To the side, Théra continued to plant sweet lantern seedlings. Her ears perked up and her hands slowed down at the mention of Zomi’s name.
“I have a solution for that,” said Risana. “When you issue the edict, you can couch it as a request for comments. That way, each of the nobles will be able to offer suggestions and adapt the model for conditions unique in each fief.”
“Good,” said Kuni. “That way, they’ll feel consulted rather than imposed on.”
“And I will write privately to the wives of the most recalcitrant lords. I know what most of them are really afraid of, and by assuring the wives that this policy has nothing to do with the empress, they’ll pass the sentiment on to their husbands.”
Théra knew that both Consort Risana and her mother exercised much of their influence through informal means, and her father depended on them to maintain a web of social ties and unofficial communications to help smooth the running of the empire.
“Thank you,” said Kuni. “You are always so circumspect.”
“It’s enough that you know what I’ve done,” said Risana, and she and Kuni shared a kiss and continued to talk in lowered voices.
It’s too bad that she can’t take credit for her ideas, Théra thought.
“What do you think of Roné, Than Carucono’s nephew?” the empress asked.
Théra and Jia were arranging flowers in the courtyard outside the empress’s private suite. They’d always enjoyed doing this together, ever since Théra was a little girl and brought dandelion puffs to her mother so they could blow on them together.
“He seemed really full of himself,” said Théra. The Carucono family had come into the palace for a visit earlier, and Théra served them tea as they chatted with Jia.
“He’s a firoa who barely missed the cutoff for the Palace Examination,” said Jia. “And Than treats Roné as though he were his own son. He has reasons to be proud.”
Théra scoffed. “I’d be more impressed if he had bolder ideas.” The memory of Zomi Kidosu’s performance at the Palace Examination three years ago came unbidden to her mind. She smiled to herself.
Jia stopped trimming the flower stems to look at her. “Then what do you think of Kita Thu? He certainly set the tone for boldness of presentation.”
It took Théra a few moments to remember who her mother was referring to. “The one who advocated for a return to the Tiro system? He was a joke!”
“There are more than a few in the Islands who support his ideas,” said Jia. “What may seem like a joke to your father doesn’t always appear that way to others.”
“I thought he was without vision,” said Théra stubbornly.
“What of Naroca Huza? The prime minister speaks well of him.”
It finally dawned on Théra that her mother’s tone was not at all casual. Why is she asking about my opinion of these men?
“I am perhaps too young to judge the character of men,” said Théra, now very cautious.
Jia went back to trimming the flowers. “Are you really? Half of the noblewomen your age have already been contracted in marriage.”
“But I don’t even like any of these people!”
“Our choices are limited, and you need to think about the most advantageous way to position yourself for the future. You’re a clever girl, but a suitable alliance is the best way to ensure that your cleverness is not wasted. Do not define your life by romantic notions.”
Théra’s heart pounded. She dared not speak lest she scream. Are these alliances for my sake or for the sake of my brother?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE EMPEROR’S SHADOWS
The small airship drifted over Lake Tututika, which glistened in the sun like an endless mirror. From this height, the small fishing boats appeared as water striders, and even the eagles hunting for fish circled below the ship like small gnats. A dozen palace guards manned the feathered oars, pulling to the beat of a light drum. Inside the gondola, the emperor, the empress, and Consort Risana sat around a small table, snacking on sugared lotus seeds and drinking hot green tea. It was rare for the Imperial family to find the leisure to enjoy a spring day together, away from the concerns and intrigue of the palace.
“Phyro is begging to visit Gin again,” said Risana.
Jia said nothing as she methodically wiped the porcelain teacups with a white cloth.
“That boy has always liked the company of generals more than books,” said Kuni. He chuckled. “I can understand that.”
“In a time of peace, books are more important than swords,” said Jia, as she carefully deposited powdered tea into the cups with a bamboo scoop.
“Phyro grows restless,” said Risana. “He complains that Master Ruthi’s lessons, while valuable, are not teaching him what he needs to know.”
Kuni closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in the fragrance of the powdered tea. “There is only so much you can learn from books. No book could have prepared me for being emperor, and I doubt my children would be any different.”
This was as close as Kuni ever got to acknowledging the awkwardness of his lack of a plan of succession. Risana glanced over at Jia, but Jia seemed to be concentrating only on the brazier over the hot coals.
Risana bit her lip and decided that she had to risk it. “It’s best for both princes to learn the art of administration.” She kept her eyes on Jia as she continued, “Phyro can help Timu as an adviser when the day comes for Timu to take over.” She hoped that she had done enough to assure Jia, whose moods she had always found hard to read.
Jia 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 three teacups, flexing her wrist so that the stream of hot water shot out like a concentrated beam of light, dipping into the cups in quick succession.
“The princes do need practice to understand how to drive the carriage of state,” said Jia. “Please, have a taste. Lady Fina’s parents sent this from Faça.”
Risana sipped the tea. “It is excellent. Honored Big Sister, your skill at bringing out the best qualities of each variety of tea is unparalleled.”
Jia smiled in acknowledgment. “Kuni, you’re not the eldest in your family, and yet it is you, not your brother, who has become Emperor of Dara. We should not be tied to the idea of primogeniture. The prince who is most suited to rule should ascend the throne.”
Risana almost felt pity for Jia. It must have taken Jia every ounce of strength to acknowledge her weakness. Kuni had come to power with the aid of men (and women) who were more at home in a saddle than in a court, and almost all of them found Risana the more sympathetic queen and Phyro the better future heir. And although Kuni had never explicitly broached the idea of designating Phyro as the crown prince, anyone who had eyes could see how Kuni favored the younger boy.
With her last statement, Jia was practically conceding the struggle at this point.
“You are truly an extraordinary woman,” said Risana, determined to be gracious in victory. “I am humbled by your grandness of spirit.”
Jia sighed inwardly. The awkwardness between Kuni and Timu was a complicated matter that many thought was rooted in the prolonged separation between father and son during the Timu’s earliest years, when Jia and the children had been the Hegemon’s hostages. By the time father and son were reunited, Timu had become more attached to Jia’s lover, Otho Krin, than his father. Timu’s formal demeanor and timid nature in the following years had not helped things.