Yanko struggled to keep his face masked, so he wouldn’t show the prisoners how startled he was by the comment. How could it be his decision?
Zirabo stepped forward to address the former faction leaders. “Knowing that you have been defeated and that we would be within our rights to have you killed for your crimes, you must now decide if you wish to accept that fate or if it makes more sense for you to swear your allegiance to the man destined to become the new Great Chief.”
Zirabo turned and extended his arm toward Yanko. The prisoners glowered. Yanko locked his knees so he wouldn’t fall over. What was Zirabo doing? They were still putting on a show, weren’t they? What part was Yanko supposed to play next? Even if this was a ploy, why would Zirabo suggest Yanko instead of himself? Zirabo had the blood right to rule. Yanko was just the young mage toddling along in his wake and holding his flute.
“The man who raised a new continent to feed our people and finally give us the resources we need to compete on the technological landscape with the Turgonians,” Zirabo went on. “The man who freed the moksu from the Seventh Skull prison camp by defeating an ancient mage-hunter artifact and slaying two soul constructs.”
One, the back of Yanko’s mind screamed. Just one soul construct. But he was too stunned to get the words out. To get any words out.
“The man who slew the magical dragon placed at the gate to keep us out,” Zirabo added. “But such tricks never had a chance of keeping Yanko White Fox out. He has the power of his heritage and the wisdom to put the needs of our people above his own ambitions. He is the leader that Nuria has longed for since ages before you or I were born.”
Not only did Yanko have no idea what to say, but as all sets of eyes turned toward him, he had no idea what to do with his hands. Should he tuck them into his robe? Fold them over his chest? Clasp them behind his back? What would make him look like a regal and powerful mage instead of an idiot? Any second now, one of these people would ask him if he was old enough to shave.
He couldn’t believe Amaranthe and Sicarius were watching this without any reaction. Even Jhali didn’t look surprised. Yanko couldn’t believe her jaw wasn’t on the ground. His would be if he weren’t so aware of his onlookers.
Zirabo finally turned to face him, a sad smile on his face.
I’m sorry, he said telepathically. I know this isn’t what you want.
Yanko stared at him.
Convince them, please, Zirabo added. Professor Gray Badger and Admiral Lahtu have mage training. They’ll be more aware of mind manipulation, but I don’t think it will matter. You’re stronger than they are.
Yanko drew a shaky breath and stepped forward, his palms damp. For once, he let his senses out and tried to read the minds of the people before him. He sensed a mix of belligerence, speculation, and skepticism.
He didn’t think he could simply order them to follow him in exchange for their lives. They might lie to get themselves out of this situation, and he wouldn’t be able to trust them going forward, not unless he dangled a compelling reward in front of them, one they couldn’t have until they’d proven themselves.
“What can I offer you in exchange for your support as we finish capturing the city and the nation?” Yanko asked. “We’ll achieve that whether you help or not, but Zirabo is correct. It would be easier and there might be less bloodshed overall if you joined your forces with ours.”
“Do you really think he can beat Sun Dragon, Zirabo?” Admiral Lahtu asked. “Unless my intelligence is incorrect, all of your troops are here. And this is all you’ve got. I know the Wolves are spread too thin and falling apart now, but Luy Hano Sun Dragon has a lot of troops throughout the nation, and in a week’s time, he can have them here, on the capital’s doorstep. Your mage should have been spending the last six months raising troops if he wanted the dais.” Lahtu frowned at Yanko.
Yanko did not point out that six months ago, he’d been studying for the Stargrind entrance exam. He definitely wouldn’t point out that he’d failed that exam.
“Your intelligence is lacking, General,” Zirabo said, “because it’s not taking into account that he’s won the adoration of the general populace. Millions and millions of people. And perhaps more pertinent as to whether or not he’ll be able to keep the capital, he’s spent the last six months doing what none of the rest of you thought to do.” Zirabo pointed toward Amaranthe and Sicarius. “Cultivating a relationship with Turgonia.”
