The Veiled Throne, page 108
But such confirmation brought him little joy.
Inexplicably, there was nothing in the record to explain why, after Kuni Garu had been captured by Pékyu Tenryo, Gin Mazoti had suddenly reversed herself and accepted the falsehoods staining her reputation while taking up the sword to defend Dara. She had fought for Jia, the woman who tried to destroy her, and even praised her as a worthy Empress of Dara.
“Some truths,” said Mota, “are forever lost to history.”
Kinri put away the last scroll; his heart was all ashes.
If learning the truth of the Lyucu atrocities during the conquest made him wish he had never been born Lyucu, the ugliness of court politics in Dara made him question why he had ever seen beauty and hope in the pretty words of the Ano sages.
The nature of all humankind was corrupt and there was nothing new under the sun.
* * *
“Why are these books sealed away?” he demanded of Zomi. “Why are they not open to all who wish to study the truth?”
“Because the truth is sometimes not what the world needs to be better,” said Zomi, looking weary.
“What do you mean?”
“When the Hegemon swept through Dara on his war steed, Réfiroa, he was driven by the memories of the slaughter of his family at the hands of Mapidéré. He rallied his troops by reminding them of the truth that the conquering Xana armies had once buried alive tens of thousands of surrendered Cocru soldiers, and so his followers did not object when he engineered the drowning of tens of thousands of Xana prisoners.
“Emperor Ragin, on the other hand, granted clemency to the Xana Empire’s bureaucrats and soldiers when he was king of Dasu, and later, when he became emperor, relieved the taxes of those who had supported the Hegemon. He did not seek vengeance or remind the populace of the cruelties of Mapidéré, nor did he build monuments to all the innocents who had died for Mata Zyndu’s ambition. He kept the truth sealed away in these hidden archives, and in fact, allowed the people to romanticize the Hegemon’s legacy.
“Which of these, do you think, was the better course?”
Kinri was silent. He could see that insisting on justice for the Marshal would have destabilized the Dandelion Court at the moment when it needed the support of the people the most, when the Lyucu were threatening to overrun the Islands, but why were the records of the atrocities of the Lyucu also sealed away?
“The truth can sometimes be a confirmation for falsehoods,” said Zomi.
Kinri was startled, confused.
“There are enough tales of the atrocities committed by the Lyucu spreading from mouth to mouth already,” said Zomi, “and a book of eyewitness accounts would have confirmed the tales and made even more bloody exaggerations believable.”
Kinri thought this over. He himself had believed the worst tales about Kuni Garu’s character after hearing confirmation of the bandit-king’s betrayal of the Hegemon at Rana Kida.
“The empress believed that after the Battle of Zathin Gulf, peace, not further warfare, was what was needed. Accounts of the atrocities committed by the Lyucu would only whip up frenzy among the common people for war, and she concluded that had to be avoided at all costs. While she never actively suppressed the stories, she decided that official testimony of such atrocities had to be sealed away until it could be spoken of without the desire for bloodlust.”
There was a weariness to Zomi’s voice; unexpectedly, Kinri felt pity for her. His sister, he saw, was like a wild goose who had been charged for so long by her mate to tend to the nest, protecting it and repairing it, patching and securing it, that she no longer knew how to fly away from the placid lake, leaving behind nothing but a cry and a shadow.
* * *
Deep into the night, Zomi sat alone, thinking.
Kinri remained morose and withdrawn, and she worried about him. Having grown up in the household of a high-ranking Lyucu thane, he would no doubt have much useful intelligence to share. But she was coming to realize that perhaps she had been too hasty in assuming his state of mind. A child did not abandon a lifetime of love for a mother upon finding out that she was a killer, a rapist, a warrior for an unjust cause. A man did not abandon a lifetime of indoctrination in devotion to tribe, homeland, an imagined myth upon finding out that all was not as he had been told.
The most important decisions we make in life are not derived from reason, from weighing the fish, from an evaluation of the pros and cons—but from a simple leap of faith, of love that needs no evidence, apology, or argument.
