The veiled throne, p.37
The Veiled Throne, page 37
Zomi and Phyro locked eyes, and while Phyro looked lost, Zomi smiled almost imperceptibly.
By now, the chance that any of the refugees who had spent years in the camps were Lyucu spies was vanishingly small. But other than overcautious camp administrators, there were other difficulties standing in the way of releasing them and integrating them into local communities. Since many of the refugees were natives of old Xana, there was some lingering prejudice against them in the core islands, whose inhabitants had suffered greatly under the Xana Conquest. And once the refugees were released, magistrates and village elders worried about them competing for the wages of local laborers and tenant farmers. The camps thus represented a hot dumpling no official was willing to bite into.
“Absolutely,” said Mapha Ye. “I will work on releasing them from the camps. But… Prime Minister, the children are still minors, err…”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” said Cogo, frowning as though dealing with a difficult puzzle. “It would be most inequitable and contrary to the principles of Moralism to separate children from their parents. It would, in fact, betray the spirit of the empress’s proclamation to free the children while leaving their parents confined, wouldn’t you say?”
“Uh… yes? But—”
“If you think the only solution is to also release the parents to take care of their children, I suppose I would have to agree,” said Cogo. “After all, the parents have been vetted for many years and there are no criminal charges against them. I suppose, in order to carry out the intent of the empress’s Imperial proclamation, we should grant them the same status as their children, to make the paperwork sensible.”
“The parents—” Mapha Ye looked helplessly over at Zomi.
Zomi was fully in sync with Cogo now. “I once advocated keeping the refugees in isolation to catch spies and to gather intelligence on the Lyucu, but after they’ve been living in the camps for a while and we’ve asked them all the questions we can, keeping them there is of diminishing value. I think the Prime Minister’s suggestion is sound and very much in the spirit of the Imperial proclamation.”
“Thank you, Secretary Kidosu,” said Cogo.
Zomi nodded in acknowledgment. Sometimes a stalemate required an unexpected move to be broken. Now that the principle had been established for refugees to be treated as full subjects of the Throne after suitable vetting, the magistrates and clerks no longer had excuses to keep them confined indefinitely. Cogo had managed to correct an error Zomi had committed years ago when she first established the camps.
And he had done so by trapping the empress into acknowledging the status of the children, before she was fully aware of the implications. It was the kind of legalistic maneuvering that Cogo excelled at, and which Zomi was still in the process of learning.
Jia seethed but said nothing.
“But back to the emperor’s proposal,” said Cogo in a meditative tone. “I really have no wisdom to offer. Let’s keep this Ofluro confined and delay the decision on his asylum for as long as we need to reach consensus. After all—”
“You mean we wait until his child is born,” said Jia, who could no longer hold back her irritation. “Let me save you some breath. At that point, by our own proclamation, the baby can no longer be confined, which means that its parents cannot be confined, which makes the question of asylum moot.”
Cogo bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty is always thinking twenty steps ahead of your foolish servant—”
Jia cut him off. “Would it really kill you, Cogo, to speak plainly what is on your mind once in a while?”
Cogo kept his head bowed and said nothing.
The ministers of the Inner Council, sensing that the empress and the Prime Minister had reached consensus, began to heap effusive praise on the Imperial proclamation.
“This is the kind of grand-spirited mercy spoken of by the Ano sages!”
“I’ve always said that we should try to be more empathetic toward the Lyucu who forsake darkness for light—”
“If only Master Zato Ruthi were still alive! He would surely have approved of such a display of Moralist compassion. ‘Heed the teachings of Kon Fiji!’ he always said. ‘Answer our foes’ arrows with more love.’ The empress shows…”
Zomi neither participated in nor listened to this chorus of political theater. She was nodding to herself as she admired the elegance of Cogo’s solution. Asylum for an enemy combatant was an exceptional political act. The way Phyro had presented his case had turned it into a contest of wills between him and Jia, dueling sovereigns.