Yanko kept his face neutral, though he laughed inside at the idea that bribing Dak to be his bodyguard counted as cultivating a relationship with Turgonia. He was positive the Turgonians would have killed him more than once if he hadn’t been wandering around with the parrot of their president’s wife’s family. Yanko was also positive Amaranthe and Sicarius had been sent because of Zirabo. If the president was aware of him at all, what he’d probably heard was that Yanko had tried to steal covert orders being sent to their capital. Yanko didn’t have any trouble envisioning President Starcrest learning about his grab for the dais and sending assassins to deal with him. Sicarius, perhaps. The idea of Jhali trying to protect him from that man made Yanko shudder.
Fortunately, the prisoners weren’t looking at him. Most of them were gazing thoughtfully at Amaranthe and Sicarius, who were kind enough not to object to Zirabo’s interpretation of events, and Yanko sensed the words had actually swayed a couple of the faction leaders.
Professor Gray Badger lifted her chin. “I will offer you my meager forces, Honored Mage, if, in the event you are granted or are simply successful at taking the dais, you agree to rebuild the university, bring in more global experts in fields where we’re weak, and start a funding program to provide tuition assistance for qualified students who aren’t from honored families and who can demonstrate financial need.”
Yanko could sense her surface thoughts and saw that this was what she’d promised her followers when she had started gathering people to make a push.
“I agree,” Yanko said.
“You have my support then.”
“Good. Next?” Yanko focused on Lahtu since most of his belligerence had faded.
He was aware of Jhali watching him as he negotiated with the prisoners and wondered what she would say to him later. As always, he couldn’t read her thoughts and didn’t know if she was as shocked by Zirabo’s announcement as Yanko was, but he didn’t think she would approve of him trying to take the dais. Not that he himself approved of it. It was madness. He couldn’t possibly be qualified for such a position. Maybe in forty years, he would be, but not now. Not today.
And Zirabo had spoken truthfully. This wasn’t what Yanko wanted. The idea that he, as he made these deals, might be sealing his own fate felt far more like defeat than victory.
19
Night had fallen by the time Yanko, Zirabo, and Jhali returned to the palace, their prisoners being released to, as they had all promised, deliver their troops by dawn, to join Yanko’s forces. Amaranthe and Sicarius had disappeared, maybe to follow a couple of the ex-faction leaders to ensure they intended to follow through, or maybe to go back to their homeland now that their work was done.
At the first opportunity, Yanko whispered, “Honored Prince, I’d really like to talk to you for a minute.”
He glanced back at Jhali, who’d trailed behind with the guards and not said a word since Zirabo’s revelations. He wanted to talk to her, too, but Yanko needed to see first if Zirabo truly meant what he’d said. Maybe Yanko was wrong and it had been part of the show. Maybe Zirabo had, for some reason, thought those leaders would be more likely to give their support to Yanko than to him. Maybe he wanted to make Yanko the more obvious target since he had more power to defend himself. Or did he truly want Yanko on the dais so he could advise or even lead from the shadows? Yanko White Fox, figurehead?
Yanko might have believed any of those things if not for the soft apology Zirabo had spoken into his mind.
I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want.
“Yes
, I assumed you would,” Zirabo said. “Come. There’s an office up ahead.”
The guards stopped outside, taking up positions to either side of the door. Jhali hesitated, since they didn’t leave an obvious position for her.
“Come in,” Yanko told her quietly. “Please.”
She shrugged and followed them inside. Zirabo tapped his lips and eyed her, then looked at Yanko and opened his mouth. To object?
Yanko scowled and lifted his chin. She’d been left out of their chat in the tent. He didn’t want her left out of this, in part because he trusted her and wanted her in on decisions he was involved with, and in part because he wanted her to know this hadn’t been his idea. He remembered her sneering as she spoke of the mage in her town who’d treated the people like slaves to build a tower so he could lord over everyone. What would she think if she believed Yanko was claiming the dais so he could lord over the entire nation?
Whatever objection Zirabo had intended to voice, he kept it to himself. “Close the door and have a seat,” was all he said.
