Gunpowder Magnolia

Please note that the chapter below is an early draft. Names and world-building details subject to change. More early chapters are available on my Patreon.

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Yelhwa, her ladies, and the two Ro tore out of the Spearshaft Ravine as the walls broke away above.

The princess rode with one hand extended upward, illuminating the way ahead with graphemantic light as the cliff broke away above, throwing the valley into darkness. Rock crashed overhead, and Lanthe braced for impact, shifting her hold on Tairo so that her forearms shielded the back of his neck. But the bone-breaking impact didn’t come. Glancing skyward, Lanthe found dark rocks crashing into each other, blotting out the morning light, but they were stopping well above the horses, bouncing off an invisible surface. A shielding spell. Yelhwa’s raised hand was holding back the falling rocks.

But there was a time limit on a shielding spell this broad. They had only been mounted and riding for a few seconds. Five? Six? Lanthe fixed wide eyes ahead and counted in the tempo of marching boots: seven… eight… nine… ten…

The shielding spell would break at twenty-four seconds, letting the rocks down on them, and the mouth of the ravine was still so far…

“Lady Mina!” Lanthe called, though she could barely hear her own voice over the thunder of rocks. “Can you shield us too?”

Mina shouted something in response, but her delicate voice was lost in the titanic boom of collapsing mountains. And Lanthe realized that Mina was no use at the moment; her horse had no tack or saddle; she needed both hands fisted in her mount’s mane to keep from flying off.

Fifteen… sixteen… seventeen…

The slit of morning sky at the end of the ravine was widening but not fast enough. If they made it through the gap, it would be by inches.

Nineteen… twenty… twenty-one…

Lanthe had returned her arms to their protective hold on Tairo—when Yelhwa’s left hand shot out and began writing. To Lanthe’s understanding, most people were as bad at writing with their left hand as they were at swordplay. Yelhwa, it seemed, was like Tairo: fully ambidextrous. Her left hand formed characters with the speed and decisiveness of her right.

Twenty-three… twenty-four—and Yelhwa’s left hand switched out with her right, shielding them as they galloped the last three seconds to the end. The party burst out into the open, and Lanthe squinted in the morning light.

Yelhwa wheeled her horse around to look back at the ravine one last time before letting the spell drop. Several thousand tons of rock dropped with it, crashing down to entomb the Medyan bodies behind them.

It was only when the last rubble rolled to a stop far short of their position that Lanthe let out her breath and accepted that she was not dead. For all the times death had seemed certain in the last hour, she was not dead. Tairo was not dead. As the last rumble of settling rock dissipated across the plains, someone else exhaled slowly, and Lanthe’s attention shifted to Yelhwa. The princess lowered her hand slowly and flexed the fingers before returning it to her horse’s reins. To the rest of the Yao observing her from a distance, she probably looked like a goddess, sitting straight on her horse, letting the mountain down to entomb her enemies behind her. They couldn’t see the tremor in her hand, how fast her chest rose and fell, the way her dark eyes stayed wide and shell-shocked on the place where the ravine had been. She hadn’t thought they would make it out alive either.

As Tairo turned Cloud around, Lanthe processed her surroundings. The Spearshaft Ravine had brought them onto what Lanthe had come to recognize as quintessentially Yao terrain: softly rolling plains as far as the eye could see, hospitable enough for shin-height grass but not enough for farming. It appeared that Yelhwa had been right about there being more Medyan waiting outside the ravine. The land was scorched black from graphemantic flames in two large swathes, and the breeze intermittently hit Lanthe with the smell of burnt flesh.

In all, it looked as though about half of the original party of nearly fifty Yao had made it—which, to Lanthe, seemed utterly miraculous considering the general lack of organization. General Runkai and a few others were still mounted and alert for further dangers. Most had dismounted to look after the wounded or simply sag to the ground in exhaustion.

Lanthe dismounted first. Tairo’s boots hit the ground a moment after hers.

“Are you alright, Captain?” he asked.

“Of course, my Lord. It’s good to be back home.”

“Home?”

“In the field.”

“Covered in blood without a change of clothes, you mean?” Tairo said with a nod at Lanthe’s blood-spattered silk tunic.

“Exactly.”

“You’re an odd one, Luyang. But you’re certainly as Ro as they come.” He rummaged in his saddle bag for a moment and came up with a small object.

“What—is that a teacup, Lord Tairo?”

“We let the palace staff pack our bags, remember? Come, Captain,” he said, and Lanthe followed at his shoulder to where one of Yelhwa’s graphemancers had drawn a sphere of water the size of a man from thin air. The liquid hung suspended by a network of glowing characters that the graphemancer refreshed as they burned out.

Lanthe marveled as she watched a Yao soldier draw a ladle of water from the floating ball and drink.

“Did you know that so many of Yelhwa’s attendants were graphemancers?” Lanthe asked.

“I’d guessed, based on their calligraphy,” Tairo smiled. “In fact, I had guessed which ones from the bits of their handwriting I got to see. It looks as though I was mostly right.”

“Mostly?”