But Cogo had resolved the crisis by establishing a process by which any refugee from Ukyu-taasa could become a full subject of the Dandelion Throne after suitable vetting. Although the case of Ofluro, a Lyucu defector, was extraordinary, Cogo had managed to subsume it under a general category—parents of minor Dara children—protected by the empress’s own proclamation. In this way, he defused the tension, allowed Jia to maintain control (or at least the appearance of control), while giving the emperor what he wanted.
Zomi looked at Phyro, who seemed bored by all the political maneuvering. She sighed silently. The emperor was indeed not ready.
Jia held up her hands to silence the babbling ministers. “Zomi, you might as well participate in drafting the proclamation, since the camps were established by you. You should include even refugees who do not have minor children—it’s insensible to deny them freedom indefinitely on such a distinction. But make sure you come up with a reliable vetting process.”
“As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Zomi.
Jia continued. “Have Ofluro and his wife interrogated separately to confirm the emperor’s impressions. Also interrogate the other refugees to see if there are any discrepancies in their accounts. If you discover nothing suspicious after suitable vetting, release them from the camp at Boama as free subjects of the Throne. If Phyro convinces them at that point to join him in his riding camp, then so be it. The emperor is in charge of the training of the garinafin force, and he bears the responsibility for his staff, for good or ill.”
Everyone bowed. Phyro threw a grateful glance Zomi’s way. Zomi tried to direct his gaze over to Cogo, but Phyro only looked away contemptuously.
The session of the Inner Council was coming to an end. As everyone got up and filed out, Jia called for Zomi to stay behind.
They waited until the chamber was deserted, save for the two of them.
“When you interrogate the refugees, there is one issue I want you to pay particular attention to,” said Jia. “The number of refugees from Unredeemed Dara has drastically decreased during the last few years. See if you can find out why.”
“I’ve already been looking into this question,” said Zomi. “It’s possible that the Lyucu have gotten much better at capturing escapees.”
“Unlikely, given the experience of this Ofluro. He managed to evade capture with a group of untrained peasants as his crew.”
Zomi nodded. “Then the other possibility is that the number of people seeking to escape has gone down.”
“Which means that the Lyucu are consolidating their control over the population of Rui and Dasu.”
Both were silent for a while. The idea that the Lyucu had managed to secure their foothold in the conquered islands was the worst possibility of all. In earlier years, the constant stream of refugees brought tales of repeated rebellions and brutal repressions by the Lyucu, indicating an insecure regime. But if Tanvanaki had figured out how to work with local elites to control the islands’ population, that meant a far greater danger to Dara in the future.
“If only there were some way to get more information on what’s happening in Kriphi!” Zomi clenched her fists. “Refugees can only tell us so much, not being in the Lyucu Great Tent. And this Ofluro, even if he were willing to cooperate, would not know much, if he was already out of favor with the court of Unredeemed Dara.”
“It may be time for us to do something a little more active….”
The discussion went on for some time, and several times Zomi pushed back against the empress’s demands. In the end, they agreed on a plan, one that would, like so much of the Farsight Secretary’s work, be concealed in shadows.
As Zomi was about to depart the council chamber, Jia called out to her once more.
“I know Théra asked you to help Phyro.”
Zomi stopped, without turning around.
“But you also took an oath to serve the Dandelion Throne when you became an official. That throne is empty at the moment, its nominal occupant too obsessed with vengeance and martial glory to properly shoulder the burden that Théra passed to him. Until he learns what he must learn, I hold the Seal of Dara. You’ll do well to remember that.”
Still looking away, Zomi’s shoulders stiffened. She worked hard to compose her face.
“I’ve not forgotten about the people of Dasu and Rui.” A hint of weariness crept into Jia’s voice, but it was almost immediately banished. “But Phyro’s impatience for war is not the answer. War isn’t a game of zamaki or cüpa. Above all, Dara needs peace.”