There was a desk in front of a massive fireplace with one chair behind it and two in front of it, but Zirabo headed for a seating area full of plush sofas and chairs. The kitchen, living area, and dining room from Yanko’s old home all could have fit in the spacious office.
Zirabo considered the furnishings before gesturing Yanko toward a large, golden wingback chair with a sofa resting opposite it. He took one end of the sofa for himself.
Yanko perched on the edge of the wingback chair, not sure what to make of the seating assignment. Was it a silent way to say that Zirabo wasn’t taking the most prominent position? Or was it simply a comfortable chair he thought Yanko might like?
Zirabo waved toward the opposite end of the couch, offering Jhali a spot, but she stood back and leaned her shoulder against the wall by the fireplace.
Zirabo settled back and faced Yanko. “This was my father’s main office. That was his chair. My brothers and I weren’t allowed to sit in it or touch it, lest we scuff the hide. It’s made from a golden tegu lizard. They’re rare, as we were often reminded.”
“What happens if I scuff it?” Yanko lifted his hands, imagining some irate maid coming out to flog him with a feather duster.
Zirabo chuckled. “Nothing now. If all goes according to plan, it’ll be yours soon.”
Yanko leaned forward, dropping his face into his hands, his loose topknot flopping against his fingers. “By the badger goddess, Zirabo. Why? And when were you going to fill me in on your plan?”
“When it was far enough along that I knew you couldn’t escape it.” Zirabo chuckled again, but there was little humor in the sound. “Not that I truly thought you would, if I asked it of you, but as I said, I know you don’t want it.”
Yanko twined his fingers together and leaned his nose against them as he stared down at a bear-hide rug stretched between the seats. “Because it doesn’t make any sense.”
“And because you’d rather be figuring out how to farm on that new continent.”
“Yes.” Yanko couldn’t deny that. It would be so perfect for him. It was where all his gifts lay. They didn’t lie in… this.
Zirabo reached for a crystal decanter and glasses on a silver tray resting on a table beside the sofa. He pulled a stopper out, sniffed whatever liquid was in the decanter, then smiled sadly at it.
“My father’s favorite,” he said. “I guess nobody bothered to spend much time in the palace after they acquired it. Or maybe General Tang Chu wasn’t ready to claim the Great Chief’s suite and office for himself.”
Though Yanko was mired in his own displeasure at the day’s events, he reminded himself that Zirabo had lost his father and his brothers. It had to be particularly hard for him to be back here in the palace where he’d grown up, where he’d spent so much time with his family.
“What is it?” Yanko asked.
“Apple brandy. My father loathed all things Turgonian, but somewhere along the way, he developed a fondness for their signature alcohol.”
“Ah. I’m sorry for your sake that he’s gone. I’m not sure I believe he was the best leader for Nuria, but… I never would have pushed for this.” Yanko waved to indicate the city and all of Nuria, the war that was leaving their people in even worse shape than they’d been in before it had all started.
“I know you wouldn’t have.” Zirabo met his eyes.
Yanko wondered if he sensed his thoughts. Zirabo had always been vague about his magical talents, but it was known that he could make and play Enigma Flutes. If he’d been destined from a young age to be a diplomat, he would have been taught some mind talents. Maybe he was surfing through Yanko’s thoughts as easily as Tynlee did. Which wouldn’t be hard right now. The day had been long and exhausting, and Yanko’s brain hurt too much to worry about his mental defenses. If the Sun Dragon forces attacked tonight, he would be in trouble.
He felt like crawling into bed and muttering the Song of Renewal. It was usually chanted in the fall and winter in the hope of a good spring, but sometimes, people simply hoped for a fresh start. A change.
Not this change.
“Had there been another choice that made sense,” Zirabo said, “I would have thrown my support behind him or her. But the very fact that the other faction leaders decided to break all the laws, hurl the Great Land into civil war, and make it all about positioning themselves favorably instead of worrying about what was best for our people…” Zirabo poured two glasses and sipped from one before handing the other to Yanko. “I didn’t want to see any of those people in charge.”