“Well, there’s also a common soldier.” Tairo nodded past the female graphemancer to a man in plain Yao riding gear, who had also summoned water from the air.

“Saiyi is the star pupil of my first military calligraphy program,” a voice said, and Lanthe turned to find Yelhwa approaching, “a project my father allowed me while he was still in possession of his faculties.”

“You can’t teach a man to write like that in a year,” Tairo protested, “even an exceptionally gifted one.”

“It wasn’t a year,” Yelhwa said. “It was closer to four.”

Four? That meant that Yelhwa had been testing the idea of teaching graphemancy outside the royal line years before the king fell ill—when she was as young as seventeen. Lanthe supposed that explained why several of Yelhwa’s ladies were Sunsai-esque graphemancers in their own right; the princess would have started with them.

The graphemancer tending the water—a handmaiden called Nuye—smiled shyly up at Tairo as he drew a cupful from the sphere, and Lanthe held in a sigh of exasperation. Dead bodies all around, corpse stench in the air, and Tairo’s spell on women was still as potent as ever.

“Kneel, Captain.”

“I’m fine,” Lanthe said, understanding his intentions.

“You have an open wound on your face, and you’re filthy.”

“It’s a scratch,” Lanthe said but knelt down anyway.

Leaning over her, Tairo washed the blood from her face and flushed the cut with several cups of water to ensure that it was clear of dirt and foreign blood. Lanthe wanted to object to the waste of water, then realized that there was no such thing when graphemancers could summon water from nowhere.

“This is a sword wound,” Tairo observed, tracing a thumb beneath Lanthe’s cleaned cut.

“Yes, my Lord,” Lanthe said and hoped there would be no follow-up questions.

“You let a Medyan get that close with a sword?” he mocked fondly.

“No,” Lanthe sighed. “Worse.”

“Worse?”

“Give my pride a few days to stop stinging and I’ll tell you.”

“Done,” Tairo smiled.

Per her impeccable training, Cloud had followed after the two Ro, staying close to her rider. When Tairo had restored the silly ornate Yao cup to his saddlebag, he took Cloud to where the Yao were watering their horses. The half-wild half-military herd had their heads down at a pool that was plainly a creation of magic—considering that there were neither springs nor rain clouds as far as the eye could see. While Lanthe waited by the other horses for Tairo to finish tending to Cloud, something nudged her shoulder, and she turned to find an inhuman but familiar face.

“Oh… you,” she said as the sand-colored mare nudged her again.

“Where’s your rider, huh? The one who took you off my hands yesterday?” Lanthe certainly hadn’t noted him among the survivors—and there was blood on the saddle.

Fidget blinked her huge, innocent horse eyes and Lanthe clicked her tongue. “Shame on you.”

But a moment later, she found herself running an open palm over Fidget’s flank, which glowed bronze with sweat beneath the climbing sun. Lanthe would have been vaguely upset to think of a wild southern horse dying in rocky hills where she didn’t belong and couldn’t find her footing. Even after the violence and the ensuing scramble for survival, Fidget was calmer here in the open than she had been at any point the previous day. The open landscape had balanced her—the way battle usually balanced Lanthe.

It wasn’t until Lanthe registered a twinge of envy for the bandit horse that she realized that she herself had not calmed. She had not found her usual clarity in violence. After all those interminable days in the palace, wishing for the simplicity of battle… battle had simplified nothing.

Nearby, the princess was talking to General Runkai and his surviving high-ranking officers about their course of action.

“If we keep moving, we can reach the fortress well before sundown, yes?”

“If we keep moving, we will lose three more people,” General Runkai said.

Yelhwa frowned for a moment. “Are you sure, General?”

“I’ve seen injuries like these before, Your Excellency.” Runkai nodded to where soldiers had laid the severely wounded on the ground to tend to them.

“If we treat their injuries in place, they may survive until we reach our destination, where they can get help from real doctors. If we move them without dressing their wounds, they will die. Of course, we move at your discretion, Your Excellency.”

“Then we make camp,” Yelhwa said. “Let those who need it sleep.”

“I’ll set men to watch,” the general said.

“We’ll take it, Lord General,” Tairo piped up.

General Runkai turned to Tairo. Then his eyes moved to Lanthe, and she remembered abruptly that the last time they had spoken, he had been itching for Yelhwa’s permission to decapitate her. The look in his eyes said he hadn’t quite warmed to the Mage Slayer since then.

Tairo didn’t seem to notice the tension as he said, “Luyang and I will take the first watch.”

“You two watch the north then,” the general said gruffly.

Where exhaustion was a concern, many commanders set men to watch in pairs, wherein each man was responsible for keeping his fellow awake as well as watching for danger. But General Runkai clearly hadn’t grown to trust Lanthe. Why would he let the two Ro take a watch together? The post would put them out of the earshot and direct supervision of any Yao. Did he really trust that they wouldn’t collude? Run off? Try to get messages to their Medyan allies?

Lanthe belatedly realized that she had been staring at the shrapnel-scarred general a moment too long and too intently. She averted her gaze quickly, but Runkai had already returned the scrutiny.

