My chest hurt, and I had to look away, pretending to be fixated on a honeybee flitting from flower to flower. There was so much about Raikama that Father didn’t know. One day, perhaps, I would tell him that she had been a powerful sorceress, that she had been the one to send my brothers and me away to protect us from Lord Yuji and Bandur—but I would never tell him the whole truth. The last of my stepmother’s secrets would die with me.
That it was the lost sister Father had married. And her name had been Channari.
“Our grief bonded us,” he said quietly, continuing the story, “and we became close. One night, the night before she was to select her husband, she asked me a peculiar question: whether there truly was no magic in Kiata.”
In spite of the pain in my chest, I leaned forward. Father had never told me this.
“When I said it was true, she explained that it was magic that had killed her sister, and that she wished to get as far away from it as she could. She told me she had decided to choose me, if I would consider renewing my suit.” He inhaled. “It was the last thing I expected.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her that a hundred of Lor’yan’s sovereigns had spent months declaring their undying love for her.” He laughed quietly. “I told her that she should choose one of them, for my heart belonged to my children’s mother. But her mind was made up. ‘The fractures in our hearts will never heal,’ she said. ‘But I seek to make mine whole again. It is not a lover or even a husband who can do that, but a family. Let us be family for one another.’
“She made true on her word,” said Father. “Do you remember when you first met her, you called her Imurinya?”
“Because she glowed,” I said. “Like the lady of the moon.”
“That was the happiest I had ever seen her.” The ghost of a smile touched his mouth before he turned solemn once more. “The rift that came between the two of you wounded her deeply, Shiori. She loved you. Very much.”
Heat flooded my nose and eyes.
“I miss her, Baba,” I said through the ache in my chest.
I so rarely called him Baba. It had always felt odd, knowing he was the Emperor of Kiata, a man who was revered, loved, and feared—even by his children. But in this moment, he was my father first and emperor second.
In my lowest voice, I said, “Is it terrible that I miss Raikama more than Mama? Mama had six sons who knew and loved her. In my heart, I love her too—but I was too young to know her. Raikama…she had no one. Except me.”
“She loved you as her own. You were the daughter of her heart.”
Father couldn’t have known those were Raikama’s same words to me before she died. My self-control collapsed, and tears flooded down my cheeks before I could stop them.
Father leaned over the bridge, gazing at a carp nibbling on algae. His voice was faraway, thoughtful. “She chose him for you—did you know?”
“Who?” I blinked. “Takkan?”
“I’d planned to marry you to a king abroad, or one of Lord Yuji’s sons to strengthen the warlords’ support for the throne. Your stepmother fought for you to choose your own match, but the council wouldn’t have it. So she swore that your marriage would at least bring you happiness.”
“I thought she meant to send me as far from Kiata as possible.”
Father gave a wan smile. “I seem to recall you thinking Iro was the darkest corner of the world. Wasn’t it only a few hours ago that you called it a wasteland?”
I shrank back with embarrassment. “I suppose it is rather far. But why Takkan? He never even came to court.”
“He did, once. I told you before that Bushi’an Takkan is not the sort of boy who would fare well in court. I suppose I never explained what I meant.”
He hadn’t, and I had assumed Takkan was a tactless barbarian, a lowly lord of the third rank. How wrong I’d been.
“His father has never cared about power,” explained the emperor. “Something I’ve come to value the longer I reign. The same is true of Takkan. Even as a child, he lacked the artifice necessary to charm the nobility.”
“He’s too honest,” I said dryly.
“Indeed,” Father said. “A trait I wish you shared.”
I winced.
“During his visit, he managed to impress your stepmother.”
“Raikama?” I frowned, the wick of my curiosity lit. Raikama had been infamously cold toward the courtiers. “How?”
“It was unintentional, I’m certain. One evening, the court children gathered around her. Their parents had instructed them to fawn over her beauty, and so they did, but you know how that irritated your stepmother. So she asked what they thought of the scar on her face. All the children lied that they barely noticed it.”
“Except Takkan,” I whispered. Takkan wouldn’t lie, and Raikama’s scar was the first thing anyone ever noticed when they saw her. Long and striking, it had cut diagonally across her face, but not once did she hide it or lower her head in shame.
Father nodded. “He hadn’t said a word until that moment, but I will never forget his response. ‘If you wanted to be told you were beautiful, you would hide your scar. But you don’t. It tells your story, a story that’s meant only for those worthy of hearing it.’ ”
“Oh, Takkan,” I murmured. I tried to picture the encounter, of Takkan all but insulting the imperial consort, and Raikama giving no hint at all of her thoughts. “His parents must have been mortified. His mother, especially.”
“She was.” Father chuckled. “For months, she sent us apology tapestries and an alarming number of rabbits carved of pine. Your stepmother had them all thrown out. So imagine my surprise when she chose him for you. To this day, I don’t know why those words endeared him to her.”
I didn’t, either. Raikama’s scar was still a mystery to me. “Why did you agree to it?”
“I trusted her judgment. She was always full of secrets, but regarding Takkan, she made a cogent case for him. Once I agreed to consider the boy, she made me promise not to tell you. She knew you wouldn’t give him a chance.”
“She was right,” I whispered. But fate had found a way to bring us together anyway. I wondered if Raikama had known it would be so.
“She was.” Father walked to the end of the bridge. “She often had great foresight. When you and your brothers were away, she sensed that some dark enchantment had fallen upon you, but she never lost faith that you would return home one day.”
The irony of his words should have made me wince, but I believed them. Raikama had cursed my brothers and me, exiling us to the farthest outskirts of the country—but she’d done it to protect us. How it must have pained her.
Father’s voice went low. “I do not wish you to leave again, but you are not safe in Gindara.” I made as if to speak, but he silenced me with a hand. “Do not argue with me, and do not even speak of going back to the Holy Mountains.”