She decided that it was best to wait until she had brought him back to Pan, where she could seek out healers and wise counselors at the court to help Kinri adjust to his new Dara identity, before asking him many questions.
The more pressing problem was what to do about the Blossom Gang.
Mota’s questions had rattled her deeply. The empress had accused Gin Mazoti of treason to achieve her own political goals, and Zomi, to her lasting regret, had aided in that effort. But at least formally, the empress’s accusation wasn’t baseless. Gin, believing Empress Jia was going down the wrong path, had harbored fugitive rebels against the Throne as evidence against the empress, an action she believed befitting the ideal of mutagé. It was treason on paper, but not in substance.
The Blossom Gang had broken the seal of the Dandelion Throne in order to find out the truth about Gin Mazoti’s trial, a goal they believed to be in harmony with mutagé. By threatening them with accusations of treason in order to get them to comply with her own wishes, was she merely repeating what the empress had done?
She believed her goal was grand, was right. But did that justify suppressing truth for power, for adopting the methods of the Lyucu—at least in form—to press the Blossoms into service?
She thought about Théra’s parting words, asking her to help Phyro be the steward of Dara; she thought about Phyro’s request, asking for her help to build up an army to free the people of Unredeemed Dara; she thought about Empress Jia’s stern reminder that Zomi had taken an oath to serve the holder of the Seal of Dara; she thought about Luan Zyaji’s instruction to her, the first time she thought he was going to die: Sometimes you must do the right thing even if it hurts you. Actions reify ideals.
Did mutagé mean loyalty to the wishes of whoever held the Seal of Dara, or did it mean something more?
For years, she had done as the empress demanded of her, believing that Jia was trying to do the right thing for Dara. But what if she was wrong? What if Phyro’s private army was the only hope for Dara? Empress Jia had been wrong once before; she could be wrong again. She had always tried to work within the elaborate system of bureaucracy set up by Jia, to follow the rules, but what if there was no way to achieve what was right unless she was willing to cut the strings, to no longer soar as a kite, but to dive freely as one of Luan’s mechanical Mingén falcons?
Gin Mazoti had harbored fugitives because it was mutagé; she had refused to confess to treason because it was mutagé; she had ultimately accepted the judgment of treason to protect the Throne and took up arms to fight for Dara despite her stained name, also because it was mutagé.
Could she do any less?
After you have reasoned through the thicket, you must still rely on the compass of the passion-pumped heart. Once you have worked out all the odds, you still have to toss the dice, to take that leap of faith.
Doubt subsided in her heart. She knew what she must do.
* * *
It was a sunny morning a week later. A large caravan sat on the road out of Last Bite, ready to bring Zomi Kidosu and Princess Fara back to Pan.
Usually, for a trip this long, Zomi would have opted for an airship. But for this occasion, Zomi had loads of interesting goods to haul and a secret destination she wanted to detour to before returning to Pan. Travel by land was the best choice, and so Aya Mazoti, who had disembarked in Ginpen after her anti-pirate raids, had been summoned to provide escort.
The carts were packed with prototypes, models, and drawings of the Blossom Gang’s inventions. A similar set had been left at Last Bite, while most of the rest would be brought back to Pan, where scholars at the Imperial Academy would examine them and elucidate their principles. Zomi was very excited about their potential.
But a small subset of the plans and models would never make it to Pan. Zomi was going to make a special trip to the Wisoti Mountains, taking the Blossom Gang with her.
Zomi had finally divulged to the gang an astonishing secret: Emperor Monadétu, long absent from the veiled throne, had been preparing for an invasion of Unredeemed Dara.
“I intend to help the emperor in whichever way I can,” said Zomi. “And the first step is to bring him people of talent. There will be no examinations, no abstract essays, no grand titles and impressive salaries. You will not be part of the system. All I can promise you is a great deal of hard work and endless danger.”