“And Lord Chang,” he said icily. “See that you keep your man in line.”

Lanthe sensed the confusion in Tairo’s hesitation. He hadn’t been at the council meeting where she and Runkai had had their first antagonistic interaction. But he said, “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Lanthe and Tairo found a raised rock formation that overlooked the plains to the north—too tall for a solitary climber to scale but about right for two. Standing on Tairo’s shoulders with his hands braced on the heel and under the toe of her right boot so the takeoff didn’t damage his clavicle, Lanthe jumped. Getting hold of the upper ledge, she scrambled on top of the formation, then let her glaive down to pull Tairo up after her. She winced as the movement pulled at the old stab wound in her left shoulder, then wanted to kick herself for it when she realized that Tairo had noticed.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I disturbed the stitches in my shoulder last night, my Lord, but they’re not torn.” She hadn’t even noticed the pain while there was still danger to contend with. In the stillness, as usual, every bruise hurt a little more.

“I wasn’t talking about your body,” Tairo said. “Something is different…”

“I spent all night fighting for my life just like you did, my Lord,” Lanthe said. “I’m tired.”

“That’s not really what I was—”

Lanthe cut him off. “I believe you volunteered to watch the north, not me.”

“Apologies, Captain,” Tairo said and turned his eyes to the plains.

From their vantage, they would see any threats approaching through the grass from a mile off. And if enemies came over the cliffs to their right, they would probably still notice in plenty of time to sound an alarm. But no life moved on the cliffs or plains, just the lip-cracking wind sending ripples through the dry grass.

“Kill count?” Tairo asked after a moment.

“Eight.”

“Ha. Then it’s a draw!”

Lanthe took her eyes off the hills for a moment to raise her eyebrows at Tairo. “Well done, my Lord.”

“Did you get your hands on a gun?” he asked.

“Yes, although I only got one shot off.”

“So, the gun you picked up is normal?”

Lanthe cocked her head. “Normal?”

“Have a look at this.” Reaching to his belt, Tairo unholstered a pistol. “I took it off a Medyan officer—high-ranking, based on his uniform.” He handed the weapon to Lanthe and pointedly returned his attention to the plains to give her a chance to examine it.

“What am I looking at?” Lanthe asked, turning the weapon over in her hands.

“Well, I don’t have any ammo for it, but look at how it’s put together.”

Lanthe shifted the pieces apart and discovered a gap between the barrel and the handle. She squinted in bewilderment. “It… looks like it loads from the back.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But how?”

“I’m not sure,” Tairo said, “but you should have seen how fast this man reloaded. Five seconds at most.”

“You’re joking.”

“I figure the powder must have been bundled with the bullet somehow. It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“Did you have any idea Medyan was developing this kind of technology?”

“No,” Tairo said, “but I’m not an inventor. If King Josan knows anything about this, I’m sure his inventors are in talks with Medyan to establish trade in these weapons.”

“And it handles nicely,” Lanthe observed, pointing the pistol out at the open plain. “If it’s easy to produce, it’s a game changer.” Lowering the pistol, she frowned. “I just wish we could be certain of Medyan’s designs… We know that they have a problem with Princess Yelhwa specifically—much like his Excellency King Josan.”

“But why?”

“That was unclear,” Lanthe said. “Either they want to remove her because she’s unstable”—which was Lanthe’s primary concern—“and they want peace with Yao, or because they fear her and they have more aggressive designs.” It was hard to tell which. On the one hand, you had Yelhwa’s sharp mind and her disturbing powers of graphemancy; on the other, you had her clear and exploitable inexperience. One moment she was bringing down fifty men and horses with two bronze arrows; the next, she was accidentally dropping a mountain on herself. It was hard to say whether she was an asset or an ally to Yao.

“Did you get to interrogate any of the Medyan?” Tairo asked.

Lanthe nodded. “He wasn’t terribly helpful. But Yelhwa confirmed everything he said.”

Tairo shifted to face Lanthe in surprise. “Yelhwa speaks to you now?”

“Yes… I suppose she does.”

“I guess saving her life would help with that.”

It was sweet that Tairo assumed Lanthe had been the one doing the saving—even given all Yelhwa’s powers. “It was more complicated than that. But we did reach an understanding.”

“Is this… something we can use, Captain?”

“Unclear at the moment,” Lanthe said. “I’ll keep probing to find out, but…”

“But what?” Tairo asked.

“I’m sorry, my Lord…” and it had to be sheer exhaustion that let the truth slip out. “I’m more confused than ever.”

General Chang had obliquely instructed Lanthe to do what she thought was best for Ro based on the information she gathered. But the more information Lanthe gathered, the less certain the way ahead became. The previous night had forced the realization that Lanthe’s problems were deeper than obscuring palace curtains and incense clouds. Nothing with Yelhwa was ever simple, no matter what field she engaged on. And here, looking over the grassy expanse of Yao, Lanthe felt utterly defeated.