After a moment, Zomi nodded reluctantly.
“One last thing. In the future, prepare a single-page summary for the most important points of your reports.”
The empress sipped her tea.
Zomi left.
* * *
Honor and trust.
Like that poor Zato Ruthi, Phyro and the Moralists think softheartedness is honor and naïveté is trust. He may have the courage to start a war, but he has no understanding of what it means, or the resolve to finish it.
Better there be no war at all then.
This is why I can’t tell anyone the truth; this is why I must work alone.
If they knew what I really intend, they’d do everything in their power to stop me. But there is no place for mercy and doubt when you wield the Grace of Kings, not when Kuni sighed on the northern shore of the Liru, and not when I stood on the Moon-Gazing Tower.
* * *
Phyro found Fara at the camera obscura.
“You’re leaving already? I was hoping you could stay a few days this time. Aya and I were going to take you to our favorite new Dasu-style restaurant. And I was going to show you my new play—you always laugh at my jokes.”
Phyro chuckled. “I’ll try to be back for New Year’s. But I’ve accomplished what I came for. There’s a lot to do back at Tiro Cozo.”
“You won’t even stay the night to have dinner with me and Aunt-Mother? I told the kitchen to prepare a special menu I designed.”
Phyro’s face hardened. “A meal with her would be torture. I’d rather eat the mud soup you used to make when you were four—with live worms.”
“But you need to spend time with her! At least act like you respect her. Haven’t you heard the rumors about Gimoto?”
Phyro cocked an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about politics?”
“Do you really think I’m still that little girl who always got left behind when the three of you wanted to go on some adventure?” Fara’s face was flushed. “I may sing and paint and play the zither all day, but I grew up in the palace. I am also a daughter of the House of Dandelion.”
Phyro looked at his little sister with affection and newfound respect. “Don’t worry about Gimoto. I know what I’m doing.”
“No, you don’t!” Fara looked around to be sure they were alone. “Last month, one member of the College of Advocates submitted a report describing all the reasons why a regent may choose to designate a different heir than the one the regent is supposed to help. It was full of specious quotations from Kon Fiji and Poti Maji. There was even a citation to Lügo Crupo, the faithless usurper, as though he were some kind of moral authority.”
“Master Zato Ruthi would be rolling in his grave to see his beloved sages abused so.”
“It’s not a joke! The report was couched as a pure thought experiment, but obviously it was meant to test the waters. And you know what? Instead of lots of responses picking apart the faulty logic and the misuse of authority, there was nothing. No one spoke up. Not even Uncle Cogo.”
“Perhaps no one thought such a silly report was worthy of a response.”
“Don’t play dumb with me. No one responded because you don’t seem to care. You are never in Pan, and Aunt-Mother runs everything without your input—”
“She never cared for my input—”
“You can’t just give up! If you come back to the palace, play the part of the dutiful son, learn how to govern, and slowly build up a web of support at court, she won’t dare to replace you with Gimoto. Don’t you see? Your enemies are trying to tell a story about you, a false story in which you’re the dissolute prince unfit to govern. But you can combat it with a story about who you really are.”
“Let them say whatever they want. I don’t care about stories.”
“No! Stories matter! Father and Aunt-Mother both talked about how being emperor is a lot like being in a play, and good plays tell good stories. Stories are what move people’s hearts, long after all the facts and figures have faded away. You’re the rightful heir, and there’s no better story than the return of the good emperor. There’ll be a swelling tide of support for you if you’d only tap into it instead of butting heads with her in this way.”
Phyro took a deep breath. He stepped back and bowed to his sister. “Ada-tika, I apologize for underestimating you. It’s difficult sometimes for an elder brother to accept that his little sister is grown. Your advice isn’t wrong, but it’s simply not a path that I can follow.”
