’ hooves could be heard for many miles all around the frozen land. Bypassing the Cocru garrisons in their well-defended cities, Kuni’s forces aimed straight for Rana Kida, stretching their supply lines as long as kites straining in a howling gale.

Mata mustered his troops on top of the hill near Rana Kida. Kuni, Théca, and Gin’s armies converged and surrounded the hill tightly like the hoops of a barrel. Gin Mazoti was appointed commander-in-chief. This would be her masterpiece, her greatest battle.

Mounts Fithowéo and Kana both erupted, and a snowstorm that was beyond anything in living memory raged over the battlefield. High winds shifted direction from moment to moment, and snow fell in great clumps, mixed with hail. Even the gods seemed to be at war.

Day and night, the hegemon ordered his men to try to break through Gin Mazoti’s encirclement, but time and again, Mazoti’s troops forced them to retreat back up the hill. The constant snow and whipping wind made it impossible to use airships, and the ground was too frozen to dig deep holes for palisades or other fortifications, so Mazoti had to rely on infantry formations that held Mata back by sheer number of bodies.

When Mata retreated, Mazoti ordered waves of Dasu men to charge up the hill. Always, they were repulsed and left many bodies behind. But Mazoti could afford to lose plenty of bodies. She would not give Zyndu’s men a chance to rest, to sleep. She would grind them down.

The temperature dropped further. The Cocru soldiers lacked warm mittens and coats, and their hands stuck to the iron handles of their weapons; they cried out as the skin tore off. They lay down on the frozen ground to try to rest and filled their mouths with handfuls of snow to fight off the pangs of hunger. Many of the horses, having had nothing to eat for days, fell down and were slaughtered for meat.

But there was no talk of surrender anywhere in the Cocru ranks.

“This isn’t right, Marshal,” said Kuni to Gin in her tent. “Too many soldiers are dying.”

For ten days, Mata’s men had held the hill, killing five Dasu soldiers for every Cocru rider that fell from his horse.

“There is a time for finesse, and a time for pressing your advantage with numbers,” said Gin. “If we do not defeat the hegemon quickly, armies from across Cocru will come to his aid and cut off our supply lines. My tactics may be brutal, but they’re working. It has been days since the Cocru men have had anything to eat except dead horses, and most are now wounded. We must press on and not relent.”

“But I know how loyal Mata’s men are; they’ll never surrender. Shall I leave behind as many widows and orphans as Mapidéré as the price of my victory? Even if we win, I will have lost the hearts of the people.”

Gin sighed. Kuni’s streak of essential kindness was not always militarily convenient, but it was why she served him. “Then what do you propose? We can hardly offer a truce again.”

“Lady Risana has an idea.”

From the shadows behind Kuni, Risana stepped forward.

When Jia and his father had been seized by the hegemon, Kuni wanted to send Risana and the children to safety in Ginpen, far from the dangers of the front. He could not afford to lose more family. But Risana had insisted that she be allowed to accompany him to the front.

“The women need an advocate,” Risana had said.

The women’s auxiliary corps created by Gin had contributed greatly to Dasu’s rise. Compared to the other armies of Dara, the Dasu troops ate a healthier diet and kept their armor in better condition, and many Dasu soldiers survived wounds that would have been fatal, thanks to the women’s cool heads and steady hands as they applied healing herbs and wielded sewing needles.

But as the war dragged on, Gin was preoccupied by matters in the field and the administration of her own domain, and the women auxiliaries fell into neglect. While the women in Mazoti’s air force were treated as exceptional and elite, the auxiliary corps in the army came to be seen as mere support. Some Dasu commanders put in charge of the corps had abused their privilege, denying the women their pay, ignoring their grievances, and even treating them as though they were helpless camp followers instead of part of the army.

“My mother and I both worked for a living,” Risana had said. “I can help their voices be heard. What good is my position if I’m not allowed to use it?”

“Marshal,” said Risana, “I may know nothing of grand military strategies, but I do know something about the hearts of men. My talent lies in seeing into the tangled thicket of their desires and perhaps picking out a path.”

Though Gin respected Risana’s wisdom, she was tired and tense, and Risana’s words seemed too obscure. “This isn’t a matter of parlor tricks and seduction.”

“Ah, Marshal, though you have added women to your army, have you ever thought of them as real soldiers?”

Gin narrowed her eyes at Risana but nodded for her to go on.

After she explained her plan, Gin was thoughtful. She paced back and forth in the tent as Kuni and Risana watched. Finally, she looked up. “If this doesn’t work, you will have hardened Mata’s men so that their resistance will be even more fierce. But it’s worth a try. The king will have to speak to them directly.”

Through the snow-filled night, Gin, Kuni, and Risana rode to the camp of the women’s auxiliary corps. The troops were roused in assembly, and they stared at the three riders with consternation. They trusted Risana, who had done much to improve their conditions. But Kuni and Gin had never come to their camp before.

Gently urging his horse forward a few steps, Kuni spoke, striving to be heard above the howling wind and swirling snow.

“Who among you are from Cocru?”

Hundreds of hands rose up.

“I know many of you joined me after you’d lost your husbands and fathers and sons and brothers in the rebellion and the subsequent wars. We have a chance to end the slaughter tonight, but only if you help.”

The women listened, stone-faced, as Kuni explained Lady Risana’s plan.

