We Dream of Gods

1. MIKO

There are no gods. Only men. Emperor Kin had told me so that night in the throne room, lessons spilling unexpected from his lips. What he hadn’t said was just how literally he had meant it. No gods. Only men.

My divan had been draped in crimson silk, while still more had been gathered behind me, twisted into the shape of the crimson throne. A poor imitation of what had been lost when Mei’lian burned—a loss as hard to swallow as the extra effort Minister Manshin put into my throne now that it was his power I displayed.

“I swear on the bones of my forebears. On my name and my honour.” Lord Gori had just arrived from the north, possessed of little beyond his name in the wake of the Chiltaen conquest. I would have been glad to have him on my side, but it wasn’t me to whom he swore his oath.

Minister Manshin stood at my side, close, towering over me in a way that crushed my authority more than his usurpation of my power already had. In his shadow I truly was just a puppet seated on a false throne. A pretence. A farce.

Lord Gori finished his oath and, bade to rise, looked to my minister. “Your allegiance is welcome, Lord Gori,” Manshin said. “Her Imperial Majesty fights for all Kisians, but especially for those who fight for her.”

Fights for all Kisians. It was all I could do not to scoff at so great a lie. I wanted to, often, but whenever I thought to denounce his claims, I remembered Sichi and Nuru and our precarious position, and smiled instead. Smile. Always smile. The display of a submissive, non-threatening woman, under which I hid my promise.

I would destroy them all.

“Thank you, Your Excellency. Majesty. I…” The man squirmed, pain and troubles on his tongue. All in the north had suffered through the conquest, and a few words of empathy would strengthen his loyalty, yet Manshin said nothing.

“I know,” I said when the man seemed unable to finish. “It has been a tough few seasons, Lord Gori, but we will find our way out of the darkness. Together.”

Simple words, yet when he was dismissed, he strode toward the doors straight-backed, lighter than when he had entered despite the mud-stained, frayed hem that danced about his feet.

“Well,” Manshin said once he was gone. “Not a very worthy addition to our cause, but an addition nonetheless.”

How I wished to tear at his idea of what was worthy, but I took that anger and buried it with the rest.

“He may yet be more useful than he appears,” he went on. “That is, if you cease your… attempts at sensitivity. Saying such unnecessary things only displays weakness, Your Majesty.”

With my hands in my lap and my back straight, I channelled my mother’s impression of the perfect imperial statue.

“Ah,” Manshin said with a breathy laugh. “You are giving me the silent treatment, I see.”

The urge to clench my hands was almost overwhelming.

“You may, of course, be childish if it gives you joy, Your Majesty, but it is hardly the act of an empress.”

I turned to look at him. No scowl, just a stare into which I poured my promise.

I will destroy you.

He looked away. He could have acknowledged my anger, have tried to convince me again of his reasons, but why bother when he had already decided how things would be? All he needed was for me to accept and obey.

“Any others?” he asked of Chancellor Likoshi—his choice for the position, of course.

“No, Your Excellency,” the man said from the doorway. “A few came with petitions for Minister Oyamada, but he has seen them all.”

Minister Manshin grunted. Annoyance? Wishful thinking. My ministers didn’t like each other, but that was a far cry from Minister Oyamada being my ally.

“Let the council know we will meet in an hour,” Manshin said, dismissing Likoshi and stepping from my side. Without bowing to me, he crossed the floor as Lord Gori had, though his steps were slow and assured, owning the space with ease.

When at last the door slid closed behind him, I slumped, letting out a long breath. Only guards were present to witness my head sink into my hands, two at the door while at my side stood Captain Kiren—General Ryoji’s choice of replacement while he was away. The days dragged by and still he hadn’t returned. Every day the fear I’d sent him to his death pressed closer.

Needing to move, I got to my feet and strode for the door, leaving Captain Kiren to scurry after me.

Beyond the doors the manor bustled. It was always bustling. People came and went at every hour, my court more alive than Emperor Kin’s had usually been. There was an energy, a need to be present for what felt like the building of something new. Old powers sought to retain their positions, while new ones sought opportunities to rise. In different circumstances I would have revelled in it, but instead I walked numb through the halls though people stopped to bow, though they spoke with reverence, though they were, ostensibly, here for me.

I added more anger to my raging core. Manshin had stolen this triumph from me, leaving the only joy that of rebellion.

A circuitous walk through the passages discovered Lord Gori in conversation with one of the chancellor’s men, whose sharp shake of the head seemed to refuse what was being requested. Before I could catch a word, the chancellor’s man saw me and bowed. “Your Majesty, is there something I can do for you?”