“Danger?” asked Arona, confused. “You’re not expecting us to fight the Lyucu ourselves, are you?”
“Not unless you want to,” said Zomi. She glanced at Mota, who looked ready to pick up a sword right then and there.
“She means that we’ll be treated as traitors to the Throne,” said Widi, “because this invasion, if I understand correctly, isn’t authorized by Empress Jia.” He eyed Zomi warily.
Zomi didn’t deny it. “That is true. Even by suggesting this plan to you, I could be argued to have committed treason. What happened to the Marshal could easily happen to me and to all of you. You must understand the risks.”
“What if we don’t want to?” asked Widi.
“Then you may go on to live your lives of freedom,” said Zomi. “There will be no charges, no threats, no punishment. If you do join the emperor and me, you do so of your own free will.”
The gang looked at one another. Other than Mota, all seemed hesitant.
“You’ve all seen the latest refugee accounts, and some of you have spoken to refugees themselves,” said Zomi. “So you know the truth of what is happening in Unredeemed Dara. The empress, I fear, believes that the peace and prosperity we have in Dara proper is too precious to risk a war, and she will never authorize an invasion, even after the peace treaty expires.”
“How can a private army, not backed by the wealth of the empire, have a chance against the might of the Lyucu?” asked Widi.
“That is why I’m asking for your help. The emperor will not have much in the way of resources or manpower, and he cannot re-create the magnificent fleet that stood against the Lyucu at Zathin Gulf nearly a decade ago. While the Lyucu have grown stronger in the interim, the power the emperor can wield will be much weaker. Yes, he does have a few surprises that I’ll reveal to you when we see him, but they aren’t enough. What he needs are ingenious inventions, power-amplifiers to overcome a far superior foe.”
“Like how the Splendid Urn overcame the Treasure Chest,” muttered Rati Yera.
Zomi nodded. “But there is a graver threat on the horizon. What you do not know—indeed, what very few in Dara know—is that the Wall of Storms will reopen in less than two years, possibly bringing reinforcements for the Lyucu.”
The gang exclaimed in consternation.
“The empress has kept this information extremely secret out of fear of panicking the general public, but she seems to put all her hope in continued appeasement of the Lyucu rather than risking a war. The emperor and I, on the other hand, believe that preparing an invasion force is not only required to rescue the people of Unredeemed Dara, but a matter of Dara’s survival.”
Mota, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. “The Marshal could have stayed in her house, refusing to bear the name of being a traitor, while the Lyucu overran the Islands. We could also remain uninvolved, living as we have been while the darkness descends over Dara. But how can that be a life of freedom? The Marshal chose to walk out of her house, bear the burden of being called a traitor, and take up the sword for Dara. Now that we know the truth of her life, can we do any less?”
“If we must become traitors to save Dara, then so be it,” said Widi.
The rest of the gang nodded.
And so Rati Yera worked for days to repair the broken seals on the scrolls, while her companions retrieved their possessions from Ginpen and bid friends farewell. There would be no trial for treason—not when a far grander scheme was being plotted.
While Zomi was giving her final instructions to Kita Thu, the archon of the Imperial laboratories of Ginpen, the Blossom Gang inspected the carts to be sure their inventions and artifacts were secure.
“Let me get a few men to carry you into your cart, Master Yera,” Kita Thu called out, seeing Rati Yera straining to move her wheeled chair over the uneven ground. Even with the long handles and the gear trains, she had to exert great effort to make any progress. The chair seemed heavier than its appearance.
Rati Yera waved him away. “No, no. Mota will carry me just fine. I prefer his steady hand.” Mota Kiphi came over and easily pushed her chair over a rut as the gang continued their inspection, chatting among themselves.
They were nervous and excited. Zomi had devised roles for each of them suited to their skills, and it promised to be the start of a new grand adventure.