“You will have to face Mata’s army unarmed and unescorted,” Gin added. “This won’t work if they think you’re a threat or being forced. If they attack, we will not be able to rescue you. The king and I do not demand this of you, if you think it too dangerous or ill-advised. You must volunteer.”

One by one, the women of Cocru stepped forward in the snow, forming a tight phalanx in front of the king, the lady, and the marshal.

Tonight, there was no attack from Mazoti. In fact, Mata Zyndu’s scouts reported that the Dasu army had pulled back half a mile, leaving an empty no-man’s-land around the hill.

Just before morning, women’s voices, carried by the wind, woke Mata in his tent:

Is it snow that I see falling in the valley?

Is it rain that flows over the faces of the children?

Oh my sorrow, my sorrow is great.

It is not snow that covers the floor of the valley.

It is not rain that washes the faces of the children.

Oh my sorrow, my sorrow is great.

Chrysanthemum petals have filled the floor of the valley.

Tears have soaked the faces of the children.

Oh my sorrow, my sorrow is great.

The warriors, they have died like falling chrysanthemum blossoms.

My son, oh my son, he is not coming home from battle.

Mata stood before his tent. Snow fell against him, and his face was soon wet from the melted flakes.

Ratho Miro rode up the hill and tumbled off the horse in front of Mata. “Hegemon, some women of Cocru are halfway up the hill, singing. Though they’re not accompanied by armed escorts, they may be Dasu spies.”

Mata now heard male voices taking up the old folk song, known to every child of Cocru.

“Have so many of our men surrendered to Kuni already, that their voices are so loud?” Mata Zyndu asked.

“The men singing are not prisoners,” said Ratho, hesitating. “They… they are our own troops.”

Startled, Mata looked at the small tents around him. Men emerged from them in the predawn darkness. Some wiped their eyes; some began to sing; a few cried openly.

“The women have been singing nonstop for hours,” said Ratho Miro. “The commanders told the soldiers to plug up their ears with wax, but they did not obey. Some of the men have walked down to meet the women, looking for those from their home villages to ask for news about their families.”

Mata listened without moving.

“Should we order an attack?” asked Ratho. “This… tactic from Kuni Garu is beneath contempt.”

Mata shook his head. “It’s all right. Kuni has already taken the soldiers’ hearts. It’s too late now.”

He reentered his tent, where Mira sat, working on her embroidery.

Mata stepped behind her and saw that she had only a single black thread on the cloth. It twisted and turned in a jagged path around the white field, but there seemed nowhere for it to run. No matter how it moved and feinted, the round edge of the embroidery ring held it in like a caged beast.

“Mira, can you play some music? I don’t want to hear the singing.”

Mira set down her needle, thread, and cloth, and plucked the strings of a coconut lute. The hegemon clapped his hands to the beat and sang.

My strength is great enough to pluck up mountains.

My spirit is wide enough to cover the sea.

Yet the gods do not favor me,

My steed has nowhere to gallop.

What can I do, my Mira? What can I do?

A line of tears crawled down Mata’s face, and the eyes of all the soldiers standing outside the tent glistened in the torchlight. Ratho reached up and wiped his eyes, hard.

Mira continued to play, and began to sing herself:

The men of Dasu surround us.

The songs of Cocru break our hearts.

If only you were a fisherman, my king,

And I still a farmer’s daughter by the sea.

Mira stopped playing, but the song seemed to linger in the air as the wind howled outside.

“Kuni is known to be generous with prisoners,” Mata said. “When you are captured, make sure to speak of how cruel I’ve been to you and how you’ve been mistreated. He’ll be good to you.”

“All your life, you think everyone betrays you in the end,” Mira said. “But it’s not true. Not true.”

Mira’s voice grew faint as she neared the end of her speech. Mata, who was facing away from her, turned around as her voice faded to a whisper. He rushed to her as she collapsed. Her hands held on to the handle of a slim dagger made of bone: the blade of Cruben’s Thorn was plunged deep into her heart.

Mata’s howl could be heard for miles. It mixed with the singing voices of the men and women of Cocru, and all who heard it shivered involuntarily.

Mata wiped the hot tears off his face and laid Mira’s body gently on the ground.

“Ratho, gather all the riders who still wish to follow me. We will break through the encirclement.”

It was like Wolf’s Paw again, Ratho thought. Eight hundred riders of Cocru rode down the hill like a pack of wolves, and they were halfway through the camps of the dozing Dasu army before alarm sounded, and men rushed to cut them off.

Ratho could feel the familiar battle-lust taking over his body. He no longer felt cold, afraid, or hungry. Despair was gone, replaced by joy at once again riding by the side of his lord, the greatest warrior to have ever ridden through the Islands of Dara.

Did he not once run at the side of Mata Zyndu and defeat the invincible Kindo Marana? Did he not once fall out of the sky next to Mata Zyndu and almost catch the treacherous Kuni Garu in bed? Did he not wield Simplicity, the blade taken by Mata Zyndu from the only opponent who ever made him stumble? We have not even begun to fight.

Onward, onward the eight hundred riders of Cocru thundered through the tightly packed fighting men of Dasu. They bashed like a battering ram through flimsy doors. Though riders kept falling off horses behind him, Na-aroénna continued to swing like a sliver of moon through the swirling snow and howling winds, dropping those who dared to stand in his way like weeds before a sickle. Though fewer and fewer stayed by his side, Goremaw continued to strike like the fist of Fithowéo, crushing those who dared to lift their weapons like walnuts under a hammer.