“When we were in the palace, I was so out of my depth,” she said, almost without thinking—as if she should be worrying Tairo with her own uncertainty. “I would have given anything to be back in a situation like the one last night—with an enemy I could face with violence and overcome. But last night was… unmooring. It’s made me think that maybe all the surety I feel on the field is just an illusion.”

“It’s not, Captain.”

“Then why do I feel this way?” Lanthe growled under her breath. “Like the fog thickens with every step I take?”

“Because it’s the difference between the court and the field,” he said as though this were quite obvious. “It’s her… Yelhwa.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean, Luyang? You may be stronger than the men she’s dealt with before, but you’re still a man. You’re still susceptible to her charms.”

“No,” Lanthe said with a faint laugh. “That’s impossible.”

And Tairo laughed—because, of course, he did, because he couldn’t have any idea where her conviction came from. “What do you mean it’s impossible? Are you so different from any other man with blood in his veins?”

“No—I just… If you can be immune to her, why can’t I?”

“Because you’re not,” Tairo said without judgment—as only he could. “I’ve seen the way she flusters you, Luyang. And it’s alright.”

“She doesn’t—if she flusters me, it’s… not what you think, my Lord. It’s impossible.”

“Respectfully, have you… been with anyone, Luyang? Courted anyone?” The question was rhetorical. Tairo knew she hadn’t. “How would you know what’s possible?”

Lanthe didn’t answer because what Tairo was suggesting was too much to contemplate on top of everything else. The two Ro were quiet for a moment, staring out over the rolling landscape of Yao.

“This won’t last, Captain,” Tairo said after the long silence.

“What?”

“This confusion—wherever it comes from. You were out of place and out of your depth when you joined the army at fourteen. You were out of your depth when you took command of Yansey. You learn as fast as anyone I know.”

“Not at this scale.”

“Not yet,” Tairo said.

“Not yet?” Lanthe almost laughed. “We’re talking about the motives of kingdoms. That’s a different discipline than learning how to handle a glaive or a force of a hundred men.”

“But you must, Captain, and you always do what you must.” A smile crossed his face. “This is just like Yansey. Our alternative is that I take charge. And we both know no one wants that.” His sword hand clapped Lanthe’s uninjured shoulder in a bracing grip. “I have faith in you.”

Lanthe grunted in acknowledgment, but not wanting to accept the undeserved reassurance, she changed the subject. “How did things go on your end last night, my Lord?”

“General Runkai rallied around the remaining carriage and hurried it ahead onto the plain. He knew the road better than anyone. He knew how close we were to open ground. Oddly, the general seems to have taken a liking to me.”

“Oddly? Why oddly?”

Tairo laughed.

“What?”

“I want to tell you,” he said, still laughing, “but I feel like you won’t believe me.”

“Well, now you have me curious.”

“He said he appreciated my martial mind.”

Lanthe was a good friend, so she kept a straight face and didn’t laugh as she said, “Well, you’re good with a sword. It’s not that ridiculous.”

“It feels a little ridiculous.”

“Well, we’re in Yao. It’s easy to feel like Tenro in Yao.”

“He said…” A bit of the laughter faded from Tairo’s expression. “He said he’d be happy to have had a son like me.”

Something in the way Tairo said it broke Lanthe’s heart. She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Tairo… your father is happy to have a son like you.”

“I didn’t say my father had ever done me wrong,” Tairo said, “but he was never happy—that my mother died carrying two sons instead of one or that I was the first of those sons out of the womb. He tolerates having me for a son, Luyang. We don’t need to pretend any different.”

A booted footfall made Lanthe and Tairo turn. Both of them immediately came to attention when they saw who was approaching. General Runkai.

“The princess has ordered the party forward toward our destination.”

That still didn’t explain why he, the second highest-ranked Yao after Yelhwa, had approached the two Ro when he could as easily have sent a soldier. But Lanthe and Tairo carefully descended from the rock formation without question.

“Chang Tairo, I’ve instructed a man to prepare your horse…” It was an invitation for Tairo to leave. He did, with a hesitant glance at Lanthe, who had not been dismissed.

When Tairo had departed, General Runkai turned to her.

“Her Excellency says that you saved her life last night.”

“She did most of the saving, Lord General.”

“Did she?” Runkai considered Lanthe with uncomfortable intensity. “I suppose you think you’re being clever, Mage Slayer.”

What? “Sir?”

“I have more daughters than I know what to do with,” the general said. “I’ve seen a smart girl go blind with starry eyes before.”

“Lord General, I’m not sure I—”

“The princess may be twice as smart as any other girl, and her tastes may be… incomprehensible”—Runkai flicked a disdainful look over Lanthe—“but she is still a young woman, prone to a young woman’s weaknesses.”

It took a moment for Lanthe’s faltering mind to catch his meaning—not because he hadn’t implied it strongly enough but because the whole notion was so completely ridiculous.

“Lord General Runkai, respectfully, I think you have the wrong idea—”

“Do I, Ro?”

Runkai was in his forties, much older than Lanthe, but not far enough past his prime that Lanthe could take him. Probably.

