By rank, Prime Minister Cogo Yelu was the foremost among all the ministers and governors, and that meant that he usually sat closest to the throne. But today, the man closest to the throne was Luan Zya, who was dressed in a water-silk robe decorated with tiny remoras. Although he had no duties at the court and held no official position—in fact, he rarely visited Pan—Cogo had insisted that his old friend be given the position of honor as Emperor Ragin’s most trusted adviser.
To the emperor’s right, on the east side of the audience hall, the column of generals and enfeoffed nobles knelt, also in formal mipa rari. In contrast to the ministers and governors, these individuals, who obtained their positions mainly through wartime service, were dressed in ceremonial armor made of lacquered wood and wore decorative swords on their belts made of coral, perfumed paper, or fine porcelain. After all, other than the palace guards, no one was allowed to bring a functioning weapon into the palace, much less the Grand Audience Hall.
Queen Gin of Géjira, Marshal of Dara, leader of all the emperor’s armed forces, sat conspicuously at the head of the column of generals and nobles. Next to her was Kado Garu, the emperor’s brother, who looked ill at ease in the ceremonial armor that seemed too tight on his bloated body. Beyond him were the other men who had fought with the emperor during the rebellion and the Chrysanthemum-Dandelion War: Duke Théca Kimo of Arulugi; Marquess Puma Yemu of Porin; Mün Çakri, First General of the Infantry; Than Carucono, First General of the Cavalry and First Admiral of the Navy…
The two hierarchies were harmoniously woven together into a balanced whole. And above them, spouses and assistants of the Lords of Dara sat on balconies, where they would be able to observe the Palace Examination but have no right to speak.
Gin Mazoti looked across the audience hall at Luan Zya and smiled.
She did not notice the slight frown on Empress Jia’s face as she glanced over at the nobles, her gaze lingering for a moment on Gin’s steel sword, prominently worn on her waist, the only chilly reminder of death in the otherwise harmonious hall.
The formality and order of the Imperial court was a far cry from the relaxed atmosphere that had prevailed at Kuni’s camp during the war years or the wild celebrations that had marked the empire’s early days, when Kuni’s followers had behaved more like friends than subordinates. As most of Kuni’s retinue had humble backgrounds, their uncouth manners often shocked the old nobles of the Seven States and those who had followed the Hegemon.
At Kuni’s coronation, for example, many of his old companions drank from bowls instead of the ritually correct flagons; grabbed food with their hands instead of using the correct eating sticks—one stick for dumplings and pot stickers; two for noodles and rice; three for fish and fruit and meat so that one could use two of them in one hand to hold the food while dividing it into smaller pieces with the last—and after they became inebriated, got up and danced with eating sticks and serving spoons as though they were swords, banging them loudly against the columns of the new palace.
Contemptuous whispers and titters among the old nobles and learned scholars grew in the capital, and so Cogo Yelu recommended that the emperor appoint a new Master of Rituals, explaining to Kuni that codes of courtly behavior, though tedious, were necessary now that the Islands were at peace.
“As Kon Fiji said, ‘Proper rituals channel proper thoughts,’ ” said Cogo.
“So we’re going to listen to Kon Fiji again?” asked Kuni. “I never liked him, even as a boy.”
“Different philosophers are appropriate for different times,” said a conciliatory Cogo. “The manners of a camp on the battlefield are not always the right etiquette for a court at peace. As the Ano sages said, Adi co cacru co pihua ki tuthiüri lothu cruben ma dicaro co cacru ki yegagilu acrutacaféthéta cathacaü crudogithédagén. The cruben who breaches freely in open sea may need to float gently in a harbor filled with many fishing boats.”
“You could have just quoted the old village saying: ‘Howl when you see a wolf, scratch your head when you see a monkey.’ That’s much more vivid than your flowery Classical Ano quotation—and you don’t have to translate for me. I did pay some attention in Master Loing’s class, you know.”
Rin Coda, who had known Kuni longer than anyone, and Jia, who was used to Kuni’s preference for the speech of the ordinary people, burst out in laughter. Cogo chuckled, his cheeks turning a shade of maroon.
Who should fill the new position of Master of Rituals? After more discussion, Cogo suggested Zato Ruthi.
“The deposed King of Rima?” asked the incredulous Kuni. “Gin did not like him at all.”
“He is also the most renowned contemporary Moralist philosopher,” said Cogo. “Rather than leaving him in his forest cabin, where he’s penning angry tracts denouncing you, it might be better to make use of his reputation and knowledge.”
“This will also send a signal to the scholars that you’re ready to start a new era, when the book will be valued more than the sword,” agreed Jia. “I know you like spearing two fish with one thrust.”
Kuni was not sure about this, but he always listened to counsel.
“A fusty old book might not be fun to read, but it’s good for propping a door open,” mused Kuni. The order was given to summon Zato Ruthi into Imperial service.
Zato Ruthi was pleased with his elevation: Coming up with the protocols for the new Imperial court, to him, seemed a task far more important than mere minutiae like running an army or devising tax policies, the sort of tasks better relegated to people like Gin Mazoti—whom he grudgingly accepted as a colleague—and Cogo Yelu. After all, the Imperial courtly protocols would be the model of proper behavior for lesser courts and the learned, who would be exemplars for the masses. In this way, he had a chance to sculpt the soul of the people of Dara in accordance with Moralist ideals.
He threw himself into his task with gusto. He consulted ancient histories and the etiquette manuals of every old Tiro state; he collected all the Classical Ano lyrical fragments describing the golden age before it became corrupted; he drafted voluminous notes and drew detailed plans.
When he finally presented his ideas to the emperor, Kuni thought he was back in Master Loing’s classroom again. Ruthi’s protocol manual was a scroll whose length stretched halfway down the Grand Audience Hall.
“Master Ruthi,” Kuni said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice, “you have to create something that my generals can learn. This is so complicated that I can’t even keep all the ritual phrases and ceremonial walks and seating arrangements and numbers of bows straight.”
“You haven’t even tried, Rénga!”
“I thank you greatly for your diligence. But why don’t I take a stab at simplifying this?”
When Kuni presented his simplified plan—now a scroll only as long as he was tall—to Zato Ruthi, the latter almost fainted from the shock.