As dawn arrived, Mata finally broke through. Around him, less than one hundred riders were left.

They rode on, toward the south, toward the sea. The swirling snow made everything look the same, every direction identical. Mata was lost.

He stopped at a fork in the roads and knocked on the door of a farmer’s house.

“Which way to Çaruza?” he asked.

The old farmer stared at the great man standing in his doorway. There was no question as to the stranger’s identity. His height and girth, his double-pupiled eyes. There was no other man in the world like Mata Zyndu.

The old man’s two sons had fought and died for the hegemon in his endless wars. The old man was sick of talk of valor and honor, of glory and courage. He just wanted his sons back, strong boys who had worked hard in the fields. Boys who did not understand why they had to die, only that someone told them it was sweet and fitting to do so.

“That way,” the old man said, pointing to the left.

Mata Zyndu thanked him and got back on his great black horse. His riders followed.

The old man stood at the door a little longer. He could hear the hoofbeats of the pursuing Dasu army. He closed the door and extinguished the candle on the table.

The road that the old man directed Mata Zyndu to led into a swamp. Many of Mata’s men had to jump off their saddles as their horses sank up to their stomachs in the mud, snorting and whinnying in fear and pain.

Mata retraced his steps and rode the other way; only twenty-eight riders now were with him. They could see the torchlights of the pursuing Dasu army.

Mata Zyndu led his men onto a small hill.

“I’ve lived on the back of a horse for ten years,” he said to his men. “I’ve fought in more than seventy battles and never lost a single one. Everyone who’s ever fought me has submitted to me or died. Today, I’m on the run not because I don’t know how to fight, but because the gods are jealous of me.

“I’m willing to die, but I’ll fight with joy and gladness in my heart first. All of you have followed me this far, and I release you from having to go any farther. Go, and surrender to Kuni Garu. I wish you well.”

None of the men moved.

“Then I thank you for your faith in me, and I will show you how a real warrior of Cocru should live. Kuni Garu’s men are going to surround us soon, yet I will kill at least one commander, capture one of their flags, and break through their lines. All of you will then know that I die not because I lack skill, but because of fickle fortune.”

The pursuing Dasu army arrived and encircled the hill. Mata Zyndu formed his men into a wedge shape, with himself at the head.

“Charge!”

They plowed down the hill, into the thicket of Dasu soldiers. They rode straight at the figure of the Dasu commander, whose eyes widened with fear. But before he could retreat, Mata split him in half from shoulder to belly with one swing of Na-aroénna. Mata’s men cheered, and the Dasu soldiers scattered like snowflakes in the wind.

Mata Zyndu pulled back hard on the reins of Réfiroa, and the great black steed reared up on its hind legs. As Mata Zyndu rose high above the surrounding throngs, he let out a loud war cry:

“Haaaaaiiiii!”

The cry hung over the battlefield, reverberating against the eardrums of the Dasu soldiers and stunning them into silence. All around him, the men of Dasu backed away, as sheep backed away from a wolf. None dared to meet his piercing eyes.

Mata laughed and rode straight at one of the standard-bearers in the Dasu ranks. He reached out and grabbed the waving cruben banner from the terrified soldier and snapped the pole in half. He threw the battle banner on the ground, and Réfiroa gladly trampled over it.

“Hoo-ah, hoo-ah,” his men shouted in unison.

They rode on again, and the frightened Dasu army parted before them like the retreating tide.

As Mata continued south, he counted the men around him: twenty-six. They’d lost only two men.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It was just as you predicted, Hegemon,” Ratho said. Admiration infused his voice.

All of the riders felt as if they had become gods themselves.

Finally, they arrived at the sea. Mata leapt off his horse and saw the dilapidated house nearby. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized it. This was where Jia had stayed for many years right outside Çaruza and where he had once shared drinks with Kuni and held his son in his arms.

Mata Zyndu wiped his eyes. Cruing ma donothécaü luki né othu, the Classical Ano poets said. The past is a country to which one cannot return.

Ratho came up to him. “We have scoured the coast nearby, and there are no ships except a small fishing boat. Hegemon, please get on it and set sail for Tunoa. We’ll stay and hold off Kuni Garu. Tunoa is small, yet it is easily defended and has many men who remember the Zyndu name with fondness. You can recruit a fresh army and come back to avenge us.”

Mata Zyndu made no move. He stood in the snow, thinking.

“Hegemon, you must hurry! The pursuers are almost here.”

Mata Zyndu leapt off Réfiroa and slapped him hard on his hindquarters. “Poor horse. You’ve followed me all these years, and I can’t bear to see you die. Go, hide, and live a long life.”

But Réfiroa refused to leave. He turned his head back to Mata and let out a loud snort. Steamy breath rolled out of his great nostrils like tendrils of smoke. His eyes gazed at Mata with anger.

“I’m sorry, old friend. I was wrong to ask you to do something I would not do myself. You’re indeed well matched to me, even unto death.”

He turned to face his men, his face full of sorrow. “When I left Tunoa with my uncle and came to the Big Island, eight hundred young men followed me, their heads full of dreams of glory. Yet today, if I return, I will return alone, without even their bones. How I can face their fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, and children? I cannot go home again.”

He stood with his men on the beach, Réfiroa by his side, and they watched as the men of Dasu approached.

“Go, go, go!” Dafiro Miro urged his men. “King Kuni has said that whoever catches Mata Zyndu will be awarded ten thousand pieces of gold and given the title of count. Go!”