“Do not assume that because the king is indisposed that the princess does not have men on hand to defend her.”

“I would never assume that, sir.”

“As a Ro, I’m sure you’re not very scared of any Yao, but I’m quite confident I could change your mind.”

“I don’t doubt it, my Lord. Please believe that I won’t give you a reason.”

“Well, your lord Chang Tairo seems to trust you, and I believe his interest in Yelhwa to be genuine.”

“Yes, Lord General.” If by ‘genuine,’ Runkai meant sexless and entirely poetry-based. “I believe so too.”

There was an awkward pause in which Lanthe wasn’t sure why the general was still glaring at her. He had clearly made his point. It wasn’t until he spoke that Lanthe understood that he had simply not wanted to deliver his real message.

“The princess has asked that you ride with her today.”

“Oh…”

“Go,” he said roughly. “She does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Lanthe reached the party, a soldier handed her Fidget’s reins, and Lady Suzu impatiently rode up alongside her.

“Mount, Luyang,” she said with her usual shortness matching General Runkai’s. “We don’t have all day.”

When Lanthe had mounted, Suzu guided her to the middle of the party, where Yelhwa rode in an inconspicuous position, only subtly flanked by her ladies. She had changed clothes to subtly different colored silks, and one of her ladies had clearly combed and rebraided her hair to its usual shine. Cosmetics had been reapplied to mask her pink godmarks with a darker red. But up close, in the midday light, Lanthe could see the circles under her perfect eyes.

Lanthe decided she liked the princess best this way—beautiful but flawed. Mortal.

“I’ve made a decision, Luyang,” Yelhwa said as the party began moving.

“Your Excellency?”

“Since it’s a long ride to the Falconer’s Keep, and the wounded preclude us from galloping, I have decided to take this time to brief you on the situation between Yao, Medyan, and your kingdom.”

“Brief me?” Lanthe said, far too shocked to feel pleased with herself.

“I find you more useful and less annoying when you know things,” Yelhwa said shortly.

“Oh…” Lanthe processed the defensive insult but was still too taken aback to take offense. A moment later, illogical annoyance bubbled from inside her. It couldn’t be this easy. After all the time Lanthe had floundered and agonized trying to decipher Yelhwa’s intentions in this game of kingdoms, this felt like having a superior opponent forfeit a duel or a Sen game—far more insulting than being beaten.

“You have an objection, Luyang?”

“So—you have a use for me now, your Excellency?” Because that was the only reason Yelhwa would have for sharing information she didn’t have to; she wanted something from Lanthe. Lanthe just needed to figure out what.

Infuriatingly, Yelhwa neglected to elaborate and went on without acknowledging the question. “Last night, you asked our prisoner why the Medyan might want to kill me when I lack the military expertise to repel them.”

“I said what I thought would get him to reveal his purpose,” Lanthe said honestly. Yelhwa didn’t need to know how much of it had been true.

“It’s still a fair question. The men in line to take control in my absence are, indeed, more formidable than I am as Supreme Commander of Yao’s forces. Medyan’s reasons for wanting me removed are more complicated—far more complicated—than that.”

“Your Excellency?”

“Are you familiar with the king of Medyan, Luyang?”

Lanthe thought for a moment. In conversation, soldiers, commoners, and aristocrats talked about King Josan Huwei, his last tour among the masses, the lineage of his newest and youngest wife. They talked about wise King Kaisin Yeldan of Yao, crediting him with cooling the conflict between their countries. They talked about the bloodthirsty King Guren Dar of Angtei, stubborn King Longfan of Su, the inexperienced boy king Serna of Tuzan… But what did anyone say about the king of Medyan? Lanthe knew he was the latest ruler in the fairly stable Kaolan Dynasty. But she didn’t know anything about the man himself. She didn’t even think she knew his given name…

“That is by his design,” Yelhwa said when Lanthe failed to answer the question.

“What is, your Excellency?”

“That blank space in your mind. King Kaolan Nusai of Medyan is a shadow puppeteer. The Medyan aristocracy has a long history of being reclusive. In most aristocracies, it is only the unwed woman who stays behind screens and veils. But no member of Medyan’s royal family shows his face to commoners. Few rulers have managed that as well as Kaolan Nusai. All anyone sees is the shadow on the screen, which changes shape at his will. Consequently, he is an unknown quantity to his enemies and a legendary hero to his people.”

“Why is he such a hero to his people?” Lanthe asked.

“He has brought them miracles,” Yelhwa said. “That was what he promised my father in exchange for my hand—the first year my magnolia bloomed. An age of wonders is on the horizon, Kaisin, and I will make your daughter a queen of miracles.”

“So you… the king of Medyan proposed marriage to you?” Lanthe said. “That’s why you have a sense of who he is?”

“I’m one of only three people to have seen him in person outside his own court,” Yelhwa said. “There was a secret meeting seven years ago. My father, King Josan of Ro, and King Kaolan of Medyan met to discuss a potential alliance between our three kingdoms.”

“And you were there too, your Excellency?”

