The Grace of Kings (38 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KIKOMI

ÇARUZA: THE NINTH MONTH IN THE FOURTH YEAR OF THE REIGN OF RIGHTEOUS FORCE.

While the army prepared to set out for Wolf's Paw, Çaruza was consumed with gossip about Princess Kikomi.

The glamorous princess was often seen in the company of young General Mata Zyndu. The two made a striking couple: Mata was like Fithowéo come to life, and Kikomi was as beautiful as any vision of Tututika. There was no better match that could be conceived.

Mata did not consider himself a man of fine sensibilities, but Kikomi caused his heart to flutter and his breath to quicken in ways that he had always thought existed only in old poems. Looking into her eyes, he thought time stopped, and he longed to sit all day just watching her.

But it was listening to her that Mata most enjoyed. Kikomi spoke in such a low voice that he often had to lean in to hear her, and he could then breathe in her flowery scent—tropical, lush, luxurious. She seemed to caress him with her voice: lingering on his face, combing through his hair, stepping gently through his heart.

She spoke of her childhood on Arulugi, of the contradictions of growing up as a princess who had been deprived of her realm.

She had been brought up in the family of a loyal retainer of her grandfather, and though she longed to think of herself as a wealthy merchant's daughter, just like her adopted sisters, she was taught that she had to remember the duties that came with her royal blood.

The people of Amu still thought of her as their princess, even if she no longer had a throne or palace. She led the dances at the great festivals, reassured the nobles who commiserated with her about their lost glory, and went to the fine schools of Müning with her brothers and sisters, where she read the Ano Classics and learned to sing and play the coconut lute. She wore the title of princess like an old senti­mental cloak, too shabby to keep her warm, but too dear to shed.

Then came the rebellion, and overnight she came to live the life she had only encountered in fairy tales. Ministers bowed before her, and men with lowered eyes carried her into the palace at Müning, and all the old rituals and ceremonies became real again. An invisible wall rose up around her. Being Princess Kikomi was a great privilege, but it was also a great burden.

Mata understood that weight, the weight of privilege and obli­gation, of lost ancient glory and fresh, heavy expectation. This was an experience that someone like Kuni Garu, who was not born noble, who had not been deprived of his birthright, could not possibly understand. For Mata, Kuni was like a brother, but Princess Kikomi could
see
into his heart. He could not imagine feeling any closer to another person, not even Phin.

“You are like me,” she said. “All your life, others have told you how you should be, given you an image to strive for. But have you ever thought about what you wanted? Just you, simple Mata, not the last son of the Zyndus?”

“Not until now,” he said.

He shook his head and woke from this dreamlike state he often fell into in the presence of Kikomi. He was a believer in propriety, and he wanted to honor his pure intentions. He would bring her to meet his uncle, the Duke of Tunoa and Marshal of Cocru, and secure his blessing, and then he would approach King Ponadomu to ask for her hand.

Kikomi stood up from a deep
jiri
and watched as Mata's figure disappeared down the hall.

She closed the door and leaned against it, her face falling into an expression of deep grief. She mourned her freedom, mourned the loss of her self.

How foolish of Captain Cano Tho, thinking that his bravery had engineered her and King Ponadomu's “miraculous” escape.

I made a deal.

What pained her most was that she did like Mata, liked his awkward, stiff demeanor; his sincere, unadorned speech; his open face that could not hide how he felt. She even saw his faults in a for­giving light: his hot temper, his fragile pride, his overweening sense of honor—with time, these could be tempered into aspects of true nobility.

Can you not see through my painted smiles? Can you not see through my false devotion?

She did not know the art of seduction well—had always scorned it, in fact, and she had moved too fast with Kindo Marana. But now, now she was succeeding so well. The cause was so obvious that she tried to deny it whenever it surfaced in her mind: Perhaps she wasn't feigning it at all. That made what she was doing so much worse.

She clenched her fists, and her nails dug into her flesh. She thought of Amu in flames, of Müning being put to the sword.

She could not lay bare her heart to Mata.

I made a deal.

Phin Zyndu had always thought of women as diversions. He would bed a servant girl now and then to sate his urges, but he did not permit them to distract him from his real task: restoring the honor of the Zyndu Clan and the glory of Cocru.

But this woman was different, this Princess Kikomi, who came in the company of his nephew.

She was strong, like a young jujube tree. Though he commanded twenty thousand men, and even King Thufi deferred to him on all military matters, she was not cowed by him. She was a princess without a land, and yet she behaved as if she were his equal.

She did not ask for his protection with her eyes or attitude, the way so many women seemed to. This only made him feel even more protective of her. He yearned to reach out and pull her into his embrace.

She spoke of her admiration of him and of her sorrow at the sacrifices made by the young men of Arulugi. So many noblewomen in Phin's experience were silly creatures, their minds confined to the walls of their boudoirs and the schedule of balls and parties. But the princess cried genuine tears for the men who died, each alone, in the dark waters of the Amu Strait. She understood what moved men who went to the battlefield to seek glory, but whose dying thoughts always turned to mothers and wives, daughters and sisters. She was worthy, indeed, of the men who died for her.

And she was beautiful, so beautiful.

Kikomi smiled demurely.

Inside, she wanted to scream.

The marshal simply assumed that she wanted and needed to be protected, had been surprised to hear her speak of Amu's naval defeat with knowledge and sense. She noted how Phin had condescendingly praised her education, had chuckled when she expressed wonder at Çaruza's library. He had not paid much attention when she spoke of the suffering and hardship of the women who worked the docks of Müningtozu to prepare the ships for war, but his eyes had lit up when she turned the conversation to the sailors on those ships.

He had truly meant to pay her a compliment when he told her how different she was from “those silly young noblewomen,” had truly believed that she would be flattered to be thought extra­ordinary from her sex.

It was men like him who had made her into a symbol, had put her into this impossible position.

But, in a way, that made the task easy. She knew exactly what she needed to say and do, and she even enjoyed the challenge of playing the role of his ideal: She was worthy only insofar as she oriented herself to men, like a sunflower adoring the sun.

I made a deal.

What was the meaning of those glances between Kikomi and Phin? Mata thought. What was the meaning of the way she lowered her head, and the way he reached out to touch her shoulder? Was that how an uncle greeted the intended of his nephew?

Somehow all three of them skirted around the purpose of the meeting. It was confusing. Nothing concrete or improper was spoken, and yet too much seemed to have been said.

Was it right that he was feeling this way for a woman so much younger? Phin thought. Was it proper that he was preempting the claim of his nephew? He had always treated Mata as a son, and yet, now he felt jealous of him, of his youth, of his strength, of his unjust claim on
her
.

But Kikomi had given him permission to feel this way about her, had she not? Those looks, those sighs—they spoke volumes.

He could tell she appreciated his maturity, the steadiness of feeling brought on by the accumulation of years. Mata was young and impulsive, and he was infatuated with her, like a puppy. But she could see through it. She wanted a love more manly, more lasting and real.