“No, you may go. I require a word with Lord Gori.”

A moment of hesitation, then the chancellor’s man bowed again, glanced at Lord Gori, and walked away. Once he was out of earshot, I turned a smile on the fidgeting lord. “Lord Gori,” I said. “Join me for tea. Captain Kiren? Have tea sent up immediately.”

Not waiting for acceptance, I swept Lord Gori toward a nearby sitting room filled with old imperial grandeur and a fine layer of dust.

“This is an unlooked-for honour, Your Majesty,” Lord Gori said, managing to bow three times between entering the room and kneeling upon the cushion opposite. “I must also apologise for being so importunate just now; it is below my dignity and—”

“You mean it ought to be below your dignity, but desperation makes beggars of us all.” I smiled as his eyes widened. “What was it you requested from my chancellor just now?”

Lord Gori swallowed, sending a fleeting glance at Captain Kiren by the door. “I… uh…” The man deflated with a sigh. “Food, Your Majesty. We lost our harvest to the Chiltaen army, and now my people are starving before winter has even begun. Without supplies, I fear much of the north will not make it to the spring.”

“Have you spoken to Minister Oyamada?”

“I have not yet had the chance, Your Majesty. It seems he is too busy to see me for the next few days. But I will wait and put my case to him; it’s not something you should—”

“It is exactly what I should trouble myself with, Lord Gori. Minister Manshin’s only interest is in continuing to steer us toward war and destruction, but I serve my people. That is an empress’s job.”

Lord Gori frowned, and began words only to swallow them. By the door, Captain Kiren cleared his throat. Time was up.

“I must go now,” I said, rising from the table. “But a warning for you, Lord Gori. Minister Manshin is no friend to you, as he is no friend to me; if the time comes to fight, remember that.” As he hurriedly scrambled to his feet to bow, I added, “I will tell Minister Oyamada the granting of emergency food stores to you and the people of Hotai has my full approval.”

“Th-thank you, Your Majesty.”

I was at the door before he finished speaking. Captain Kiren slid it open, and I almost collided with a maid bringing the tea tray. She bowed and apologised and asked if I wished the tea taken elsewhere, while Captain Kiren’s eyes bulged with warning. “No,” I said. “The tea is for Lord Gori. I must go.”

I pushed past, sending the tea tray rattling. A glance both ways along the passage and my heart leapt into my throat. Manshin stood with General Moto at the corner, speaking in a low voice. He’d seen me, but at least he wasn’t alone. I spun away, hasty steps propelling me the opposite direction along the passage, Captain Kiren in my wake.

Manshin neither called out nor followed, and slowly my heartbeat returned to normal, though a sick dread kept churning in my gut. I’d been so careful about my meetings with those who came to pledge support, but this time had been too close for comfort.

Forcing a smile for every courtier that halted to bow, I made one more stop on the way to my apartments—a small shrine on the upper floor. My frequent visits there hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Sichi’s skill for gossip had everyone talking about how admirable it was that I paid my respects to Emperor Kin and Empress Hana so often.

As always, Captain Kiren waited outside the door, leaving me to step alone into the small, dimly lit space filled with guttering lanterns and stubs of incense. A basket of freshly folded prayers sat beside the altar. I took a handful, and laying them out one by one, I lit a fresh candle and rolled back onto my feet. Eyeing the narrow cupboard in the far corner, I took off my sandals and crept toward it, making no sound. Removing the key from its hook beneath was more difficult, even more so to slide it into the lock without scraping the sides. A cough covered the click of the lock, and with a satisfied smile, I eased the door open upon a waft of stale incense. The cupboard was full of candles and incense cones, prayer paper and sashes, and at the bottom beneath the basket of discarded candle stubs was a stack of letters. I drew them out and stuffed them inside my robe before carefully closing the cupboard and locking it again, returning everything to where it had been.

There was no sign of Manshin when I stepped back out into the passage, yet I couldn’t but feel watching eyes everywhere. The feeling remained until I stepped into the only safe place I had left. My apartments were grand rooms fit for Kisia’s ruler, yet like my mother’s apartments had been, they were a finely wrought prison.

Sichi and Nuru sat upon the window seat, their fingers entwined as they talked. The sight was so reminiscent of Edo and Tanaka that a lump of grief swelled, halting my steps abruptly in the middle of the floor. Nuru yanked her hands free, cheeks reddening around her defiant glare.

