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A new voice boomed into the scene. “Oh, Master Ruthi, how you wrong the children! My heart breaks to see them so misunderstood.”

Ruthi and Jia turned to find the speaker. Coming down the corridor from the other direction was a middle-aged man whose well-cut robe could not quite disguise his beer belly. Wearing a sad expression, he was surrounded by a retinue of his own courtiers and guards: Kuni Garu, now known by the court name of Ragin, Emperor of Dara.

Thank you, Jia mouthed at Dafiro Miro, Captain of the Palace Guards, who was walking at the head of the emperor’s retinue and nodded back in silent acknowledgment. Miro had run away to find the emperor as soon as Zato Ruthi started shouting at the empty rooms belonging to Prince Timu, Prince Phyro, and Princess Théra.

Even in his rage, Zato Ruthi couldn’t quite ignore the rules of courtly decorum. He bowed deeply. “Rénga. I apologize for losing my temper, but it is clear that I have lost the children’s respect.”

The emperor shook his head like a rattle drum. “No, no, no!” He wrung his hands dramatically to show his distress. “Oh, this reminds me so much of my youth, when I studied under Master Tumo Loing. Why is it that the Garu children are always cursed with being misjudged?”

“What do you mean?” Ruthi asked.

“You have completely misunderstood the couplet composed by my sons and daughters,” said the emperor.

“I have?”

“Absolutely. A father knows his children best. The three of them were clearly ashamed by their behavior—whatever it was they did—”

“They made up a silly story about Kon Fiji being tricked by a folk opera troupe instead of practicing—”

“Right! Terrible, just terrible! And so they realized that they had to apologize to you.”

Ruthi’s face went through a complicated series of contortions as he struggled to phrase the question in respectable language. “How is painting this note on my back an apology?”

“You see, they’re comparing themselves to cows, dumb beasts who don’t understand the beauty of the music played to them. And what they’re saying is, to paraphrase a bit, ‘Master, we’re truly sorry that we have made you angry. We would like to take up the heavy plow under your guidance and labor in the fields of knowledge.’ ”

Led by Captain Dafiro Miro, the gathered courtiers and ladies-in-waiting nodded vigorously in appreciation and chimed in to support the emperor like a chorus of twittering birds.

“Such humble princes!”

“The princesses are truly contrite!”

“I have never, ever heard a more heartfelt note of contrition!”

“Where’s the court historian? He must record this tale of the dyran-wise teacher and falcon-brilliant students!”

“Don’t forget the emperor as cruben-astute interpreter!”

Kuni impatiently gestured for them to be silent. The attendants meant well, but there was such a thing as too much support.

Jia tried to maintain a straight face. She was recalling the time of their courtship, during which Kuni’s unorthodox interpretations of Lurusén had played an important role.

As Ruthi pondered the emperor’s words, his face seemed to relax a bit. “Then why did they write this secretly on the back of my robe? I think it happened when Phyro offered to give me a back massage while I continued to lecture the others on rhetoric. That is hardly how you offer a sincere apology.”

“As Lügo Crupo once said, ‘Words and actions must be read under the guiding light of intent.’ ” Kuni sighed. “Perspective is everything. My children were trying to enact the Moralist maxim that a sincere apology must come from the heart and not be done for mere show. Apologizing to you right after your angry lecture would hardly show much sincerity. By writing this on the back of your robe, they were hoping you’d see it when you changed for the night and could perceive their true meaning in a moment of quiet contemplation.”

“But why have they run away instead of working on their essays in their rooms, as I told them to?”

“That is… er…” The emperor seemed to have trouble fitting this piece into the tale he was weaving, but just then the actual culprits arrived: Risana, Imperial Consort, proceeded down the corridor with the three truants in tow.

“Lady Soto and Chatelain Krin caught them trying to sneak back into their rooms,” said a smiling Risana. “They were disguised as commoners, and no doubt that was why the guards sent into the city to look for them couldn’t locate them right away. Soto and Otho brought them to me, and I’ve told them how much trouble they’re in, so now they’re here to explain themselves.” She bowed to the emperor and empress in deep jiri.

“Da!” shouted Phyro, and he ran up to the emperor and hugged his legs.

“Father,” said Théra, grinning as if nothing was wrong. “Have I got a story for you!”

“Rénga.” Timu bowed deeply, touching his palms to the ground. “Your loyal but foolish child stands at service.”

Kuni nodded at Théra and Timu, and gently but firmly pried Phyro off his legs. “I’ve been explaining your clumsy apology to Master Ruthi, who’s very angry.”

Timu looked confused. “What—”

“Yes, your apology.” Kuni cut him off and looked at Théra and Phyro severely. The three conversed for a moment with their eyes.

“Oh, yes… that was my idea,” said Phyro. “I felt so bad after Master Ruthi yelled at us that I had to do something to make it right.”

“I thought that looked like your chicken scratch,” said Kuni. “And then you decided to run away, no doubt out of shame, am I right?”

That was my idea,” said Théra. “I thought we should show how sorry we were with action, not just words. So I suggested that we get some presents for Master Ruthi before we wrote our punishment essays.” Keeping her head bowed, she walked up to Zato Ruthi and presented a pair of small plates to him. “I bought these plates from a merchant, who said they were made in Na Thion, your hometown.”

“But those are meant as receipts for the prom—” Timu held his tongue as Théra glared at him.

Théra stole a glance at Kuni, and father and daughter exchanged almost undetectable smiles.

Ruthi examined the plates and shook his head. “These look like they’re from some cheap tavern—look, there’s even a painted sign here for the illiterate. Is this a three-legged kunikin? And what are these numbers written on the back?”

“Oh no!” Théra gave a cry of shock, and her face fell. “I did think they looked a bit too coarse, but the merchant made it sound so convincing! He told me the numbers represent the kiln and the artist.”

“That’s ridiculous! You have to be careful out there in the markets, Théra. They’re full of swindlers.” Ruthi might be scolding, but his voice was kind. “Still, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Phyro. He patted his robe and retrieved a half-empty bag of sugar-roasted peanuts from a sleeve. “I got these for you because I know you like peanuts.” Then he looked embarrassed. “But they smelled so good that I couldn’t help but try a few….”

“That’s all right,” said a mollified Ruthi. “It’s hard for a young boy to resist temptation. When I was your age, I spent all my allowance on candied monkeyberries… but Phyro, you must learn better self-control over time. You’re a prince, not a street urchin.” He turned to Timu, his best student. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young man?”