In the torchlight, the dense ranks of Dasu soldiers formed a semicircle around Mata Zyndu and his twenty-six warriors, the surging sea behind their backs.

All of Mata’s soldiers had dismounted, and the horses now stood in a semicircle around their riders, forming a barricade with their heaving bodies. The men stood on the snowy beach, their last arrows nocked in their bows, ready for the final stand.

Mata waved his hand without speaking, and his men let loose with their final volley of arrows. Twenty-six Dasu soldiers fell to the ground. The responding volley was far denser and longer-lasting, and by the time the Dasu soldiers stopped shooting, two more of Mata’s men had fallen, along with all their horses.

Réfiroa was on the ground, dozens of arrows sticking out of his great body. He let out a scream that sounded almost human. Around him, most of the other horses were dead, but a few let out piteous screams.

Eyes glistening in the torchlight, Mata walked up to Réfiroa. With a clean, wide sweep of his arm, Na-aroénna swung through the air, and Réfiroa’s head, separated from his torso, flew in a long, gentle arc that ended in the distant sea. Mata’s soldiers came forward and gave clean deaths to the few other surviving horses as well.

When Mata Zyndu looked up at the Dasu soldiers again, his eyes were clear and dry. He stood with his hands and weapons behind his back, his face full of contempt for these lesser creatures.

The soldiers of Dasu drew their swords, pointed their spears, and tightened their circle. Step by step, they came closer to the legend that was Mata Zyndu.

“Daf!” Ratho cried out. He could see his brother’s face in the flickering torchlight. “Daf, it’s me, Rat!”

Mata glanced at Ratho. “That’s your brother?”

Ratho nodded. “Yes. He picked the wrong side. He serves a lord with no honor.”

“Brothers should not take up arms against each other,” Mata said. “You’ve been a great soldier, Rat, the best I’ve ever seen. Let me give you a final gift. Take my head and make yourself a count.”

He lifted Na-aroénna and whispered, “Grandfather and Uncle, I’m sorry. There was never doubt in my heart, but perhaps that is not enough.”

With one quick stroke, he severed the arteries in his neck. Blood spurted everywhere and stained the snowy beach. His body remained upright for a moment, then collapsed like a mighty oak cut down.

“Rat, stop!”

But it was too late. Ratho Miro imitated his lord and wiped his own throat with Simplicity. Around him, the other riders of Mata Zyndu also collapsed like great trees.

The men of Dasu rushed in to grab a piece of Mata Zyndu’s body and claim the reward. He was torn limb from limb, and ultimately Kuni Garu had to award five soldiers, who each presented a piece of Mata Zyndu’s body.

Mata Zyndu’s body was sewn together and then buried just outside Çaruza. Kuni Garu gave him the full rites due a princeps, first among the tiro.

“The stronger his enemies, the fiercer his heart.” Gin Mazoti gave the first eulogy. “Even as his might lessened, his courage grew greater and his mind firmer. Yet when presented with the chance for victory, he would often hesitate from a streak of weak hesitation. Believing himself to be peerless, he listened to no counsel and did not trust his own generals. He conquered; he dominated; he was larger than life. Yet, long ago, he had lost the hearts of the people.”

But it was the words of Kuni Garu, who gave the last eulogy, that would be recalled long after: “Though I am declared victorious today, who knows in ten generations whether your name or mine will be the brighter? You died a grace of kings at my hand, but doubt will haunt me till the day I die.

“I saw you soar in the sky when you held Namen back at Zudi, and I bore witness when you slaughtered the innocent in Dimu. I marveled at your courage, nobility, and loyalty, and I shuddered at your cruelty, suspicion, and obstinacy. I laughed as you cradled my infant son outside Çaruza, and I cried as you burned down the Immaculate City. I understood your dedication to the world as you thought it ought to be, and I regret it is not a world that all of us wish to live in. I swallowed bitterness as you refused to call me brother, and I had to do so again to betray you at Rana Kida. I felt closer to you than I did to my brother by blood when the chance for victory seemed remote, yet we could not break bread together in joy in Pan. From the shores of Wolf’s Paw to the skies over Zudi, you left in the hearts of the people an indelible image.

“You swept through the world in a tempest of gold. My brother, there will never be another like you in these Islands.”

Kuni acted as a pallbearer himself. He covered his face in ashes and wore sackcloth. He walked the casket through the streets until it reached its final resting place. He cried like no one ever remembered seeing him cry.

Blossoming chrysanthemums filled the streets of Çaruza. Their fragrance was so powerful that passing birds steered clear of the city.

As the hegemon’s body was about to be lowered into the ground, the sky above the funeral procession was suddenly filled with the beating wings of a flock of giant ravens, both black and white. As they parted like cüpa stones sorting themselves by color, Mingén falcons dove toward the procession. The gathered nobles and ministers scattered, abandoning the hegemon’s casket next to the gravesite.

Then, the ground around the gravesite exploded like a roiling sea, and a pack of monstrous wolves, each four times as big as a man, emerged. The wolves, ravens, and falcons converged on the casket, and settled around it neatly in rows, like guards preparing for review at a parade.

A furious storm arose: stones tumbled along the ground, trees were uprooted, and a thick cloud of dust obscured everything. In that confusion, all sounds and speech drowned in a sea made of the shrieking of the wind, the howling of wolves, the cawing of ravens, and the shrill, piercing cry of falcons.

The world seemed to return to primordial chaos, and even thought was impossible.