Carts holding the prisoners formed the last part of the caravan. The pirate leaders—both those captured at sea and those caught at the Treasure Chest—were packed into several cage carts guarded by soldiers. Tiphan Huto, looking despondent, had a cage all to himself. Because they were accused of piracy, kidnapping, offering aid and comfort to the Lyucu, and multiple other capital offenses, the prisoners had to be brought back to the capital, where they would be tried by a special tribunal overseen by the Inner Council.
At this moment, Tiphan was rather glad that he was in this cage cart; he really couldn’t imagine facing his furious siblings, cousins, and family elders, who could lose practically everything because of his bad decisions. Much of the clan’s assets had already been frozen. Once he was convicted at trial, most of the Hutos’ businesses and properties, essentially everything Tiphan had touched, would escheat to the state.
“Where’s Kinri?” asked Princess Fara. She was standing next to Aya Mazoti at the head of the procession, waiting impatiently for the caravan to get underway.
“Look at you!” said Aya Mazoti. “You can’t even talk to me for ten minutes without bringing him up.”
“It’s not like that,” said a blushing Fara. “I haven’t seen him all morning, that’s all.”
“Relax, he’s not some child prone to getting lost. I’ll go fetch him—but I warn you, you can’t ride next to him.”
“Why not?”
“I’m supposed to be your chaperone! So I’ll have to sit between the two of you all the way back to Pan—”
“Oh, you’re asking for it now—”
But a giggling Aya had already run away to search the caravan for the boy.
Fara sighed. Ever since returning from the pirate mission, Aya had seemed morose and dejected, as though her experiences at sea had changed her, made her seem more “grown up” but also doubt who she was. She supposed that it was the same way with her—these months spent in Ginpen had shown her much about the lives of the people as well as about her own heart, and she felt like a different person. It was good to have a few moments with Aya where they could be as carefree and silly as they used to be.
Aya returned a little later, looking puzzled. “I can’t find him anywhere.”
Fara, feeling trepidatious, went toward Zomi.
* * *
They found him on top of the bluff, legs dangling over the cliffs that jutted into the waters of Zathin Gulf.
For a moment, Zomi felt as though she had slipped back in time to that day years ago when she and Théra had sat in this same spot, when they had first confessed their feelings for each other. A temporary dizziness seized her, and she swayed unsteadily upon her feet. She looked up at the sun and whispered I love you, hoping that the bright orb, like a mirror, would reflect her message beyond the Wall of Storms, to the edge of the world where her beloved was.
But there are other matters in the here and now, she reminded herself.
He didn’t turn around as the two women approached.
“Kinri,” Fara said, her voice gentle. “It’s time to go.”
At first, he said nothing. A seagull flying overhead cried in the silence as it dove for fish in the distant sea below.
“My name is Savo Ryoto.”
Though the sun continued to shine brightly, Fara seemed to sense a shadow overhead and a cold gust around her heart.
“That may be the name you were given at birth,” said Zomi Kidosu, her voice even, “but that isn’t a name that belongs in Dara. To those who love you, you’re Kinri Kidosu.”
“A sign,” he muttered, gazing out at the sea. “I’ve been looking for a sign from the gods to tell me what to do, but there hasn’t been any.”
“What sign do you need?” asked Zomi. “I stand here, as does Fara. We’re your family. Is the love of a princess and the most powerful minister of these Islands not enough of a sign?”
“There are others who love me. My mother, Goztan Ryoto, Thane of the Five Tribes of the Antler.”
Zomi flinched, and her eyes glowed with hate, but she kept her voice calm. “You were born from an act of dominance, but the sins of your mother do not stain you. You are innocent, as all the children of Dara are.”
“How can you judge her when you don’t know her? She gave me the shell that he had carved as a memento before I went into exile. Can you say she didn’t care for him, or that he didn’t care for her—”
“They were not equals!” Zomi shouted, unable to hold back her rage anymore. “She was the conqueror, and he the enslaved. How can you speak of anything other than injustice and vengeance?”
“In Ukyu, he was the conqueror, and she the enslaved.”
Zomi trembled with fury. “How dare you make such false equivalencies—”
