“Uh… I didn’t really… um…”
Kuni frowned.
Jia sighed inwardly. Her son had always been proper and kind, but lacked the wit to sense when he needed to play along with a story line. She was about to speak when Risana cut in.
“I’m sure that as the firstborn, Prince Timu felt that he had to find the best gift to express his regrets. But you didn’t see anything in the markets that would suit the high regard and honor of your esteemed teacher, did you?”
Ruthi looked at Timu, who nodded with a flushed face.
Risana went on. “So you decided that you have to express your sentiments with a well-written essay later tonight.”
Since Risana was known for her ability to intuit the true feelings of those around her, the children had always been more forthright with her than with their other parents. Ruthi was convinced.
“The sentiments were proper and your hearts were in the right place,” said Ruthi to the children, sounding more like a grandfather than the Imperial Tutor.
“All credit is due to your diligent teaching, of course,” said Jia. “I’m glad we cleared up this terrible misunderstanding.”
“However, since they’ve made you so angry,” said Kuni, putting on a severe mien, “more punishment is in order. The three of them should be made to clean the latrines with the servants for a week, I think.”
The children looked dejected.
“But Rénga,” said a horrified Ruthi. “That seems far out of proportion compared to their offense. This all started because the children were bored while studying Kon Fiji’s Morality. I think the essays I assigned were punishment enough, and everything else that happened later was just a series of misunderstandings.”
“What?” asked Kuni, incredulity straining his voice. “Bored by the One True Sage? That is even worse! Two weeks of latrine duty! Three!”
Ruthi bowed and kept his head lowered. “It is understandable that Kon Fiji’s abstract precepts would feel too dense to them. The princes and princesses are so intelligent that I sometimes forget that they’re still young and spirited, and it is at least in part my fault for pushing too hard. A teacher who demands too much from his charges is like a farmer yanking up the seedlings, hoping thereby to help them grow while achieving the opposite. If you’re going to punish them, then please also punish me.”
The three children looked at each other, and all three fell to their knees and bowed to Ruthi, touching their foreheads to the floor. “Master, it is our fault. We’re truly sorry and will try to do better.”
Kuni reached out and lifted Ruthi by the shoulders until he was standing straight again. “You need not reproach yourself, Master Ruthi. I and the mothers of the children are grateful for the care you’ve devoted to teaching them. I leave their punishment entirely in your hands then.”
Slowly, accompanied by the children, Zato Ruthi headed for his suite back in the family quarters of the palace, his vow of going home to Rima forgotten.
“Oh, Master Ruthi, did you know that the Hegemon yearned for understanding?” Phyro asked as he skipped next to his teacher.
“What are you talking about?”
“We listened to this really great storyteller in—”
“In the markets”—interrupted Théra before Phyro could ruin the hard-earned peace by mentioning the pub—“as we were passing through.”
“In the markets, yes,” said Phyro. “He was telling us all about the Hegemon and King Mocri and Lady Mira. Teacher, will you tell us more stories about them? You must know a lot about what happened then, just like Auntie Soto, and those stories are much more exciting than… um, Kon Fiji.”
“Well, what I know is history, not fairy tales told by your governess, but maybe there is a way to incorporate more history into your lessons if you’re so interested….”
Kuni, Jia, and Risana listened as the voices—Phyro chatting and giggling, Ruthi patiently explaining—faded down the corridor, relieved that another family crisis had been averted. Having the Imperial Tutor resign over “unteachable” princes and princesses would have been quite a scandal, especially coming during the month of the Grand Examination, a celebration of scholarship.
“My apologies, Rénga,” said Captain Dafiro Miro. “I should have kept a closer eye on the children and not allowed them to sneak out of the palace without protection. This lapse in security is unforgivable.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Risana. “It’s hard enough watching regular children. With them, it’s ten times worse. I know you feel you’re constrained in what you can do because they’re your lords, but I give you permission to drag Phyro back by his ear if he tries something like this again that puts their safety at risk.”
“I give you permission too, with Timu and Théra,” said Jia. “They’re certainly getting out of hand, and now I’m wondering if they’re even taking the herbs I prescribed them each morning—the recipe is supposed to make them a bit more contemplative and less wild!”
Kuni laughed. “Let’s not treat spirited children as though they’re in need of medicine! Is it really so bad to have them wander the markets without a bunch of guards and servants by their sides? How else can they learn about the lives of the common people? That was how I grew up.”
“But the times are no longer the same,” said Jia. “Their status as your children makes them vulnerable to those who would wish you ill. You really shouldn’t be so indulgent with their antics.”
Kuni nodded in acknowledgment. “Still,” he added, “Phyro’s antics remind me a lot of myself.”
Risana smiled.
A momentary frown flickered across Jia’s face, but soon it was again as placid and regal as before.
“Ada-tika is very upset to have been left behind,” said Phyro as he came into Théra’s room and slid the door closed behind himself. “I gave her all the candied monkeyberries I had and she still threw a tantrum. Auntie Soto is telling her a story now, so we have some time to ourselves.”
“I’ll try to think of some adventure next time that will include her,” said Théra.
“I’ll go read her a book later tonight,” said Timu.
Ada-tika, whose formal name was Princess Fara, was Kuni’s youngest daughter. As her mother, Consort Fina, had died early, all the other children tried to be extra solicitous of her.
Consort Fina had been a princess from the House of Faça. Kuni Garu had married her to reassure the old nobles of Faça, as that realm had been one of the last to be conquered by the army of Dasu and there were no important figures in Kuni’s closest group of advisers and generals from Faça. It was planned as the first of a series of political marriages for the new emperor. However, Fina had died giving birth to Fara, and Kuni had stopped any further discussions of political marriages, arguing that it was a sign that the gods did not favor such unions.
“There’s not much time left before dinner if we want to help Zomi,” said Phyro.
“I know,” said Théra. “I’m thinking.” She chewed on her nail as she turned the problem over in her head.
Inspired by the courage of the cashima—and, though this wasn’t said, also out of a sense of gratitude for her vigorous defense of the honor of their father, the emperor—the children had promised to help Zomi get into the Examination Hall despite the loss of her pass. Zomi had thanked them for their concern, but she clearly had not taken seriously the promise of three children in a pub—even if they sounded like they came from a wealthy family. She gave them the address of her hostel only reluctantly and emphasized that she didn’t have time to play games.