Abruptly, the sound and the fury ceased, and bright sunlight bathed the calm scene left after the destruction. All the animals had disappeared, along with the hegemon’s body.

Slowly, the nobles and ministers, prostrate during the brief storm, stood up on unsteady legs, looking around in wonder and confusion.

Cogo Yelu was the first to recover. “How auspicious!” he proclaimed into the stunned silence. “The gods of Dara have together welcomed the hegemon into another realm. We who are left are witnessing the start of a new era of harmonious peace!”

A few other nobles with ears attuned to the shifting currents of politics immediately proclaimed their assent and congratulated Kuni Garu loudly. Others caught on, and a rising tide of praise for King Kuni soon filled the air, almost as cacophonous as the animals had been.

Kuni looked at Cogo and offered a wan smile. How can we know the will of the gods? he mouthed.

Cogo swept his arm at the throng. It’s enough they know yours, he mouthed.

Lord Garu turned to the crowd and nodded slowly, regal and majestic.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE. THE CORONATION

DARA: THE FIFTH MONTH IN THE FIRST YEAR OF THE REIGN OF FOUR PLACID SEAS.

A bald beggar in a white traveling cape walked down a road that wound its way through the sorghum fields.

He emerged into a tiny village with only thirty or so houses: plain, simple, poor. He looked around, picked one at random, and knocked on the door. A boy, about eight, opened the door.

“Could a stranger beg for a bowl of porridge, Young Master?” asked the beggar.

The boy nodded, went away, and soon returned with a bowl of warm porridge. He had even cracked an egg on top.

“Thank you,” said the beggar. “Was the harvest good last year?”

The boy looked at the beggar quizzically.

“I’ve been away,” said the beggar. “On the Big Island.”

“Ah, that explains it. Your accent tells me you’re from Rui, but your question makes you sound from away. No, the harvest was terrible. Kiji was angry, it seems, and there were too many rainstorms last fall on Rui.”

The beggar’s face fell at this news. “Then it is even more generous of you to share food with a stranger. You’re certain your parents will not mind?”

The boy laughed. “There’s no need to worry. King Kuni and Prime Minister Yelu ordered grain to be shipped from Géfica, and all of us have plenty to eat.”

“You like the king then? Even though he is not from Xana?”

“We no longer speak of Xana,” said the boy.

“But that’s your country!”

The boy shook his head. “This is Rui, an Island of Dara.”

In this remote valley nestled deep in the Damu Mountains, where craggy peaks rose above the clouds like ships drifting in a misty sea, far from the sight and hearing of mortals, the gods of Dara had gathered again.

A simple meal of fruits, nectars, and wild game was laid out on the smooth grass, and the gods reclined or sat around it.

Lutho, Rapa, and Rufizo, the hosts, looked relaxed, joyful, even radiant.

“Of course you look happy,” said Fithowéo. “Your favorites won.”

“Come, come,” said Rufizo. “A new era among the mortals should herald a new era among us as well. Brothers and sisters, let’s drink together and heal the discord between us.” He lifted a flagon of mead, and Rapa and Lutho followed suit.

“I’ve always said that we should have been drinking, not fighting,” said Tututika, and she lifted her flagon in response.

“I care not one whit whether the mortals fight or don’t fight,” said Tazu, smirking. “As long as they stay interesting. I enjoyed watching Mata Zyndu make war; I think it will be just as fun to watch Kuni Garu try to keep the peace.” He lifted his flagon as well.

But the other three, Fithowéo, Kana, and Kiji, sat stone-faced and made no move.

“Oh, this will be entertaining,” said Tazu. “I’m glad I came.” He downed his mead without waiting for the others and refilled his flagon.

“The war is over,” said Rapa. “Are we to be less openhearted than the mortals?” When she saw no response from the three holdouts, she turned to focus on her twin sister. “Come, Kana-tika, how can you say no to me, your other self?”

“Don’t play that game with me!” said Kana. “I should never have listened to you when Fithowéo and I went to retrieve Mata’s body. ‘Oh, sister,’ you said, ‘let me and Kiji come along. It will be good to have the mortals see all of our pawi so that they know how much we all care.’ ”

“That is indeed all I wanted!” said Rapa. “We may have taken sides in this war, but in the end, we are the gods of all of Dara.”

“That may sound pretty,” said Fithowéo. “But you used Kana and me! You made it seem as if we supported Kuni Garu!”

“Don’t forget Kiji,” said Kana. “He hates Mata and Kuni equally, and so she made an even bigger fool out of him.”

They looked over at Kiji, but the Lord of the Air remained quiet, looking thoughtful.

“You wrong me much,” protested Rapa. “In truth, the mortals completely misunderstood the dance I choreographed for our pawi. I had meant to show that the gods remained divided—”

“And that was why your ravens and mine were to separate and sort by color,” said Kana, finishing her sister’s sentence as she used to do.

“Exactly. And then I suggested that Fithowéo’s wolves face off against Kiji’s falcons so that the mortals wouldn’t get the mistaken impression that Kiji had forgiven Mata Zyndu, the Defiler of Mapidéré’s Tomb”—Rapa saw that Fithowéo was about to object—“and also the Greatest Warrior of Dara.”

“But your plan went wrong,” Fithowéo said. “That Cogo Yelu twisted everything and made it appear as if we were all there to show support for Kuni Garu.”

“And everyone listened to him!” lamented Kana. “Can’t people think for themselves?”