“I’m sorry, I…” But how could I explain? How could I express a grief that wasn’t only about loss but tangled with the pain of always being an afterthought to two people who loved each other? “I just had a thought,” I said, the lie so much easier. “Oh, and I’ve got the letters.”

Whatever questions Sichi might have asked, the mention of letters had her up and sweeping toward me, hands outstretched. “How many? From whom?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look yet,” I said, reaching into my robe. “But it’s quite a stack.”

Sichi all but snatched them from me as I drew the bundle free. “Lord Iraki,” she said, eyeing the seals as she flipped through them. “Governor Uhi, General Raan—”

“Lord Raan,” I corrected. “He isn’t a general anymore.”

“No, you’re right, but I assume that’s why you wrote to him.” She handed it over, along with the other two, sniffing in what I could only take as disapproval. “Ah! Look! Both Lady Zin and the Countess of Hurun have written back!”

Abandoning the rest of the stack, she hurriedly tore open the first of her letters.

“You think I shouldn’t have written to Lord Raan?” I said.

“What? No, I mean…” She sighed, lowering her own letter. “No, given what I know of his allegiances he’s a good person to court, I just… There are other strengths besides military might.”

“Of course there are, but we’re in the middle of a war. If we do not soon rid Kisia of the Chiltaens, Kisia as we know it will be gone.”

“Yes, but we’re also in the middle of social and political change. At least, I hope that’s what we’re fighting for.”

She spoke softly, but I bristled at the hint of censure. “We are, but we can’t change anything if we lose the battles.”

“And we won’t be able to if we fight the wrong way.”

I looked down at Lord Raan’s letter. “The wrong way? Unless I marry Leo Villius, what other way can we win but by fighting?”

“It’s not that I don’t think we need to fight,” Sichi said. “Just that if we want anything to change, we need to consider other allies as well. Politicians. Priests. Powerful speakers. Women intent on defying history.” She lifted her letters with a flourish. “Like Lady Zin and the Countess of Hurun. With the right people on our side, we could rebuild Kisia to be something greater. A society where war isn’t the sole ideal we build our identity upon, where culture and learning are valued over division and death.”

The words sucked the breath from my body and I stared at her, wrangling with an uncomfortable squirm of emotion. She spoke with such fire, and I couldn’t tell if I was more envious of her mind, ashamed of my own failings, or grateful for her guidance. What an empress she would have been to Tanaka had history taken a different course.

“Oh, there’s a letter from Edo here,” Sichi said, breaking the awkward pause that had followed her impassioned speech. “And there’s one sealed with plain wax. It’s for you.”

Someone had written my name but in a childish hand, and I couldn’t think who it could be. Glad to escape our conversation, I broke the seal and unfolded it, sliding my gaze down the page of ragged Kisian to the bottom where breath hitched in my chest. Tor.

And that was it. What more had I expected? Some acknowledgement of the awkward way we had parted? Some sentiment? Truly it was kind of him to write at all, considering how much I had demanded again and again.

That the Chiltaens remained was not news, but that more were on their way? Did he mean the men coming with the secretary of the Nine to sign the treaty? Or others still? Warning Manshin would be admitting I had contacts outside what he controlled and play right into his hands.

I lowered Tor’s letter to find Sichi watching me, a small crease between her brows. “What is it?” I said, suddenly breathless. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Oh no, nothing, I just…” She held out a letter. “Edo wrote to warn of his impending arrival, and I’ve… I’ve had a thought, Miko. You don’t want to marry Leo, but marriage can make strong alliances, and marrying someone else would ensure my father can’t marry you to Leo—”

“I don’t want to marry anyone, Sichi.”

“Hear me out, Koko. To marry someone else now while promised to Leo Villius, you would have to marry someone who isn’t afraid of my father.” Sichi grimaced. “Or of Chiltae. Someone who wouldn’t shrink from spitting in Dom Villius’s face and risking further war.”

My thoughts slid toward Rah. He always did what was right no matter the cost and cared nothing for our power structures, but marriage to him was as impossible as marriage to a songbird. He’d made it clear his heart lay with his people.

“And I cannot but notice,” Sichi went on with a brief smile, “that Edo meets every one of those criteria.”

“Edo?” I stared, her words not fitting together in my mind.

“My cousin Edo,” she said, speaking more slowly. “He meets all of the criteria and is probably the only man who wouldn’t try to usurp your power or your position once you were married.”

I had dreamed of marrying Edo for a long time, of keeping us all together, of being wanted. Seen. But he had loved Tanaka, and Tanaka had loved him, and all my childish hopes he would one day look at me had fallen somewhere along the way.