Zomi bit her lip and decided to take the plunge.
“You’re really going?”
Théra held still for a second, and then turned to Fara. “Will you be all right by yourself for a bit? Zomi and I have some things to discuss.”
Fara nodded absentmindedly, far too absorbed in the storyteller.
Nodding at the disguised guards around them, Théra rose and took Zomi to the tavern keepers’ private residence upstairs, where they could converse just by themselves.
She turned to Zomi and said, simply, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“There is no one else. Fara is far too young, and none of Uncle Kado’s daughters are of marriageable age either.”
“Plenty of political marriages have been arranged with young brides—and not even real princesses, either. You could have asked Empress Jia to adopt another noblewoman and make her into an Imperial princess like Aya Mazoti.”
“This isn’t a political marriage where the bride is just a figurehead. Whoever marries the Agon prince must lead his people with him and stop the Lyucu threat at the root. This alliance is vital for us. The Lyucu now know how to counter our airships, and the only way to defeat them, in the long term, is to possess our own garinafin force—”
“I don’t mean those kinds of reasons!” Zomi’s face flushed. “Do you only think in terms of politics and diplomacy? Do you really think of yourself as only a bargaining chip?”
Théra reached out and grabbed Zomi’s hand. Zomi made as if to pull it out of her grasp before relenting. The two held hands and sat quietly for a while, though their hearts were hardly tranquil.
“Then come with me,” said Théra.
“And watch you wed another?” asked Zomi in disbelief.
“Arrangements can be made,” said Théra. “My own household dealt with such complications—conventions are just that, conventions.”
For a moment, Zomi was tempted, but her rational nature would not allow her to give in: To give up the chance to change Dara as one of the most powerful officials of the Dandelion Court? To give up the chance to seek vengeance for her parents and teacher? To give up the chance to realize her dream of a more fair, more just Dara?
“I can’t,” she said. “No matter how much I want to, I can’t. But why must you give up the throne to pursue a life in some barbaric land?”
“To hand the throne to me was my father’s idea,” said Théra. “But I have never liked to have my life planned out for me. As much as you wish to change the world, so much do I wish the same, but on my own terms with power obtained by my own wits, not handed to me on a platter. You ought to understand that.”
“Perhaps we’re both too ambitious,” said Zomi wistfully, “like Luan Zyaji and the marshal.”
“What we share is special,” said Théra. “There will never be another like you. You hear the voice in my heart when I hum a hesitant tune. You’re the mirror of my soul, Zomi, my wakeful weakness.”
Zomi squeezed her hand in response, too overcome by emotion to speak.
“But our lives should be large enough to contain multitudes of loves,” said Théra. “I have never liked those tales that define an entire life by a romance. Remember Luan Zyaji’s poem?
“Zyaji spoke of many loves in his life, only one of which was romance. He spoke of friendship, of filial devotion, of amour, of grandness of soul, of loving your work—we’re defined by the web of our loves, not one grand romance.”
“But Dara needs you,” said Zomi. “I need you! Don’t go.”
“Dara will be fine with Mother and Phyro in charge, and you and Cogo Yelu to assist them. Father has done much to prepare the soil of Dara to accept a woman as ruler, and his work, though meant for me, will serve Mother well.
“I am a daughter of the House of Dandelion, and it’s my destiny to seek out new lands, to see new sights, to fill my heart with the rhythm and cadence of another people’s hopes and dreams. A wise lady once told me that my flower is the current-riding lotus, just as yours is the fiery Pearl of Fire. You are meant to change the landscape, to pioneer new paths, to challenge what exists with what may be envisioned. And I’m meant to seek a new home far from home, where I may bloom and create a new world. Riding the whale’s way, I will go farther than any dandelion seed; I will lead a revolution.”
“I have never had much patience with the passive mysticism of the Fluxists—”
“Zomi, my love, discerning and accepting the Flow of life is not passivity. I strive to dissolve the sorrows of two peoples.”
After a while, Zomi nodded, but she couldn’t help the tears streaming down her face. “You speak of destiny, yet what is destiny but accumulated chance made into a story in retrospect?”
“Perhaps you’re right. But this is the way I want to tell my story. I love you, Zomi, but this is what I want. Respect that.”
“So this is the end, then?”
Théra shook her head. “Just because we’ll be apart doesn’t mean that our love ends. You and I will both have many other loves, many grand romances and devotions and enlargements of the soul. But this is our first, and it will always be special. No matter how much time passes or how far apart we are, our love will remain true. We’re dyrans streaking past each other in the vast deep, but our shared lightning-flash will illuminate the darkness ahead until we are embraced by the eternal storm.”
Zomi wiped her eyes. “You would have done well in the Grand Examination. You composed beautifully.”
“I’m named the Dissolver of Sorrows for a good reason,” Théra said, her lips curling into a grin. “You look lovely even with tears, like an orchid blossoming after the rain.”
Zomi’s face bloomed and flushed, and she pulled Théra into a passionate, lingering kiss.
“I did pay the tavern owners to be away for the whole evening,” said a panting Théra when she had a chance to catch her breath. “We have this room all to ourselves.”
“You planned this?”
“Maybe.”
And as the storyteller went on with his tale downstairs and the storm raged outside, the brightest thing inside the Three-Legged Jug was the incandescent glow between two bodies and two hearts.
Empress Üna’s decision to depart from Dara was unprecedented, and there were no protocols to guide how it should be handled. In the end, Théra declared that she would designate Phyro as her heir and name him emperor during her absence from Dara. Until she returned to these shores, she would once again be known as Princess Théra.
After the coronation of Emperor Monadétu, formerly known as Prince Phyro, Empress Jia would remain regent, and she announced that the reign name would remain Season of Storms in recognition of the challenges still facing the empire and the fact that Empress Üna was handing over power only temporarily, at least in theory.
An empire-wide celebration was declared. Some of the most joyous celebrants were scholars who had long grumbled about the improprieties of a woman on the Dandelion Throne. For them, all was right again with the world, despite the fact that Rui and Dasu remained occupied, and another Lyucu invasion loomed on the horizon.
Empress Jia invited Consort Risana, the emperor’s mother, to tea.
The empress wiped the porcelain cup, scooped powdered tea into it with a bamboo scoop, and waited until the water was just boiling in the brazier, the bubbles covering the surface like the foam blown out by fish over a quiet corner of the pond. Then she lifted the kettle off the brazier and poured the scalding water into the teacup, flexing her wrist so that the stream of hot water shot out like a concentrated beam of light.