“Our careful signs will be recorded in the annals of Dara only as the misreading of one man,” said Fithowéo.

“The mortals have never been good at getting history right,” said Tututika. “Ah, my Kikomi.” Her blue eyes moistened.

The other gods fell respectfully silent. All remembered the princess who sacrificed everything to save her people, even her own place in history.

Kiji spoke up for the first time. “Little Sister, Kikomi loved Amu as much as Jizu loved Rima or my Namen loved Xana. My heart weeps for her. Will you drink with me?” He lifted his flagon at her. “To the grace of kings, which fit her better than any crown or mortal tribute.”

After a moment, Tututika nodded, and the two drank.

Then Kiji said, “Too many have died who loved their land as much as Kikomi, Jizu, and Namen.”

Fithowéo and Kana were surprised at this. Of all the gods, Kiji should have been the most angry at how things turned out. The Xana Empire was no more.

But Kiji continued, “Time moves in cycles. The people of Dara were one when they arrived in these Islands, before they divided into the Tiro states. But even then they were of different appearances, indicating that the Ano had been coalesced from many tribes. All the Islands of Dara are now one again, and people may come to love all of Dara as much as they loved their Tiro states. We did promise our mother that we would be the gods of all of Dara.”

The gods considered this, and the scowls on Fithowéo’s and Kana’s faces relaxed.

“If the mortals already believe that we have reconciled, we might as well make it a reality. As long as the people of Xana are treated fairly, I’ll speak no more of war. But if Kuni should turn out to be other than what he claims to be, I’ll not stand by.”

“Nor will I,” said Fithowéo.

“Nor will any of us,” said Rapa and Kana, together.

And the gods drank and ate and conversed of happier things, and they agreed to retire to Arulugi, the Beautiful Island, as Tututika’s guests for a few days.

As they left, Lutho and Rapa stayed a little behind the others.

“I noticed that you never spoke while everyone made speeches,” said Rapa.

“I had nothing useful to say,” said Lutho, smiling.

Rapa lowered her voice, “My tricky brother, suggesting that dance with the pawi was a good idea. But how did you know that the mortals would ‘misinterpret’ it just the way we wanted?”

“I didn’t. There was a chance that they could have interpreted it exactly the way you described it today. The mortals are never predictable, that’s what makes working with them so hard.” He paused and then added, “And so much fun.”

“You took a gamble?”

“I prefer to speak of a calculated risk. Pure gambles are more Tazu’s thing.”

“I think you have spent too much time observing a certain bandit-king.”

The voices of the gods faded, and a passing breeze carried some dandelion seeds into the sky over the valley.

All of Kuni’s most important advisers and generals were invited to gather in Zudi. The coronation of the new emperor was to occur in a few more weeks. But for now, there was nothing to do but to enjoy the sights of a world at peace and to catch up with old friends.

Rumors spread that Cogo Yelu was building a large estate for himself in Rui. It was so luxurious and extensive that it seemed certain Cogo had been skimming from the Dasu treasury to afford it.

Kuni frowned. Dasu relied on Cogo, now perhaps more than ever. His quick wit in guiding the public opinion after the hegemon’s body disappeared was a particular stroke of genius. Sometimes he wondered if Cogo grew impatient with merely advising him… in any event, he certainly couldn’t afford to have Cogo become complacent.

Kuni invited Cogo to tea.

“We’ve worked hard to win the hearts of the people,” said Kuni. “But let’s not lose them carelessly now that success has been achieved.”

Cogo immediately apologized and begged forgiveness, but he didn’t say what he was apologizing for.

Kuni laughed. “I’m not angry at you, Cogo. I understand that if the water is too clear, we will have no fish. A certain amount of privilege is allowed to those who hold power. But let’s keep it reasonable, all right?”

Cogo thanked his lord and seemed to leave in such a state of anxiety that he didn’t even finish his tea.

The people whispered to one another what a great lord Kuni Garu was.

As Luan Zya strolled through the streets of Ginpen, he watched and listened: Young scholars earnestly debated philosophy in bars; mothers window-shopped with babies strapped to their backs, chanting the times table or the simpler Ano Classics; the great doors of long-shuttered private academies were open, revealing servants sweeping and washing the floors of lecture halls to prepare them for new students.

He arrived at the site of his ancestral estate. The ruins remained undisturbed, but he saw that wildflowers were blooming in the nooks and crannies of the fallen stones: dandelion, butter-and-eggs, fireweed, columbine, chicory….

He knelt among the broken stones, and the bright sun warmed his face. He closed his eyes and listened, and all around him was the sound of peace.

Then, he went to the Great Temple to Lutho. Stepping through the Great Hall and avoiding the throngs of worshippers, he made his way to the small courtyard behind the temple. There, he looked around and saw that there was a large yellowish rock leaning against one of the trees. It resembled a turtle in its shell.

He knelt down.

“Teacher, I’ve come because I think my task is done.”

He waited patiently, hoping for the old fisherman who had given him Gitré Üthu, the book of knowledge, to return. But as the sun set and the moon rose, no one showed up.

He felt a stirring in the bundle on his back. He opened the cloth and took out the magical tome. The pages fluttered open by themselves, filled with notes and diagrams he had recorded over the years, a trail of the peregrinations of his mind. Then the book stopped on the first blank page.

A line of glowing word-squares appeared: When the cruben breaches, the sensible remora detaches; when the task is done, the wise servant withdraws.

