A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

‘How much of it was a lie?’

The voice came from her mouth, but now it belonged to a stranger – Noziken pa Dumai, Princess of Seiiki, firstborn child of Emperor Jorodu, descendant of Snow Maiden.

She sat with her mother and the Grand Empress. They were screened away in her quarters, where lamps flickered, casting long shadows.

‘I will ask a simpler question,’ Dumai said to Unora, who had not answered. ‘Where are you really from?’

Unora looked drained.

‘Afa Province,’ she said. ‘My mother died when I was only a year old, of an affliction caused by thirst. Her death inspired my father to change things. He left me with a relative, walked all the way to the capital, and passed the examination to become a scholar, starting work at court. After four years, his request to serve as Governor of Afa was granted.’

‘A man of no standing, raised to such a post?’

‘The nobles don’t want to be sent to the dust provinces,’ the Grand Empress explained. ‘You should have heard them whimper in horror when I packed them off to places like Afa.’ She drank a little wine. ‘Usually, I would never have appointed a man of common birth, but Saguresi was passionate and clever, and I thought it might shame the nobles who lived in fear of shouldering the same responsibility he sought. I gave him a chance, and he went straight back, this time with the power of a governor.’

Unora nodded. ‘My father understood the land. He knew which crops to plant and when, and had ideas for irrigation,’ she said. ‘The governor before him had been lazy and corrupt, wanting to serve her time in Afa and rush back to court. She would take all our crops from us, and only give back what she saw fit. But my father cared. He cared for us.’

She paused for a moment, lowering her gaze.

‘When I was eight, Emperor Jorodu, newly enthroned, made my father River Lord of Seiiki,’ she went on. Dumai blinked. ‘He moved me to his new mansion in Antuma. He was the kindest man in the world, but his promotion caused indignation among the clans.’

The Grand Empress snorted. ‘To put it mildly. The most important position outside the imperial family, held by a man who had once been a farmworker. Even I would never have dared go so far,’ she said. ‘For centuries, the River Lord had always been from Clan Kuposa, but my son favoured talent over blood. The Kuposa did not like this.’

Dumai watched her. ‘Surely everyone is meant to support the emperor in his choices.’

‘I will come to that. For now, all you need to know is that they got rid of your grandfather. They claimed that no one of his standing could have brought water to Afa, and accused him of waking a dragon to do it.’ She sighed. ‘My son was too young to soundly question their evidence. To save Saguresi from execution, he agreed to banish him to Muysima.’

‘I was thrown into the street that night,’ Unora said. ‘One of our servants found me and took me back to Afa.’ Her face had turned to ceramic, brittle even as it held itself in a tight cast. ‘Life in the interior can be . . . very hard. Without my father, things slid back to the way they had been.’

Dumai had always had food and water aplenty. It pained her to think of her mother like this.

‘One year, a sickness killed everyone in my village but me,’ Unora said. ‘I walked to the pool of the dragon Pajati and asked for a way out. The next morning, an imperial messenger passed. When she came to pay her respects to Pajati, she found me collapsed there.’

‘Did you wake Pajati?’

Unora remained as blank as fresh paper. ‘No. I only prayed.’

Dumai nodded, reassured. Her mother would never be so reckless, not even when she was young.

‘Butterflies are messengers of Kwiriki – symbols of the power the gods once had to change their shapes,’ Unora said. ‘Kanifa may have told you that in some provinces, people believe they can take the form of women. The messenger assumed I was a butterfly spirit, and took me to court.’

‘And you met the emperor. My father,’ Dumai said. ‘Was he already wed to the empress?’

‘Yes. I was her attendant.’ Her voice was colourless. ‘I had no idea who he was. When I realised, I knew it would be too dangerous to stay . . . because I was pregnant, and my child would be an heir to Seiiki. I left at once, to spare you that fate. I brought you here.’

‘You never saved your father,’ Dumai murmured. ‘You left before you could. To save me.’

‘Yes.’ Unora looked at her. ‘I thought I would never love anyone as much as my father. But the moment I learned you existed—’ Dumai set her jaw to stop it quaking. ‘I gave birth to you in this very room, and ever since, I have tried to give you a happy life. But I had to keep you hidden from anyone who came from court. Now you understand why.’

Because Dumai so strongly resembled the emperor. Her features were soft in comparison, and she was almost a head taller, but it was as if two gifted artists had painted the same person, from their wide-set eyes to their rounded chins. They even had a tiny matching freckle on their left cheekbones. It was unnerving.

‘I should have risked the sea. I should have taken you to Sepul,’ Unora said bitterly, ‘but I wanted to be near your father, fool that I was. Love bound me to this mountain. And now—’

She pressed a sleeve to her mouth.

‘Rest,’ the Grand Empress told her. ‘I must speak with my granddaughter alone, in any case.’

Unora quit the room. Dumai slowly looked back at the Grand Empress, the woman who had guided her for years, who was also her paternal grandmother. For the first time, Dumai looked hard at that face, searching for her own. The likeness was not as startling.

‘When did you know?’

