“Yes, you are. And you have nothing to be sorry for.”
Ijiro nods, wiping his eyes. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Very touching,” Dino says, “but it looks like the Mkutano is about to begin. Perhaps we should walk a little closer so we can actually, you know, attend.”
Isa casts a glance at the waves breaking on the shore, then up at the starry skies glittering on the waters. She suffers a shiver of dread when she realizes she doesn’t recognize any of the stars up there. The Devil’s Eye, whose milky upper spirals are always at the southernmost edge of the horizon, is nowhere in sight. Wherever she is now, she is no longer near the world’s equator.
And these waters . . . is this the Dapiaro of the West or the eastern Inoetera? What exotic lands wait on the other side? Is this truly not real?
“Your Majesty.” Worry has slipped into Dino’s voice. “We must join the Mkutano before it begins. Are you sure you’re all right?”
She looks away from the ocean. “Yes, Dino. Let’s go.”
Yards away along the beach, eleven stone pillars jut up from the sands around a depression so that they form a circle, each pillar reaching fifteen feet into the air. As they walk closer, Isa realizes that the pillars aren’t pillars at all but massive thrones with elongated backrests, complete with steps leading up to the seats.
The ten headmen are already there, each one sitting on his throne, flanked by his two escorts. Their enchanted masks gleam in the starlight, their eyes glowing with magic. A fire burns in the depression at the circle’s center, which is deep enough for the headmen to see each other over the towering flames.
The Bonobo is in the middle of a speech when Isa arrives—she knows that he is this month’s Speaker, the headman elected to preside over the Mkutano. He stops speaking when he notices that everyone’s looking not at him now but at her.
“All hail Isa Saire!” Dino announces. “King of Chains, Great Elephant of the Yontai, she who straddles the center of the world and rules its beating heart!”
It might not be deliberate on their parts, but what happens next tells Isa exactly who among them is her enemy, who is ambivalent, and who she might consider a friend: the Kestrel and the Lion both rise to their feet and bow; the Impala inclines his head respectfully where he sits; the Buffalo and the Caracal watch the others carefully; the Jackal, the Hare, and the Rhino relax into their seats; the Crocodile bares his teeth in a smile, and the Bonobo steeples his hands, looking down at her from his throne like she’s a bug crawling on his expensive carpet.
“Your Majesty,” he says in a voice dripping with hardly concealed distaste. “We were not expecting you.”
Isa takes her time as she sweeps her gaze around the Meeting Place and the men sitting on their thrones.
Like their predecessors—and their sons and nephews today—all of them served in the King’s Sentinels for six comets, went on to command their clan legions upon graduating, and then rose to their current stations when their fathers passed on. And while some of them have let themselves grow plump and soft with the years—like the Impala and the Rhino—it is clear to Isa that each was not only born to power like she was but groomed for it.
These men all know the stench of weakness when they smell it, and if she falters even for a second, she knows she will never have their respect.
Brocades and silks hang in drapes over their bodies. Gold shimmers on their fingers and dangles around their necks. The Buffalo wears the fattest diamond pendant because his clanlands are rich with diamond mines. The Hare has emerald rings on every finger for a similar reason.
If Isa is ever going to bend these men to her will, she knows she will have to stand her ground, starting right now.
“This is my first Mkutano since I was crowned,” she says to the Bonobo. “I wonder why you thought I’d miss it. Could it be because you’ve elected a regent while a king yet lives?”
The Bonobo smiles down at her, steepled fingers tapping against each other. He’s a powerfully built man with a booming voice and muscles that bulge out of his golden robe. When he glares down at Ijiro, Isa feels the boy stiffen and breathe in sharply.
He fears his father. Isa can’t say she blames him, though. Not when she can feel her heart threatening to rise up her throat.
“You left us no choice, Your Majesty,” the Bonobo says. “A king cannot run a kingdom from the cloisters of a temple. If you came out of hiding, there would be no need for a regent.”
Isa smiles back, then marks the Crocodile with her gaze. “If I came out of hiding, my family’s assassins would dance over my corpse.”
To his credit the Crocodile remains cool and composed on his throne. “But Your Majesty,” he says, “from your tone one would almost think you were accusing me of something.”
“The guilty are always quick to cry foul.”
“And accusations against a headman must be founded on facts.”
Isa walks toward him, feeling the train of her robe flow out behind her. He’s in a glittering green robe that does little to hide the lithe muscles beneath, sitting in the throne facing the oceans—the place of honor. She feels Dino and Ijiro trail behind slowly. Such a scene has likely never played out in the Meeting Place. She stops at the foot of the throne, taking care to meet the Crocodile’s fiery gaze with hers. “I made no accusations, did I? But here’s a fact for you, Your Highness: you’re sitting in my chair.”
A deadly flame ignites in the Crocodile’s eyes. Isa has to remind herself that she can’t be harmed. This is why the king and the headmen will often meet here; the Meeting Place by the Sea suffers no violence on its shores. But the man’s gaze still makes her shiver.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he says at last. “My apologies.” And then he rises to his feet, strides down the steps, and walks to the vacant throne across the circle, retaining more dignity than Isa would have liked. His two escorts seethe visibly as they follow him.
She tempers her childish instinct to scold them and walks up the steps to her throne. Only once she’s seated do the Lion and the Kestrel do the same. She nods at them in acknowledgment.
As Dino and Ijiro move to stand on either side of her, she wonders about the wisdom of bringing them here. They might be a reminder of the power she wields over the headmen, but that reminder might only encourage them to take that power away.
Her fears are validated as soon as the Bonobo opens his mouth to speak. “As I was saying before Her Majesty arrived, we will begin this Mkutano by deliberating the matter of the King’s Sentinels, after which we will put the matter to a vote. The House of Law has given us the mandate to decide among ourselves whether to keep this oppressive system in place. Should we decide to abolish it, the Shirika will annul the sorcerous bonds that hold our sons and nephews prisoners—”
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” Isa interrupts. “I must be dreaming because it seems to me like you’re about to begin this Mkutano without giving me my due. Surely you wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to assume that I have nothing to say to my subject princes.”
The Bonobo lets his anger show on his mask, but only for a moment; just long enough for Isa to see the emotion yet fleeting enough to be deniable. “My apologies, Your Majesty. Yes, it is customary for the king to give a speech before we begin deliberation. I will yield the fire to you.”