Luan sat in the darkness for a long time before bowing down to touch his forehead to the ground in front of the book. “Thank you, Teacher.”

Another line of text appeared: You’ve always known everything in this book; I just had to point them out.

Then the glowing letters faded, and though Luan Zya waited until the sun rose, nothing more appeared on the empty page.

After visiting the grave of the old dockmaster in the nearby countryside, Queen Gin came to Dimushi.

She stayed in the finest inn in Dimushi with Luan Zya as her guest. They did not emerge from their bedroom for a few days.

One morning, the two decided to take a ride outside the city walls. Gin wrapped herself in a comfortable dress instead of her royal robes, and Luan wore a plain blue scholar’s tunic instead of his formal court garb. The two looked like a pair of lovers out for a spring stroll rather than a queen and Dara’s prime strategist. They let the reins hang loose and allowed the horses to wander where they would, taking delight in the bright sunlight and warm breeze.

“Have you thought about what’s next for you, Gin?” Luan Zya asked.

“Kuni has said that he wants to make me Queen of Géjira after the coronation. Géjira would be far richer than Rima and Faça. It’s a good reward.”

When there was no response from Luan, Gin turned and saw that his brows were furrowed.

“What?”

Luan spoke slowly. “But you would also have to leave your army behind in Faça and Rima and start all over again in a new place.”

Gin laughed. “I’m used to that.”

Just then they came upon a few hunters by the side of the road.

“A lot of wild geese?” asked Gin.

“Not a good season,” replied one of the hunters. “We’ve been out for most of the morning and have nothing to show for it. Looks like we’ll have to wait until the fall.”

Luan and Gin watched as the hunters leashed their hounds, who whimpered unhappily, and wrapped their bows in thick layers of cloth to be stored away until fall. Then the hunters bid them farewell and left.

“You’re a marshal,” said Luan. “But now there is peace. Do you think you’re very different from a hound or bow in the emperor’s eyes when all the rabbits have been caught and all the wild geese killed?”

Gin narrowed her eyes. “You think Kuni is sending me to Gan to separate me from officers loyal to me?”

“That is one interpretation.”

“But he also told me that I would be allowed to wear my sword to his court, an honor not even allowed to men who have followed him far longer like Mün Çakri or Than Carucono. Why would he tell me this if he suspects me of ambition?”

“Did you refuse this honor?”

“Of course not! I’ve certainly earned it.”

Luan shook his head. “I don’t know what Kuni is thinking. But I do know that power changes how a man sees his friends. Cogo understood this before any of us, and he wisely chose to allay Kuni’s suspicions by acting the fool. Had he not sullied his own name deliberately, Kuni might have suspected him of trying to pry the hearts of the people away from his master.”

“Do you always think of the worst even when well-deserved glory is handed to you?”

“It’s the prudent thing to do. Trusting the favor of the powerful is like riding a kite in the wind.”

Gin urged her horse to begin a trot. “Speak not to me of prudence. I’ve lived on the edge of a sword all my life. I’m good at leading soldiers, but Kuni is good at leading generals. My ambition is satisfied with serving a great lord.”

“Yet you killed Shilué to pave your rise. Do you truly know your heart? Or how others will see it? If you do not retire when the path is still open to you, you may be forced to fight for your life someday.”

Mazoti’s face tightened. “I once had the chance to betray Kuni, but I refused it. The world is not only a world of brute force and heartless betrayals. Kuni has nothing to fear from me, and I likewise will not fear him.”

They rode back to the city in silence.

There were a few more people that Mazoti needed to see in Dimushi.

First, she asked for Gray Weasel’s old gang and the broken children who had once begged for them.

It was not easy to find members of a long-dissolved gang, but the magistrates and constables of Dimushi were eager to please this most powerful of Kuni Garu’s new nobles, and eventually, they brought half a dozen men to her in chains.

“These are the only ones we could find,” said the senior magistrate. “Even thieves don’t do well in wars.”

“What about the children?” she asked.

“They”—the senior magistrate dared not meet her gaze—“probably didn’t survive.”

Mazoti nodded and stared into the distance.

She had the men’s hands cut off and their legs broken.

“Look at me,” Mazoti said. Her soldiers held up the limp bodies. The thieves, now barely conscious, struggled to lift their heads. “This is the last face you’ll see in your lives.”

Then she had their eyes poked out with an iron rod heated in a furnace. The thieves screamed as their flesh sizzled.

“This isn’t for me, but those children.”

Mazoti had their eardrums pierced as well, so that their own screams would echo in their minds for the rest of their days.

Next was the old laundress who had shared her meal with Mazoti when she was a young girl. It took even longer to find her, but Mazoti sent her soldiers to scour the villages along the Liru River and rounded up all the old women until the right one was found.

The old woman trembled as she was brought to the queen. Mazoti gave her ten thousand gold pieces. “Granny, you helped me when I was a nobody. But the gods do not forget a real act of kindness.”

Then came the couple, the followers of Rufizo, who had tried to make her a respectable young lady by hurting her.

Mazoti gave them fifty pieces of silver. “This should be enough to reimburse you for the cost of housing and feeding me for those months. You intended to heal, yet you had no patience for the real hard work of warming the heart of a wounded young girl. Perhaps next time you’ll do better.”

Finally, Mazoti brought in the bully, the man between whose legs Gin had once crawled.