‘Unora told me when she felt her first pains.’ The Grand Empress looked towards the window, her mouth pinching. ‘And all these years, I helped her hide you from my son.’

‘Why?’

‘The same reason she fled, Dumai. For fear that you would come to harm.’

Outside, dawn spread like red dye through water.

‘More than two centuries ago, there was an uprising against our house,’ the Grand Empress said. ‘While the gods slept, a young man took advantage of their absence, calling himself the Meadow King. His revolt went on for several months, until his trusted swordmaker betrayed and killed him.

‘The traitor was named Sasofima. She would have been a person of no consequence, if not for her extraordinary talent for metalworking. The House of Noziken rewarded her loyalty by giving her a clan name – Kuposa. Granting her this was a grave mistake.’

Dumai listened.

‘Sasofima was charged with casting the bells across Seiiki. They were modelled after the Queen Bell, to wake the gods if there was ever another threat like the Meadow King. Since then, her descendants have only grown in wealth and ambition. Most rulers in the last two hundred years have been little more than figureheads, dominated by Kuposa regents.’

The revelation settled in Dumai like snow, turning her colder than she had felt in years.

‘My cousin was empress before me. They moulded her from birth, keeping her weak and unassertive,’ the Grand Empress said. ‘Only when she died in the childbed – a day her son did not survive, either – was I called to the Rainbow Throne. Now the Kuposa had a problem. Up until that point, they had paid me no mind, so I had no loyalty to them. I was not only old and shrewd enough to resist their influence, but I already had a son of my own, by one of their rivals from Clan Mithara. I had a strong will . . . until I conveniently sickened, forcing me to abdicate. I recovered, but I had given up my throne to be Supreme Officiant. I could not go back.

‘They had removed me while my son was still a child. Jorodu tried his best to empower their rivals – but as your mother’s story demonstrates, they always found ways to outflank him. He was too young to play the game. That was deliberate. He was forced to rely on them.

‘Understand that they are patient, Dumai. Patient and careful. They are never so crude as to kill their rivals, but they will use every other means to uphold their power, often by eclipsing ours. My son eventually learned this, when he found himself married to Kuposa pa Sipwo.

‘Twenty years ago, Empress Sipwo gave birth to a long-awaited Crown Prince. Seven years ago, she bore twins, a boy and a girl. Three years ago, both princes died in an outbreak of barnacle pox. This leaves her last remaining child as the presumed heir to Seiiki.’

Dumai finally spoke. ‘Who?’

‘Your sister, Noziken pa Suzumai.’

A younger sister. Two brothers, dead before she could meet them.

‘Suzumai is sweet, obedient, and meek. Another doll to be propped on the throne,’ the Grand Empress said curtly. ‘Your father has known for years that the Kuposa would find a way to make him disappear before Suzumai comes of age. He had almost lost hope.’

Even as the sun rose, the awful truth was dawning on Dumai.

‘But then he found me,’ she said, throat dry as ashes.

‘He found you. You see, Dumai, you owe no allegiance to the Kuposa. That gives you power.’

Dumai stared at her.

‘The woman who came to the temple was a spy,’ the Grand Empress said. ‘I presume you met.’

‘Yes. She must have seen the emperor in my face, as the saltwalker did.’

‘You are fortunate that your father’s agent reached Antuma Palace before she did.’ She took Dumai by the chin and lifted it, as the emperor had. ‘They know what you represent, as does His Majesty.’

‘Tell me what he wants.’

‘You were always clever, Dumai. You already know why your father risked coming here. If you do not take the Rainbow Throne, our house will lose its authority, and the people of Seiiki will be for ever deprived of their pathway to the gods. This, I cannot allow.’

‘I have only ever dreamed of being Maiden Officiant.’

‘I know. I wanted to spare you this battle. I tried, Dumai, for a long time, because I hated it myself – but when the gods return, they must find our house strong, and see that we have cared for Seiiki in their absence. Under Kuposa influence, we are fragile. We must resist.’

The realisation was swift and crushing as a snowslide.

‘I have no choice in this,’ Dumai whispered. ‘I must leave all I know.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not ready.’ It was hard to breathe. ‘I know nothing of court, of politics—’

‘That is where our plan comes in,’ the Grand Empress said, a sparkle in her eye. ‘The plan I have made with your father, that you made possible.’

‘What is this plan?’

‘When you take the throne, your father will continue to hold authority, under the guise of helping you. He will rule from somewhere far out of their reach – a shadow court – and speak through you. You will not be alone.’ Her grandmother took her hands. ‘This is how you will serve the gods, granddaughter. This is what the great Kwiriki has been calling you to do.’

Dumai shivered in the clothes of a ghost, as numb as if she had bathed in the ice pool.

‘Kanifa.’ Her stomach clenched. ‘Did he know?’

‘No, child. He never knew.’

That was something. She rose on trembling knees and bent into a bow.

She turned and left the warm gloom of the home she had loved all her life. She lurched outside, into the light of sunrise, and stumbled through the snow until she saw him on the sky platform, as he was on so many days, waiting for her. Before he could so much as frown, she flung herself into his arms and wept.