Ken Liu - The Grace of Kings

Kiji spoke up for the first time. “Little Sister, Kikomi loved Amu as much as Jizu loved Rima or my Namen loved Xana. My heart weeps for her. Will you drink with me?” He lifted his flagon at her. “To the grace of kings, which fit her better than any crown or mortal tribute.”

After a moment, Tututika nodded, and the two drank.

Then Kiji said, “Too many have died who loved their land as much as Kikomi, Jizu, and Namen.”

Fithowéo and Kana were surprised at this. Of all the gods, Kiji should have been the most angry at how things turned out. The Xana Empire was no more.

But Kiji continued, “Time moves in cycles. The people of Dara were one when they arrived in these Islands, before they divided into the Tiro states. But even then they were of different appearances, indicating that the Ano had been coalesced from many tribes. All the Islands of Dara are now one again, and people may come to love all of Dara as much as they loved their Tiro states. We did promise our mother that we would be the gods of all of Dara.”

The gods considered this, and the scowls on Fithowéo’s and Kana’s faces relaxed.

“If the mortals already believe that we have reconciled, we might as well make it a reality. As long as the people of Xana are treated fairly, I’ll speak no more of war. But if Kuni should turn out to be other than what he claims to be, I’ll not stand by.”

“Nor will I,” said Fithowéo.

“Nor will any of us,” said Rapa and Kana, together.

And the gods drank and ate and conversed of happier things, and they agreed to retire to Arulugi, the Beautiful Island, as Tututika’s guests for a few days.

As they left, Lutho and Rapa stayed a little behind the others.

“I noticed that you never spoke while everyone made speeches,” said Rapa.

“I had nothing useful to say,” said Lutho, smiling.

Rapa lowered her voice, “My tricky brother, suggesting that dance with the pawi was a good idea. But how did you know that the mortals would ‘misinterpret’ it just the way we wanted?”

“I didn’t. There was a chance that they could have interpreted it exactly the way you described it today. The mortals are never predictable, that’s what makes working with them so hard.” He paused and then added, “And so much fun.”

“You took a gamble?”

“I prefer to speak of a calculated risk. Pure gambles are more Tazu’s thing.”

“I think you have spent too much time observing a certain bandit-king.”

The voices of the gods faded, and a passing breeze carried some dandelion seeds into the sky over the valley.

All of Kuni’s most important advisers and generals were invited to gather in Zudi. The coronation of the new emperor was to occur in a few more weeks. But for now, there was nothing to do but to enjoy the sights of a world at peace and to catch up with old friends.

Rumors spread that Cogo Yelu was building a large estate for himself in Rui. It was so luxurious and extensive that it seemed certain Cogo had been skimming from the Dasu treasury to afford it.

Kuni frowned. Dasu relied on Cogo, now perhaps more than ever. His quick wit in guiding the public opinion after the hegemon’s body disappeared was a particular stroke of genius. Sometimes he wondered if Cogo grew impatient with merely advising him… in any event, he certainly couldn’t afford to have Cogo become complacent.

Kuni invited Cogo to tea.

“We’ve worked hard to win the hearts of the people,” said Kuni. “But let’s not lose them carelessly now that success has been achieved.”

Cogo immediately apologized and begged forgiveness, but he didn’t say what he was apologizing for.

Kuni laughed. “I’m not angry at you, Cogo. I understand that if the water is too clear, we will have no fish. A certain amount of privilege is allowed to those who hold power. But let’s keep it reasonable, all right?”

Cogo thanked his lord and seemed to leave in such a state of anxiety that he didn’t even finish his tea.

The people whispered to one another what a great lord Kuni Garu was.

As Luan Zya strolled through the streets of Ginpen, he watched and listened: Young scholars earnestly debated philosophy in bars; mothers window-shopped with babies strapped to their backs, chanting the times table or the simpler Ano Classics; the great doors of long-shuttered private academies were open, revealing servants sweeping and washing the floors of lecture halls to prepare them for new students.

He arrived at the site of his ancestral estate. The ruins remained undisturbed, but he saw that wildflowers were blooming in the nooks and crannies of the fallen stones: dandelion, butter-and-eggs, fireweed, columbine, chicory….

He knelt among the broken stones, and the bright sun warmed his face. He closed his eyes and listened, and all around him was the sound of peace.

Then, he went to the Great Temple to Lutho. Stepping through the Great Hall and avoiding the throngs of worshippers, he made his way to the small courtyard behind the temple. There, he looked around and saw that there was a large yellowish rock leaning against one of the trees. It resembled a turtle in its shell.

He knelt down.

“Teacher, I’ve come because I think my task is done.”

He waited patiently, hoping for the old fisherman who had given him Gitré Üthu , the book of knowledge, to return. But as the sun set and the moon rose, no one showed up.

He felt a stirring in the bundle on his back. He opened the cloth and took out the magical tome. The pages fluttered open by themselves, filled with notes and diagrams he had recorded over the years, a trail of the peregrinations of his mind. Then the book stopped on the first blank page.

A line of glowing word-squares appeared: When the cruben breaches, the sensible remora detaches; when the task is done, the wise servant withdraws.

Luan sat in the darkness for a long time before bowing down to touch his forehead to the ground in front of the book. “Thank you, Teacher.”

Another line of text appeared: You’ve always known everything in this book; I just had to point them out.

Then the glowing letters faded, and though Luan Zya waited until the sun rose, nothing more appeared on the empty page.

After visiting the grave of the old dockmaster in the nearby countryside, Queen Gin came to Dimushi.

She stayed in the finest inn in Dimushi with Luan Zya as her guest. They did not emerge from their bedroom for a few days.

One morning, the two decided to take a ride outside the city walls. Gin wrapped herself in a comfortable dress instead of her royal robes, and Luan wore a plain blue scholar’s tunic instead of his formal court garb. The two looked like a pair of lovers out for a spring stroll rather than a queen and Dara’s prime strategist. They let the reins hang loose and allowed the horses to wander where they would, taking delight in the bright sunlight and warm breeze.

“Have you thought about what’s next for you, Gin?” Luan Zya asked.

“Kuni has said that he wants to make me Queen of Géjira after the coronation. Géjira would be far richer than Rima and Faça. It’s a good reward.”

When there was no response from Luan, Gin turned and saw that his brows were furrowed.