“You have to—”
“No! How can I think about petty matters like gossiping ministers and tongue-wagging junior advocates when the people of Dasu and Rui are enslaved by the Lyucu? When Théra is out there alone beyond the Wall of Storms, struggling for the very fate of our people? When Timu is a puppet over in Kriphi, bewitched by that barbarian woman? When the murderers responsible for our father’s death are sitting in comfort, growing fat on our tribute? An Emperor of Dara is supposed to fight for his people—”
“But how can you fight if you’re no longer emperor? You have to worry about it.”
“No, you have it backward. Father won his empire by the sword, and it is only through the sword that the empire can be held and the people of Dara saved. That fighting must come first is something Aunt-Mother has never understood. Because she doesn’t have a fighter’s spirit, she despises men and women who do instead of talk. Let her worry about bureaucrats and taxes and coddle musty scholars and cowardly princes. So long as I have the support of the army, I am emperor.”
“Don’t talk like that,” said Fara, shaking her head. “Don’t.”
“She doesn’t understand honor, trust, and loyalty. But that is the foundation of a fighting force, an army that cannot be defeated. Auntie Gin taught me that, and I don’t ever believe she truly rebelled. Our aunt-mother schemes and plots, but in the end, she is nothing before an army with me at its head. Nothing!”
“Stop it!” Fara plugged her ears. “Stop it!”
A discreet cough from behind the rock formation that was “Arulugi.”
The two siblings stopped their conversation. An old woman with snow-white hair walked around the rock formation and approached the shack.
“Auntie Soto!” said Phyro. Soto had been the governess-tutor for him and his siblings, and even after the children were grown, she stayed at the palace as Jia’s friend and confidante. Not knowing how much of the conversation between him and Fara had been overhead, he was flustered. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t stop by to visit you. I was—am—in a hurry—”
“Children go where they will,” Soto said, smiling. “I heard that you were in Pan, but I figured you wouldn’t stay for long. Good thing I found out from the Dyran Fins just now where you were headed in the garden.”
Phyro understood the comment for what it was: a warning that he needed to watch what he said, for the eyes of the empress were everywhere. Impulsively, he went up and embraced Soto tightly, as he used to do when he was little.
Soto patted him gently, also the way she used to do when he was little and needed some comfort after a fight with Timu or after scraping a knee practicing with his sword. But he was so tall now that she could only reach the middle of his back. “I know you’re no longer a child, Hudo-tika, but… for the sake of your dead mother, listen to what I have to say.”
Phyro stepped back and nodded solemnly.
“I’ve known your father, your mother, and your aunt-mother far longer than you,” said Soto. “We’re shaped by our experiences, and there were things Jia went through during Kuni’s wars that changed her.”
“Did my aunt-mother ask you to come to persuade me to be the obedient puppet?” asked Phyro, almost sneering. “The difference between us isn’t personal; it’s about the future of Dara.”
Soto sighed. “I guess I should have expected both of you to be angry with me. She wouldn’t even see me today, knowing that I was going to plead your case. And now you shout at me like you’re berating a maid.”
“Auntie Soto, I’m sorry!” Phyro knelt before her. “I… I shouldn’t have been so disrespectful. I’m listening.”
Soto nodded. “You and Jia… All right, let me focus on your thoughts on war. Your aunt-mother saw what war did to the common people when she was the Hegemon’s captive, from the perspective of someone without the power to fight back, to direct her own fate. She is no coward, but her suspicion of armies and warlords and great lords who proclaim war as an answer must be understood from that point of view.”
Phyro made as if to speak, but Soto held up a hand to silence him.
“You admire my nephew; you admire Gin. Both of them fought for grand ideals. But killing is a terrible thing, and every time you kill someone, a little bit of yourself dies. In our histories, we call those who kill thousands, hundreds of thousands, even millions, great, but they are often little more than hollow shells, walking corpses into which we project our fantasies of what heroism and nobility look like. I know what an obsession with vengeance and heroism did to my nephew; I do not believe that is what your mother would want for you.”
