“No, perhaps not. But… so far you’ve been speaking of talents. What of a father’s heart?”
Luan took a deep breath. “There is a natural affection between you and Prince Phyro, which is lamentably absent between you and Prince Timu.”
Kuni winced but did not look away. “The gods keep an accounting of our errors and mistakes, and sooner or later we are asked to pay. I was absent from Timu’s life for much of his childhood, and things have always been awkward between us. But is it right to deprive the firstborn of his natural inheritance for choices he did not make?”
“Guilt is not the best way to pick an heir.”
“I know that!” Kuni took a deep breath to calm himself down. “But I am not a scale made of insensate ironwood; I cannot ignore my own feelings. Risana stayed by my side throughout the war years, and Phyro grew up in my lap. Yet without Jia’s sacrifices as a hostage of the Hegemon, the House of Dandelion would not be on the throne today. I owe her too much.”
“Then the empress was wise to have chosen to step off the airship in Zudi that day.”
“Who knows how much of her choice was made from love, and how much from calculation for a day just like this?” Kuni said, and heaved another sigh. “I do not want to see brothers take up arms against each other, or my wives locked in a deadly war of succession. They each have the support of a faction of the court, and it is all I can do to keep my choice hidden.”
The way Kuni said brothers gave Luan pause. Once more, he reviewed what he had seen and heard, and suddenly he understood what Kuni was really saying.
“Rénga, you’re indeed a lord of capacious mind!” said Luan.
Kuni looked at him, an eager expression on his face. “What do you think of the solution?”
“It will take time,” said Luan cautiously. His mind was still reeling from the revelation of Kuni’s true plans. A crown princess, not a crown prince.
“A very long time. That is the true aim of the Golden Carp: As long as Gin is an exception, my choice of heir will never be accepted by the College of Advocates or the nobles and ministers. Only when those qualified to enter the Grand Audience Hall are as likely to wear a dress as a robe will it be possible for Théra to ascend to the Throne of Dara.”
Though Luan had already figured out Kuni’s plan, it was still a shock to hear the name of Kuni’s true chosen heir spoken aloud. Luan imagined the angry protests from the College of Advocates and the denunciations from the Moralist scholars. It had no doubt taken a great deal of effort for Kuni to convince the court to tolerate attendance by the empress and Consort Risana due to their long service as his advisers. But to persuade them to accept a woman as the empress regnant would require a revolution—or a change in the composition of the court.
“I was especially pleased to see your student at the examination today,” said Kuni. “It’s as if you’ve found a golden carp for me without even being asked.”
“How… did you know she was my student?”
Kuni quirked a brow at him. “You and I have had many debates over the years, and I saw echoes of your style in her rhetoric, though she is entirely original. She is bold and brash like a newborn calf who knows no fear of a pack of wolves; her ideas are so radical that they cannot be implemented—at least not yet.”
Luan was reminded once again how people had always underestimated Kuni—including even sometimes himself.
“She will learn humility in time,” said Luan. “Raw iron must be refined by the crucible of experience to become steel.”
“If the young do not have radical ideas, the world will never change,” said Kuni—and Luan was reminded of the legend of a young Kuni Garu who had gazed upon the face of Mapidéré and saw his eventual downfall. “Each fresh wave coming to land from the sea is brash, bold, radical, and wild like a newborn idea; the wave is worn down by the unyielding reality of the hard land and eventually dissipates, exhausted, to be replaced by the next wave in an apparently futile endeavor. Yet the cumulative efforts of such successive surges, over generations and eons, carved the coastline of Dara. Like me, she will learn the art of the possible; I’m patient.”
“Sometimes I think you’re a kite rider in time,” said Luan. “Your visions are so far beyond the horizon of the present.”
“It is the only way, Luan,” continued Kuni. “Of all my children, Théra is the only one who has the judgment, the instinct for politics and theater, to grasp the helm of the empire. She gets along well with both her brothers, and with her ascent, she’ll be able to find ways to moderate their rivalry and find ways for both of them to help her, something that neither of the boys can do on their own.
“Yet in order for her to be accepted, I must play the long game, and subtly pave the way for her ascent while keeping everyone in the dark. What’s more, I must ensure that she has no obvious base for power until the moment is ripe. Phyro and Risana have the generals while Timu and Jia have the scholars, but if I encourage Théra to build up a power base of her own, it will only lead to even more intense factional fighting at the court. Only by keeping her apparently powerless could I ultimately help her take over the reins.”
“Why haven’t you confided in the empress?” asked Luan. “Surely she would be as supportive of a bid by her daughter as her son?”
Kuni shook his head. “She will not tolerate the risks involved in such a radical change; besides, she’s proud, and will not give up her own chosen path.”
“Has the court become so divided that you and she can no longer see with one mind?”
“We never have been of one mind,” said Kuni. “Oh, do not mistake me. The love between us has not faded, but to love someone does not mean giving up your own will. You underestimate Jia. She believes that stability is more important than anything else, and my plan requires a revolution that—if not carefully managed—may plunge the empire into civil war. Besides, she has thrown her lot in with the scholars and promoted their interests for years, and she is too proud and certain to gamble away all she has built on my impossible dream.”
“A most interesting dream,” said Luan, and the two shared a smile, thinking of deeds of daring in the past.
“Interesting enough to tempt you back?” asked Kuni.
Luan shook his head. “Your goal is admirable, Lord Garu, but I would rather brave the wild seas than the politics of the court.”
“Do you really think my palace is more deadly than the realm of capricious Tazu?”
“I know my talents as well as their limits.”
Kuni sighed. “I had to try.”
“I wish you success with every fiber of my being.”
“I have to be in control long enough to see the seeds I plant germinate and blossom—in some ways, the older I grow, the more I become sympathetic to Mapidéré, who also begged the gods for more time. So I keep myself in good health with Jia’s herbs that regulate the humors, and vigorous exercise.” Kuni picked up the buckets for another trip back to the stream. “As long as I can keep things from spilling over, I think I have a chance of preparing Dara to weather the wall of storms.”
And so the emperor and his adviser continued to labor in the farm in the middle of the Imperial palace, nourishing an old friendship and new sprouts.
“Rin!” the empress called out from the work shed.
“Ah!” A surprised Rin jumped up from the patch of Rufizo’s fingers—an herb whose leaves could be smoked to relieve pain as well as to induce a sense of euphoria. “How did you know—er, yes, I’m here!” Quickly, he stuffed the leaves he had collected into his sleeves, brushed the dirt and grass off his robe, adjusted his hat, and walked into the shed confidently, prepared to deny everything.