“Why not yourself, Zirabo? As your father’s son, you have the most legitimate claim.”
“I don’t have the temperament for it, nor did I ever have the respect of my father’s peers. I’m not a warrior, never had the stomach for it. And a lot of them haven’t forgotten that I ran away as a boy and that the fleet was sent all the way to Turgonia to retrieve me.” Zirabo grimaced and took a deeper swig of his drink. “Those generals and Admiral Oleen only agreed to join when I promised you. Because you’ve now demonstrated that you have your mother’s power, and everyone has heard about it by now. They may detest her for what she’s done these last two decades, but they remember when she was an ally, and they remember her power. That they respect. More than age and experience. More than wisdom.” Zirabo’s lips flattened.
Yet again, Yanko didn’t know what to say. He peered at the amber liquid in his glass, having no interest in drinking it. He’d barely started to believe that he had some of the power that his mother wielded so easily, so it seemed strange that others would already be convinced of it.
He looked at Jhali, wondering what she thought, but her face was as masked as that of a stranger. He wished she would join in the conversation and offer her opinions, and he groped for a way to invite her to do so.
“That has always been the way of our people,” Zirabo went on. “Respect for power over wisdom. I don’t mean to imply you don’t have any wisdom, Yanko.”
“It’s all right. Even my friends regularly inform me that I’m naive.” Yanko smiled at Jhali, hoping for a reaction.
Her eyebrows twitched slightly.
“That’s probably true—how can it not be when you grew up in a remote mountain village a thousand miles from the capital and the machinations of government—but you want what’s best for Nuria, and that’s more than I can say for most of the other options. And the people—what they want can’t be discounted.” Zirabo waved toward the walls or maybe toward the Great Land as a whole. “They chose you for a hero even before you slew a dragon. Now, there will probably be statues built.”
Statues? Yanko groaned.
“I haven’t done anything to—I mean, I don’t deserve to be their hero, not for bumbling through the last few months of my life.” Yanko’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t want it.”
He didn’t want a statue, and he didn’t want to be leader over an entire nation. It wasn’t a reward. It was a punishm
ent. The position of a man whose days would be filled with deals and politicking and trying to keep a nation alive and whose nights would be filled with nightmares of assassins encroaching, if not actual assassins encroaching. Why, when he’d tried so hard to do everything asked of him, was he being punished?
“It pains me to say this, but it’s not about what you want. It’s about what they need.” Zirabo offered him a sad smile. “You made the mistake of showing up when they needed a hero.”
Yanko closed his eyes. He wondered if he could refuse. Could he say, no, thanks and walk away?
Not without walking away from Nuria, from his family, from his culture, from his chance to shape that new continent, albeit from a great distance now, and from his chance to help his people. Even if his heart had been willing, his honor wouldn’t allow it.
“You’ll grow into the wisdom to lead a nation, Yanko. Just surround yourself with good advisors, especially in the beginning. Tynlee Blue Heron, if she can be convinced to return to the capital, would be good.”
“What if she brought Dak with her? And started publishing novels about muscular Turgonian spies?”
Zirabo opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.
“I guess you had to be there,” Yanko murmured.
“If Dak would stay, he would be an interesting liaison to Turgonia. If he would stay. I know he has no love for Nuria.”
Yanko thought of all the times he’d witnessed Dak gleefully—inasmuch as the man possessed the ability to feel glee—beating up on Nurians. But he also thought of him standing in the moonlight outside of Zirabo’s tent and holding hands with Tynlee.
“He might be convinced to stay if she did,” Yanko said, a little heartened by the idea of Dak as an advisor. The palace staff and the rest of the government would find the idea of a Turgonian advisor insane, but Yanko would always know that Dak wasn’t angling for power of his own in the Nurian government.
But would Dak’s own government trust him to be so far from home? Yanko still didn’t know what would happen to him after he’d spent so much time working with Nurians. Would his people continue to doubt him after all this?
Great Chief (Chains of Honor, Book 4) Page 28
