Ken Liu - The Wall of Storms

“I’m named the Dissolver of Sorrows for a good reason,” Théra said, her lips curling into a grin. “You look lovely even with tears, like an orchid blossoming after the rain.”

Zomi’s face bloomed and flushed, and she pulled Théra into a passionate, lingering kiss.

“I did pay the tavern owners to be away for the whole evening,” said a panting Théra when she had a chance to catch her breath. “We have this room all to ourselves.”

“You planned this?”

“Maybe.”

And as the storyteller went on with his tale downstairs and the storm raged outside, the brightest thing inside the Three-Legged Jug was the incandescent glow between two bodies and two hearts.

Empress Üna’s decision to depart from Dara was unprecedented, and there were no protocols to guide how it should be handled. In the end, Théra declared that she would designate Phyro as her heir and name him emperor during her absence from Dara. Until she returned to these shores, she would once again be known as Princess Théra.

After the coronation of Emperor Monadétu, formerly known as Prince Phyro, Empress Jia would remain regent, and she announced that the reign name would remain Season of Storms in recognition of the challenges still facing the empire and the fact that Empress Üna was handing over power only temporarily, at least in theory.

An empire-wide celebration was declared. Some of the most joyous celebrants were scholars who had long grumbled about the improprieties of a woman on the Dandelion Throne. For them, all was right again with the world, despite the fact that Rui and Dasu remained occupied, and another Lyucu invasion loomed on the horizon.

Empress Jia invited Consort Risana, the emperor’s mother, to tea.

The empress wiped the porcelain cup, scooped powdered tea into it with a bamboo scoop, and waited until the water was just boiling in the brazier, the bubbles covering the surface like the foam blown out by fish over a quiet corner of the pond. Then she lifted the kettle off the brazier and poured the scalding water into the teacup, flexing her wrist so that the stream of hot water shot out like a concentrated beam of light.

But there was only one cup.

Risana quaked like a leaf in the wind.

“Why?” she asked.

Jia knelt up in formal mipa rari . “The emperor is young and brash, and he lacks Théra’s political acumen. He yearns for martial glory and vengeance against the Lyucu, but the garinafin force will not be ready for another decade. We must not go to war until we can be assured of victory. He needs a firm and steady hand to restrain his impulses.”

“You are that hand. I will never challenge your position as regent, Big Sister. I have not once attended formal court since the death of Kuni, and I will continue to refrain from all politics.”

Jia shook her head, her face sad but resolute. “Then you’re asking me to drink from this cup.”

“I’m doing no such thing!”

“There cannot be two behind the throne who are perceived as the source of authority. Though Phyro has always respected me, I can’t compete with a mother’s love.

“Even if you do as you promise, there will be those tempted to use your name as a rallying flag. Dara has a turbulent voyage ahead of her—to keep the peace with the Lyucu until we’re ready to go to war again, I will have to implement policies that may be deeply unpopular and offend the powerful. They’ll come to you with tearful pleas and sweet enticements to soften your heart; they’ll whisper in the emperor’s ears that I am hungry for power and that he is his own man; they’ll beguile you into supporting his need for independence and seduce him into looking at you for guidance instead of me.

“If you won’t drink this, then it will be better for the people of Dara that I do. There will be less strife if there is only a single voice behind the throne, even if that voice isn’t mine.”

“You speak of hypotheticals,” muttered Risana. “You speak of dangers that may come instead of the love and faith that are .”

“I cannot count on love and faith,” said Jia. “Those are luxuries not permitted to those responsible for the fate of millions. What we need are systems and rules to channel the flow of power, but until they’re built, I must wield power myself.”

“Perhaps you’re simply in love with the idea of power,” said Risana. “And it is Power that wields you.”

“That is no doubt what some will say. They’ll claim that I’m jealous of the way Kuni favored you in his later years; they’ll claim that I want to arrogate to myself the authority that belongs to others; they’ll call me shrill and ambitious and paint me as a harpy. But what is my reputation compared to the lives of the people of Dara? I’m content to do what is right and let others think what they will.”

Risana sat still and shook her head.

Jia sighed and nodded. “I ask only that you remember what I said and do all you can to help Phyro do the right thing for the people instead of for his vanity.”

She picked up the cup and placed the rim against her opened lips; she tilted the cup—

Risana slapped it out of her hand; the tea spilled across the floor.

“You were really going to do it,” Risana said, incredulous.

Jia composed herself and gave her a bitter smile. “For the good of Dara, I was willing to watch my lover executed for my plots; I was willing to order my husband killed to achieve victory; and I’m willing to go to war against my son regardless of his safety. Love makes people do strange things, and I love these islands and the people who live in them. What is my life compared to the lives of all the people of Dara? Could you have made any of these decisions?”

Risana shook her head, trembling even more.

“The grace of kings does not glitter like precious gold or shine like gentle jade,” said Jia. “It’s forged from iron and blood.”

Gradually, Risana stopped shaking. She sat up in mipa rari . “Big Sister, not until now have I understood you. You’re a worthy Empress of Dara.”

She bowed in jiri , and Jia returned in kind.

“Poison will require too many lies,” said Risana. “It will also taint the trust Phyro has for you—though you do not care about trust, he does.”

Jia nodded in acknowledgment.

“I will climb the Moon-Gazing Tower at midnight and leap from it,” continued Risana, her voice steady and calm. “It will look like an accident.”

Knee-walking, she retrieved the fallen teacup from the floor and wiped up the spilled tea with her sleeves before returning to the table, carefully setting the cup down next to the brazier. She smiled wryly at Jia. “We should take care to make the staging perfect—a broken support for the balustrade, a pool of spilled water near where I stand—such details are important in a performance.”

Jia bowed to her again. “You will be given the title Empress of Dara posthumously. I will ensure that the court historians honor your name in the annals of Dara.”

“Do spend more time with Phyro when I’m gone,” said Risana. “He may have grown up fast, but every boy misses his mother. Your presence will be a comfort to him.”

“I promise,” said Jia.

In her private bedchamber, Risana dismissed all her servants and maids, locked the door, and sat down on the sitting mat in the middle of the room.