“Is he morose that he has to leave Pan and go so far away?”
“Not at all. He’s very excited. He wants to be able to do more research in the archives there to fill in some gaps in the history of the Chrysanthemum-Dandelion War, especially about Queen Gin’s role early on.”
Théra saw that Timu was sitting straighter on the back of his horse, and he was talking more animatedly than usual. The prospect of being on his own, away from a father he couldn’t ever seem to please, seemed to invigorate him.
“What about you, Hudo-tika?”
“Uncle Rin and I have already planned out several traps for the traitors!” Phyro rubbed his hands in glee.
Théra grinned. “Tunoa is a rough land. Are you sure you’re going to be okay with no thousand-layer cake for dessert every night?”
“Do you still think I’m Fara’s age?” Phyro looked wounded. “I’m going to catch fish for myself just like the Hegemon once did! Tunoa is full of history; it’s the birthplace of generations of the marshals of Cocru. I’ll be strolling through the ruins of ancient castles and communing with the ghosts of grand heroes. What can be sweeter than sleeping upon a bed of grass on the slope of a storied hill after a day of hard marching, a canopy of stars over my head?”
“You kind of butchered that quote from Ra Oji,” said Théra, laughing. “Ra Oji was talking about death being a natural consequence of the flow of life, and he didn’t want an elaborate funeral—”
“I get to interpret Ra Oji’s words however I want,” declared Phyro. “The words are dead, but I am alive.”
Théra smiled and said no more. Phyro really was a lot like their father in many ways. She just hoped that he would learn to govern his impulses better as he grew up.
Looking at her happy brothers, Théra felt the pangs of another bout of envy. They were going to go into the wide world and experience life. Still mere boys, they would make decisions that changed the lives of the people—albeit with some supervision and advice from Zato Ruthi and Rin Coda. They were starting down the path to a life of accomplishment, of judgment and rule. She, on the other hand, was going to be cooped up in the palace, preparing for the only future that she could see: a marriage to some mysterious man.
But she was assuaged by the thought that she had taken a small step to change that future.
“Father, what of your other shadows? Do they not deserve a chance as well?”
“What would you like, Rata-tika?”
Dust motes had danced in the slanted sunbeams in her father’s private study, as chaotic as her thoughts.
“Do not contract either Ada-tika or me in marriage without our assent. Will you promise that?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Not even if Mother tells you to?”
He had looked at her as though assessing a student at the Palace Examination. “No, not even if your mother says so.”
She had sighed with relief. Then she added, “Don’t assign a new tutor for us after Master Ruthi leaves. I will teach Ada-tika myself, and I want to study what I like.”
It was only a small step, but it was the start of finding out who she was besides the dutiful daughter, the loving sister, the polite princess, or the conscientious student.
“Look, a wild goose!” shouted Fara. She stood up in the carriage to point with her hand. Théra moved closer to the carriage in case she fell.
But Timu and Phyro had already ridden ahead. While Timu shaded his eyes to gaze up at the flight of the wild goose and muttered something about the weather patterns, Phyro took the bow off his shoulder and notched an arrow.
“Don’t!” Théra cried out, but it was too late.
Though he was strong for his age, Phyro still lacked the strength to draw the bow fully. The arrow fell harmlessly short of the wild goose. But the palace guards, to please the prince, had all stopped and shot their arrows in a barrage, and the wild goose, with a pitiful cry, fell from the sky.
“This is almost the same as if I had shot it myself,” said Phyro.
The palace guards cheered in assent.
“Poor goose,” said Fara.
“Yes, poor goose,” said Théra.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LETTERS FROM CHILDREN
Dearest Mama,
I was surprised to hear from your last letter that you were thinking of leaving Dasu for an extended period of time to visit relatives in Rui. Is the house I built for you not satisfactory? Are the maids not doing good work? Reading between the lines, I suspect that the neighbors are jealous of your daughter’s success and have made you uncomfortable. Do not let them spoil your enjoyment! The queen pays me well, and I wish to make your life better, as I promised.
Sorry I haven’t written in so long. It’s not much of an excuse, but I’ve been busy because work is going very well. I’m given a lot of responsibility, and the queen, I think, trusts me more with each passing day. Right now I’m working on a pet project whereby I try to teach the daughters of the farming families of Géjira the zyndari letters and have them read the Ano Classics in vernacular translation, without forcing them to learn the Ano logograms. They love it! There is so much beauty in Classical Ano literature, but so few get to enjoy it because they cannot read the logograms. Already the girls are writing beautiful stories full of Classical Ano allusions—and other than the fact that they’re in vernacular translation, I think they’re better than the stories written by the boys their age in the private academies.
Oh, this will amuse you. I’ve taken to peppering my reports to the queen and the other ministers with fake Classical Ano allusions translated from folk sayings you used to lecture me with. Here are a couple of examples:
Crudigada ma joda gathéralucaü rofi, crudigada wi joda giratha, üü ingro ça fidagén.
That’s “Nothing good ever comes from bothering the gods when they don’t wish to be bothered.”
Méüdin co daükiri ma géngoa co üri kiri né othu.
That’s “Every day in the lives of the common man is a day of battle.”
I know you can’t get the full effect because I’m only sketching the logograms with shorthand instead of sculpting them with wax, but trust me, they’re lovely to look at.
The best part is that not a single minister has recognized them for what they are! They all act as if they know exactly which Moralist treatise or religious scroll I’m quoting from, even though these are not real Classical Ano quotes at all. They’re so afraid of being seen as not learned that they’d rather nod their heads and sigh and tell me what a great allusion I’ve made.
The queen, though, looks at me funny when she runs into one of them. I think she sees through my little jokes (and enjoys them, hopefully).
Do take care of yourself, and please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.