Yelhwa would have been only thirteen. What business would she have had in a meeting of kings when it sounded like no queens, generals, or other advisors had been present.

“The alliance hinged on me,” Yelhwa said. “It was contingent on my marrying one of the two—the king of Ro or the king of Medyan. They needed to be assured that I was real and without physical defect.”

“Oh…” Lanthe didn’t know how old King Kaolan was, but King Josan was older than Yelhwa’s father.

Seeming to read the discomfort on Lanthe’s face, Yelhwa said, “I would happily marry in the interest of Yao, no matter the man. Even then, I never desired men the way most girls do. I have only my aspirations for my kingdom.” And Lanthe supposed that explained her immunity to Tairo. “I would have married an old man, an ugly man, even a dull man if it meant security for Yao. My father understood that about me. So, when he took me aside and I said ‘no, absolutely not’ to both marriages, that was the end of the discussion.”

“Because you didn’t think the alliance would benefit Yao?” Lanthe said. “Why?”

“Well, King Kaolan’s reasons for wanting me to marry him aren’t terribly mysterious,” Yelhwa said. “Medyan kings are polygamous. Yao kings are not.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Political marriages. Not your field, I know. But take your own advice. Breathe, and think about all the information for a moment.”

Lanthe did as Yelhwa said, turned the presented facts over in her head. “Your father was a widower…” she said slowly, “with no intentions to remarry, even when he was well. If you are King Kaisin’s sole heir, then… by Yao law, marrying you would give King Kaolan an ironclad claim to Yao.” Lanthe looked to Yelhwa and saw from the grim look on her face that she had put the pieces together correctly.

“Wives, to the kings of Medyan, are not queens but tokens in the game of kingdoms,” Yelhwa said. “Holding me, he would hold Yao the moment my father died.”

“And you pointed this out to your father?”

Yelhwa nodded. “It was the first time my father took my counsel… and he took it seriously. He invoked an old Yao right of kings. The Eternal Denial.”

“The what?”

“A refusal of proposal in perpetuity. Even beyond his death, I cannot be married to King Kaolan. Any marriage between us would be illegitimate, entitling him to nothing. The reason King Kaolan sends assassins for me now is not that my particular actions present a problem for him; my existence is the problem. As long as I live, he will not have a pure and legitimate claim to Yao.”

“And… that’s what he wants?” Lanthe said, confused. “A claim to the throne of Yao?”

“Think, Luyang. What other motive is there? Why else would he target me as he has done?”

She wasn’t fabricating the notion that Kaolan of Medyan was targeting her specifically; Lanthe had it directly from the Medyan soldier’s mouth. The assassins had been in Yao to kill the princess, no other purpose. But Lanthe knew firsthand—with more certainty than she could reveal—that more than one person wanted Yelhwa dead, which meant that there could be more than one motive.

“But you said that King Josan also wants you dead?” she said in confusion. “Surely, his reasons are different from King Kaolan’s?”

Yelhwa looked meaningfully at Lanthe. “Are they?”

Lanthe shook her head, not following. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you, I know you’re not a spy from King Josan because he would not want me talking to any Ro about what he has done and the dealings I have witnessed.”

“What has he done, exactly?” Lanthe asked uneasily. “Has he betrayed Ro somehow?”

“Not intentionally,” Yelhwa said, “but yes. I believe he has sold your country to an enemy he took for a friend. My father tried to explain to King Josan, but your king was too attracted to the immediate benefits of Kaolan’s proposal.”

“What was the proposal, your Excellency?”

“An exclusive trade relationship. Ro grain goes only to Medyan. Medyan guns go only to Ro. Yao would have been included in the exclusivity agreement and our military upgraded with all the guns we could ever want, but when my father refused to marry me off, we were cut out of the deal… which wasn’t really a deal at all. Not for Ro and Yao. From the beginning, King Kaolan’s plan has been dominion over all of the Ten Kingdoms.”

“How do you know that?”

Yelhwa sighed as though explaining all this was quite tiresome—as though Lanthe should be inferring everything faster. “What you and King Josan fail to grasp is the significance of the marriage agreement. Both potential arrangements—my marrying King Josan or my marrying King Kaolan—set Medyan up to take control of our three kingdoms.”

Lanthe’s brow crunched in confusion. “How would your marrying King Josan help King Kaolan secure all three kingdoms?”

“Because Ro is more vulnerable to Medyan than Yao is.”

That made Lanthe laugh aloud; it was so ridiculous.

“Yes, yes, I understand that this claim is very amusing, given Ro’s history of martial dominance. But consider: your military has been more reliant on guns with each successive generation. And do you imagine that Medyan is sending you the best guns they have to offer?”

The question wiped any trace of a smile from Lanthe’s face. She thought of the gun Tairo had shown her… You should have seen how fast this man reloaded. Five seconds at most… If King Kaolan was being truthful in his dealings with King Josan, officers like Lanthe and Tairo should at least have known of the existence of guns like that.

