Risana opened her mouth to scream, but Jia went on, “The palace guards have blocked off all entrances to the private quarters. No one will hear you and no one is coming.”
Risana stared at her, a bitter smile on her face. “I was going to leave with my son. We would hide in the most obscure valley and never emerge to bother you. I would have used smokecraft to disguise ourselves.”
Jia shook her head. “You weave a romantic vision that will fool only yourself. No matter how much smoke you wrap around yourselves, the ambitious will find you and turn you into a symbol of rebellion. Phyro would never be content to live and die in obscurity when he knows he is the rightful heir to the throne. He may listen to you today, but will you be able to stop him from coming to challenge me in ten years? Meanwhile, you will have denied him the opportunity to learn how to wield power responsibly from the only one who can teach him. You will have prevented him from growing into a man who can face down Timu and Vadyu and save Dara from the looming darkness.”
Risana lowered her head. “I am not like you. I cannot think as you do.”
“I know. I wanted you to see the path for yourself, and you came so close to transcending your fears, so close.” There was pity and compassion in Jia’s voice. “That is why I have come to steel your resolve and make sure you fulfill the role that you’re meant to take on, to weave a masterpiece of smokecraft that will save your son and Dara.
“The moon is particularly lovely tonight. Shall we go to the tower?”
Flickering light from a single candle; two women kneeling across from each other in a room away from prying ears.
“Let them call me a villain, so long as the lives of the people are better with me than without.”
“You have a flair for grand gestures, Jia, believing that they will redeem all the messy, bloody ruins left in your path. But redemption is but a mirage so long as you persist in your methods.”
“Have I finally lost you, Soto? Will you plunge Dara into civil strife?”
“For the sake of the people, I will keep your secret for now. But if you do not give up the reins of power when Phyro is ready, I swear by the Twins that I will proclaim the truth to every corner of Dara.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
PARTING OF THE LOTUS SEED
Tanvanaki had come to him and asked him to choose a new reign name for himself. After all, he was supposed to be the Emperor of Dara.
It was one of the few things on which she bothered to ask for his opinion.
In truth, he knew he shouldn’t be resentful. Tanvanaki had her hands full. The death of Pékyu Tenryo had created a temporary power vacuum, and several prominent thanes had made moves to challenge Tanvanaki’s leadership. With a combination of guile and murder, she had barely managed to hold them off, and the other thanes had finally acquiesced to her claim as the successor to Pékyu Tenryo only after the tribute paid by Dara and the discovery of tolyusa in Dara. These were not matters in which his knowledge of the Ano Classics could help her.
And now, as he held his newborn son, he felt lost. At twenty years of age, he was barely more than a child himself. The idea that this new life depended on him, much like the fragile new union between the Lyucu and Dara, overwhelmed him.
Tanvanaki had named the boy Todyu Roatan—she did not care for the Dara custom of waiting until the age of reason to formally name a child—but Timu had taken to calling him Dyu-tika, and the servants, most of them Dara slaves, had followed his lead. He was pleased. It was a way in which he could feel himself making a difference, small though it was.
But with the peace now in place between Lyucu-occupied Dara and the rest of the islands, there was a chance for him to do more. His skills had always been more useful in peace than war. Tanvanaki would need his help to set up a system in which the natives of Rui and Dasu could live in harmony with their conquerors, and he would do his utmost to show his dead father that he had been right.
Dyu-tika mewed in his arms, and Timu soothed him with gentle cooing noises. As the baby balled his tiny fists next to his delicate chin, a powerful surge of love suffused Timu’s body. Dyu-tika was but one of the many babies like him born during the last year and this on the islands of Rui and Dasu, products of the union between the Lyucu and the natives—however painful and violent and terrible the origins of their lives, the babies were innocent. They belonged to these islands and had a claim to these shores.
Freedom required treading new paths, required audacious leaps of faith. He was going to cast his shadow down the pages of history.
“Come,” he said, summoning the scribes of his tiny court. “I have decided on a new reign name: Audacious Freedom.”
Emperor Monadétu came to the docks of Ginpen to say farewell in person.
“Big Sister—” The young emperor was so overcome with emotion that he couldn’t continue.
“Hudo-tika,” Théra had embraced him and whispered into his ear, “don’t mar this happy occasion by contradicting my name. You’re acting like I’m about to be sacrificed when in fact I’m going off to be a bride and the queen of a new people.”
“I’ve lost my mother, and now I’m going to lose you. My sorrow is undissolvable.”
“You’re the emperor now, Rénga. The people look to you and expect to see hope. They need you to assure them that this alliance is the answer to the Lyucu threat. There is no moment when you’re not onstage; you must not let your heart show on your face.”
“I’m not like Father! I’m not like you! I was angry at first when he picked you instead of me, but now I know he was right. Timu doesn’t know how to do this, and neither do I.”
“Do not let what Father or I did confine your choices. I know you will plot your own course. Did you know that Father designed his crown with dangling cowrie strands so that he could veil his face as he struggled with doubt? None of us is born knowing how to wear a mask; we grow into them.”
As the auspicious hour for the departure of the fleet approached, the musicians on the dock began to play: sweet silk-stringed coconut lutes, effervescent bamboo flutes, upbeat wooden rhythm sticks, lively stone echo bowls, buoyant clay ocarinas, perky gourd maracas, cheerful leather singing bellows, and—by Princess Théra’s request—the majestic ringing of bronze moaphya. All the instrument families were represented, as though all the gods were here to celebrate with the mortals.
Théra pulled her brother into a warm embrace and whispered again. The loud music made it impossible for anyone else to overhear. “Mother has a vision for Dara that is seductive and perhaps even right, but she has a tendency to resort to methods that poison the results. You must learn from her, but when the time comes, you must also be ready to confront her.”
“Know when to do the most interesting thing, is that it?” the emperor asked.
“Exactly.”
Emperor Monadétu gave his sister a last powerful squeeze with his arms before stepping back, his face now impassive. “May the gods speed your journey and bring you success in a new land, Princess of Dara.”
Princess Théra turned around and walked up the gangplank to join Prince Takval, having taken her last step on the soil of Dara. She did not look back lest her tears give the lie to her name.