The man quaked with fear. The tale of what had happened to Gray Weasel’s old gang had spread far and wide. He collapsed into a heap of trembling flesh on the floor, not daring to say a word.

Mazoti offered him a seat and asked him to be at ease. “You once humiliated me, but you also taught me that it was important to bear small insults if one wishes to rise high.

“I was once an urchin in these streets, and now I return as a queen. But if I seek only to visit vengeance upon you, then I will be demonstrating that I’ve learned nothing.

“Let us drink together.”

Today would be the last day that Kuni Garu was to be known by his old name. Tomorrow, he would become Emperor Ragin, and the Reign of Four Placid Seas would begin. Eventually, there would be a new palace in Pan, the Harmonious City, a formal coronation, and new rituals and titles. Cogo Yelu had already prepared a thick stack of petitions for Kuni to review: ideas for administering the Dasu Empire and how to make the people’s lives better.

But today Kuni would sit in géüpa and drink with his old friends as Kuni Garu in Zudi. Wine would flow freely and table manners would be forgotten. Today, anything could be said.

Mün Çakri, First General of the Infantry, Than Carucono, First General of the Cavalry, and Rin Coda, Farsight Secretary (a title he suggested because it sounded better than “Spymaster”), hosted Duke Théca Kimo and Marquess Puma Yemu at a table in the corner, where their rowdy drinking games wouldn’t bother the other guests. From time to time, when they argued too loudly about who should be drinking, Kuni had to go over to adjudicate personally.

Next to them was the spirit table, where empty place settings and seats were left for friends and family who did not live to see this day: Naré, Hupé, Muru, Ratho, Captain Dosa, Phin, Mata, Mira, Kikomi… From time to time, Kuni and the others came by the table to toast the departed. Though their eyes might be moist, their words were celebratory: Hope was the best way to honor the dead.

The only thing that marred the festive mood was the absence of Dafiro Miro, captain of the palace guards. He had accompanied the body of his brother, Ratho, to their home village near Kiesa for burial, where he vowed to stay in mourning for a year.

Widow Wasu of the Splendid Urn catered the food and drinks; she was offering much more upscale fare these days, thanks to the booming business brought about by visitors curious about Kuni Garu’s origins — and Wasu knew to be discreet and only smiled mysteriously when patrons asked her to confirm some legend or other. She was even serving a new drink at the Urn she marketed specifically to scholars — students from around Dara had come to Zudi to study at academies opened by Master Loing’s other students; it was too bad that Master Loing had passed away, but surely being taught by the emperor’s former classmates was also a measure of honor? A rising tide lifted all boats.

Up on the dais, at the table of honor next to Kuni and his wives, sat Féso Garu, Kuni’s father; Kado and Tete Garu, his brother and sister-in-law; and Gilo and Lu Matiza, Jia’s parents. The smiles on the faces of the Matizas were a bit strained, but Kuni had been in a forgiving mood, and he hadn’t given them a hard time when he came to Zudi. (However, at the beginning of the banquet, he had banged on an empty pot loudly and smiled as Tete blushed furiously.)

Jia kept on raising her cup to Gin Mazoti, Luan Zya, and Cogo Yelu. These three were the most important people in the new Dasu Empire. She seemed to be trying to make up for lost time as she had been absent for years while Risana was here to win their favor.

Soto Zyndu looked at her, and then at Risana, who sat quietly by Kuni, content with his attention alone. Kuni had announced before the banquet that since Risana’s son, the young prince known as Hudo-tika, had also reached the age of reason, he would be formally named Phyro, meaning “Pearl in the Palm.”

Only a few who had studied the Ano Classics in depth understood the obscure allusion. The Cocru patriot and poet Lurusén had once written a poem celebrating the birth of a new prince:

A son who carries on the legacy of his father

Is more precious than a pearl in the palm of a great king.

Prince Timu’s name, Gentle Ruler, had been an allusion to a son’s love for his mother, but Phyro’s name seemed to indicate Kuni’s thoughts on succession. No wonder Jia’s face had been stony when the name was announced, though Risana had appeared completely oblivious.

From time to time, the sound of children playing and laughing in the courtyard drifted into the banquet hall.

Soto sighed. Risana was in trouble, and she didn’t even know it. Risana thought Kuni’s favor alone was enough, but she did not understand that the politics among the wives and children of the emperor would be far more deadly and intricate.

Risana played the coconut lute, and Kuni, drunk and wistful, put down his kunikin and began to sing:

The wind blows, and clouds race across the sky.

My power sways within the Four Placid Seas.

Now I’m home, my friends and loved ones nearby.

How brief is my respite, how rare this ease?

Outside, the air was filled with dandelion seeds, drifting like snow in summer.

“I heard you declined the titles of Imperial Scholar and Grand Secretary,” said Cogo, as he sat down next to Luan. “So what are you going to do?”

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” Luan said. “Maybe I’ll try adapting the machinery in the mechanical crubens into iron horses and oxen; traders and farmers would like that. Maybe I’ll travel the Islands in a balloon and make better maps. Maybe I’ll go back into the mountains to perfect my stringless kite.”

“But you’ve made up your mind not to stay around the court?”

“There is a time to rise with the cruben, and a time to withdraw.”

Cogo smiled and said no more.

Luan looked over at Gin Mazoti. She looked back, smiled, and raised her cup. Luan saw only trust in her eyes, but he could not help but feel a chill as he listened to Kuni’s song. The hunt is over.

Luan sighed, raised his cup in turn, and drank.