“Having faced both Ro and Medyan weaponry in border skirmishes, my father understood the disparity in quality,” Yelhwa said. “He tried to explain this to King Josan. He tried to make him see that marrying me was intended to place Yao automatically under Medyan political control when Medyan conquered Ro.”

‘When’ seemed an odd word to use for such a ludicrous ‘if.’ “Ro was the undisputed military power in the Ten Kingdoms long before the advent of gunpowder,” Lanthe pointed out.

“Ah,” Yelhwa held up a finger, “because none of your metal-rich rivals ever controlled enough land to escape dependence on Ro crops. But if you have any knowledge—even a peasant’s knowledge—of history, you know that the value of commodities rises and falls.”

“But the value of staple crops doesn’t disappear,” Lanthe protested. In a world with finite farmland, the kingdom that controlled the land would always have a level of security.

“You would think, wouldn’t you?” Yelhwa smiled ruefully. “But graphemancers learn not to accept known human limitations, and that means accepting that one’s enemies may break those limitations also. Are you aware that King Kaolan of Medyan has constructed a fleet capable of crossing the Middle Sea?”

Lanthe was silent for a moment in total shock. “Medyan ships have returned from the demon lands?”

“And come back bursting with goods,” Yelhwa said. “Now, assuming that demon men have cultivated crops that grow more readily in poor soil than our own—perhaps even wield demon magics beyond our understanding—I want you to imagine the scales our kingdoms sit on. Imagine how this might tip them.”

Lanthe indulged the exercise and tried to parse Yelhwa’s implications about Ro and Medyan’s trade relationship. Was there merit to them? Had Medyan really found a reliable new avenue of trade? Was it really stable enough that Medyan could afford to withhold guns from Ro?

“The most insidious thing about King Kaolan’s plan is that all three eventualities suit his purposes. Whether I married him, married King Josan, or refused them both. Because now here we are, with Ro and Medyan closing their jaws on Yao, which would seem too small and too poorly armed to defend itself.”

“Except for your graphemancers,” Lanthe realized aloud.

This explained why Yelhwa would open a long-secret art to the commoners of Yao. She had known from her adolescent years that she was going to come of age in an arms race against two massive military powers. She had neither guns nor cannons to stand up to Ro or Medyan. What she had was the power of graphemancy, rooted deep in her native language. If the needs of Yao itself superseded the need to defend the exclusive power of her bloodline… the scramble to implement unheard-of literacy initiatives suddenly made sense.

“For all his conniving, King Kaolan made a serious miscalculation,” Yelhwa said.

“What’s that?”

“He took his veil down in those secret meetings, but he never looked behind mine. He dealt exclusively with my father, who is kind and measured. He didn’t know who he was really challenging to a fight.”

Lanthe was quiet for a while, trying to process what the princess had told her. Logically, she couldn’t find fault with it. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was the truth. Yelhwa was smart enough to come up with a logical lie… But why would she? What did she gain by taking her valuable time to mislead a Ro commoner she could have killed several times over instead?

“Of course, depending on the weapons Kaolan has acquired, graphemancy may not be enough to defend Yao,” Yelhwa continued. “This is why I can’t select a king from within Yao. When I marry, it must secure an alliance outside my kingdom, and I must choose carefully.”

“Carefully, your Excellency?” Lanthe said, slightly incredulous.

“Is that why you gambled a marriage on that game of Sen?”

“Well, from my perspective, it wasn’t a gamble,” Yelhwa said with a flicker of annoyance. “I wasn’t going to lose.” She stared at Tairo’s distant back for a moment in thought. “I may marry him yet… if my own clandestine meeting does not go to plan.”

Her own clandestine meeting? Did that mean what it sounded like? Was Yelhwa going to offer a political marriage to a potential ally from another kingdom? Who would that be? Ro, Medyan, and the small kingdom of Bayin were Yao’s only near neighbors—and the Bayin royal family were already blood-related to the Kaisin and sworn allies with Yao.

But, disregarding that, what did Yelhwa think she could gain from Tairo?

“Lord Tairo forfeited any claim to land or power in Ro when he defected,” Lanthe pointed out. “So, how would marrying him help you or Yao?”

“It might not,” Yelhwa said. “Aside from the pleasure of his poetry, your Chang Tairo is valuable mainly for his lineage.”

Lanthe shook her head, confused. “He’s a noble, your Excellency, but he’s not part of the royal line. And, even if he was, he’s been disinherited under Ro law.”

“But his father is General Chang,” Yelhwa said, “who is as revered in your country as King Josan himself, yes?”

“I—yes, your Excellency. One could argue that.”

“One could argue,” Yelhwa said, “and that’s the trouble. The argument. Marrying Chang Tairo would be a gamble on top of a gamble. First, would General Chang throw his power behind his king or his firstborn son? Second, would the nobles and commoners of Ro throw their numbers behind King Josan or General Chang?”

In other words, Yelhwa hoped that marrying Tairo would split Ro in two—one half behind Yao and the Chang family, the other half behind King Josan and Medyan. She hoped for a blood bath… on Ro soil, inside the boundary Lanthe had fought to protect since she was old enough to hold a glaive.

