Oddly, Zomi was touched. The woman who sat across from her was nothing like she had expected.
“Of course, my situation is much simpler,” said the empress. “I may not be able to discharge the duties of a daughter by serving at their side, but I can send them whatever I like: treasure, a musician who I think they’ll find pleasing, or an airship to bring them a team of Imperial cooks to make authentic Dasu meals for their birthdays.”
She grinned at Zomi, who laughed as she imagined the sight of an airship being dispatched to shuttle a surprise birthday celebration to aged parents. Then she looked wistful.
The empress turned somber as she continued, “But I imagine it is much more difficult to provide a better life for your mother on the small salary of a member of the College of Advocates. The emperor wants to run the college as a lean organization, but your colleagues either come from much better off families or have other ways to supplement their income.”
The empress’s sympathetic tone broke down Zomi’s last shred of guardedness. The stipend paid to the College of Advocates was meager, and life in Pan was expensive. Though she scrimped and saved every copper piece, she had not been able to send much money back home to her mother.
Moreover, she refused to play the games that her colleagues engaged in. Other advocates in the college often visited the expensive restaurants and opera houses of Pan in the company of ministers whose policy proposals they were supposed to critique; sometimes they left carrying discreetly wrapped packages under their arms, a satisfied smile on their faces. This was how one became friends with the powerful and received favorable promotions. Zomi understood that as she watched her colleagues being promoted away from the college into policy positions, one after another, but she could not bring herself to join them. She was too disgusted.
“The emperor believes in rewarding those of talent, and so do I. I think I may have a solution to your problem.”
“I fear that this foolish advocate may not be up to the task Your Imperial Majesty has in mind,” Zomi said.
“Queen Gin wrote to the emperor asking for a prime adviser. I recommended you.”
Zomi looked at the empress, utterly amazed. Becoming prime adviser to an important noble like Queen Gin was akin to becoming prime minister to a Tiro king of old. Such officials had great powers, and she was sure to be able to get some of her ideas implemented—a far preferable change to writing ineffective critiques of other people’s ideas. And out of all the nobles, she admired Queen Gin the most. Furthermore, since the queen had recommended her to the examination, it seemed that her secret would be safest if she served Gin.
It also didn’t hurt that such a promotion would come with a massive increase in her salary. Finally, she might be able to carry out her promise to her mother.
But it was strange for the empress to take such an interest in a noble’s affairs. By all accounts, the empress was dedicated to reducing the powers of the nobles. In fact, last year, Zomi Kidosu had critiqued the empress’s proposal—ultimately carried out—of reducing Imperial funding for the nobles’ armies in order to divert more funds into civil infrastructure projects. She had actually been in favor of the proposal, but it was the job of the advocates to poke holes in every policy suggestion regardless of personal feelings.
While Zomi was still reeling from the revelation, the empress continued, “Despite the rumors, I value highly the vital role played by the independent fiefs as places of policy experiment. Queen Gin is an able warrior, but… she lacks finesse in civil administration. Your help would be much appreciated. Besides, she is likely to trust you implicitly because you’re Luan Zya’s student.”
It didn’t surprise Zomi that the empress knew who her teacher was—the emperor had guessed, after all. She nodded at Jia’s discreet reference to the relationship between her teacher and the queen.
Though what Jia said made sense, Zomi couldn’t help but feel that the empress had something else in mind. She might not be skilled in politics, but she knew that such a favor usually came with a price.
“Do you have any special instructions for me?” she probed. The discord between the queen and the empress was an open secret. If Jia wanted her to betray Queen Gin in some way, she had to find a way to turn down the post.
“Only one: that you do what is right for Dara, no matter the consequences,” said Jia.
Zomi looked at her questioningly.
“Prince Phyro is clever but inexperienced,” said Jia. “Duke Coda is skilled at his work but is likely to be overzealous. I’m afraid that while pacifying Tunoa, the two might harm the innocent in a way that the emperor might come to regret. Not all criticism of the emperor is treason, and if the prince and the duke press men and women of talent who hold a different opinion too severely, they’ll need a refuge in Dara.”
Zomi thought over the empress’s words. They also made sense. Her performance at the Palace Examination and her strident critiques at the College of Advocates had already established her reputation for being brash. An argument from her to protect dissenters would seem natural—indeed, she smiled as she remembered the Three-Legged Jug.
“You do not intend to eliminate the fiefs?” she ventured. “I confess that I thought—”
“You can’t trust everything you hear,” said Jia. “I have always wanted only what is best for Dara. An open mind is open to persuasion, and your advocacy of more independence for the fiefs is very persuasive.”
Zomi blushed, pleased that her petitions had been read by the empress and found compelling. Maybe I haven’t been wasting my time after all.
She knelt up in mipa rari and bowed deeply to touch her forehead to the ground. “Empress, you are truly in possession of a capacious mind.”
Jia gestured for her to rise. “One more thing: Never reveal this conversation to anyone else.”
Zomi looked up, a question in her eyes.
“The scholars grumble when the wives of the emperor interfere in the affairs of state,” Jia said, a light, bitter smile on her face. “We must minimize the extent to which my role is visible. Such is the plight of women who have not risen through the ranks by merit, as you have.”
Zomi nodded and bowed again. “I swear that I will never reveal the confidences you have entrusted to me.”
They finished the flask of wine, and Zomi left, a spring in her steps.
“Ah, vanity,” whispered the empress, long after Zomi was too far away to hear her.
For hours Théra locked herself in her room, tears of humiliation flowing down her face.
She had admired Zomi Kidosu from afar for years, living vicariously through her, imagining adventures that Zomi got to have that she couldn’t. To have the woman talk to her the way she had shattered into a million pieces the illusion she had built up inside her head of a kind, wise, caring friend.
Something Zomi said echoed in Théra’s mind and refused to fade: Perhaps it is because you have not tried to live as yourself at all.
The young princes and princesses decided to go for a ride in the spring air. Fara rode in a carriage while Timu, Théra, and Phyro took horses. Two dozen palace guards surrounded them, and carriages and pedestrians respectfully moved to the sides of the road as they approached.
“Have you thought about what you’ll do in Dasu?” Théra asked Timu.
“I’ll probably start by visiting the places that were important to the start of the emperor’s rise: the entrance to the Grand Tunnels, the false shipyard that fooled Kindo Marana, the beach where he used to sing with Aunt Risana, and so on. Then I’ll try to devise a way to fund schools to help young people like Zomi, and consult with Master Ruthi as needed.”