“This is where my knowledge fails me,” Yelhwa said—indifferent to or unaware of—the horror that had gripped Lanthe. “Despite intelligence from my many spies in your country, I don’t know the hearts of the people as you do, and I don’t know General Chang as you do.”

Was this why Yelhwa had revealed all of this information? Because she wanted Lanthe to weigh in on General Chang’s character? On how likely he was to start a civil war against his own king?

“I understand that Chang Tairo defected when he came here. According to custom, his father should forsake him, but I know as well as anyone that the most principled father will make exceptions for his child…”

Lanthe couldn’t breathe. Did Yelhwa not understand that everything Lanthe held dear was on the Sen board between them? And here she was, casually discussing her next move like they were still in her garden, idly playing at courtship.

“What do you think, Luyang?”

What did Lanthe think? She struggled to think through the panic squeezing her chest. Why was this harder than thinking past the feeling of a man’s hands around her throat? How did a person think between the crushing weight of kingdoms?

“Luyang?”

“Yes, your Excellency.” Lanthe shook her head.

“I asked what you think of General Chang’s feelings on his sons. If Tairo, having defected, went as far as marrying me and becoming king of Yao, would his father’s allegiance change?”

“Your Excellency, everyone in Ro knows that General Chang’s loyalty to his kingdom and his commitment to tradition are unshakable.”

“That’s what everyone in Ro knows,” Yelhwa said, “but most of Ro has never had a conversation with him. You served under him for years and came up the ranks with his sons. What do you know?”

Lanthe examined her own hands on the reins to avoid looking up—at Yelhwa riding beside her or Tairo riding up ahead.

Ro law and his own code of conduct would have had General Chang throw Lanthe out of his army the moment he knew what she was… He had made an exception for one reason: Lanthe had saved Tairo’s life. And Lanthe knew from the unspoken implications that both Tenro and General Chang were losing patience with King Josan. In her mind, there was no question: Chang Shuro’s love for Tairo was greater than his loyalty to King Josan. Even without considering Yelhwa’s strange story in which Josan had ostensibly sold Ro to Medyan, Chang Shura valued his sons over his king. If Yelhwa laid claim to Tairo, Chang Shuro would follow… and Ro would descend into civil war. Little villages like Lanthe’s would become spaces on the board to be won or lost in blood.

“Are you alright, Luyang? You look pale.”

Two truths coalesced like armies falling into formation—and subsequently crashed into each other. First: Yelhwa had grown fond of Lanthe—maybe not in the way General Runkai feared but enough to seek her counsel. Second: if Lanthe accepted that trust and told Yelhwa the truth about General Chang, Ro was doomed.

The clash should have been over quickly. The integrity of Ro itself should trump a dark-eyed Yao princess sitting a little straighter in the saddle as she waited for Lanthe’s answer. But it wasn’t that simple. If Yelhwa was telling the truth about the dynamics between Yao, Medyan, and Ro, the alternative to civil war was war with Medyan. If she was telling the truth. Heaven… was this the reason for Yelhwa’s story about this secret meeting of kings no outside party could confirm? Was she trying to trick Lanthe? Get her to talk Tairo into destabilizing his own country? Did she know that Lanthe’s family lived near the Medyan border? She could have easily inferred from Lanthe’s accent—

“Luyang?”

Yelhwa’s voice was too gentle. Far too gentle for a noble used to getting what she wanted, being denied an answer she needed. That slight oversweetness… It made Lanthe question everything Yelhwa had shown her—the story of inter-kingdom marriage proposals, her vulnerability the previous night, the subtle sympathy-inducing circles under her eyes.

Maybe Tairo was right. Lanthe was not immune to Yelhwa’s tricks of charisma. Maybe, as Lanthe thought she was gaining ground, the princess had simply been learning the way to work her charm on Lanthe, learning how to lower the Mage Slayer’s guard. On the side that Yelhwa couldn’t see, Lanthe clenched Fidget’s reins in a fist so tight the leather threatened to break the skin on her palm.

“Apologies, your Excellency.” Not wanting to give away her distress or distrust, Lanthe didn’t look up. “This peasant’s son is having trouble grasping everything… I don’t know anything of statecraft or—”

“But the part of the game of kingdoms that you understand well—the movement of troops and the fluctuating price of farmers’ goods—begins in the court, with the marriages between important players. It’s all the same game, Luyang. You’re just playing on a bigger board now.”

“I understand, your Excellency.” This board had Lanthe’s village on it. “I just need some time to think on everything you’ve told me.”

“Well, the road is long,” Yelhwa said with that flower petal tenderness. “Take the time you must, but understand that war will be upon us all soon. You will need to decide where Chang Tairo stands and what forces stand behind him.”

“Only Lord Tairo has control of that decision,” Lanthe said.

“Mmm,” Yelhwa hummed, “If that were true, I’d be having this conversation with him. Do your thinking, Luyang. But keep in mind that time is short.”

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Gunpowder Magnolia! You can get early chapters + more serialized content from the world of Altima on my Patreon.