The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu Page B

outside, and looking so different.”
    Kuni put on a serious face. “You must have me confused with my . . . cousin. He’s Fin, but I’m Phin .” He pursed his lips, demonstrating the supposed difference in pronunciation. “You are probably not familiar with the Cocru dialect, which is subtle with such distinctions.”
    â€œOh, is that so? You must be confused with your cousin often, what with Xana officials in markets also not being familiar with such subtle distinctions.”
    Kuni’s face turned red momentarily, but he laughed. “Someone has been spying on me, it seems.”
    â€œI’m Jia Matiza, daughter of the man you intend to cheat.”
    â€œ Cheat is such a strong word,” Kuni said without missing a beat. “I had heard that Master Matiza’s daughter is a great beauty, as rare as the dyran among fish.” Jia rolled her eyes at this. “My hope was to have my friend Cogzy here”—he gestured in Cogo’s direction, and Cogo shook his head in denial—“let me in under false pretenses so that I could have a chance to admire her. But now that I have accomplished my goal without having to go in, Cogo’s honor and mine are intact. I shall take my leave.”
    â€œYou really have no shame,” Jia Matiza said. But her eyes were laughing and so the words did not sting. “You can come in as my guest. You are outrageous, but you are interesting.”

    When she was twelve years old, Jia stole some of her teacher’s dream herbs.
    She dreamed of a man who wore a plain gray cotton tunic.
    â€œWhat can you offer me?” she asked.
    â€œHardship, loneliness, long-flowing heartache,” he said.
    She could not see his face, but she liked the sound of his voice: gentle and serious, but with a hint of laughter in it.
    â€œThat doesn’t sound like a good match,” she said.
    â€œGood matches are not the stuff of stories and songs,” he said. “For every pain we endure together, there will be a joy twice as great. They will still sing of us in a thousand years.”
    She saw that he had changed into a yellow silk robe. And he kissed her, and he tasted of salt and wine.
    And she knew he was the man she was destined to marry.

    The party from a few days ago lingered in Jia’s mind.
    â€œI have never heard anyone claim that Lurusén’s poem is about waking up in the middle of the night in an indigo house,” Jia said, laughing.
    â€œIt’s true that the traditional interpretation is all about high-minded politics and such,” Kuni said. “But listen to the lines: ‘The world is drunk; I alone am sober. The world is asleep, but I am awake.’ This is clearly about the house watering down the liquor. I have research to back it up.”
    â€œI’m sure you do. Did you present this interpretation to your teacher?”
    â€œI did, but he was too set in his ways to recognize my brilliance.” Kuni grabbed two small plates off the tray of a passing waiter. “Did you know that you can dip pork dumplings in plum paste?”
    Jia made a face. “That sounds disgusting. The two flavors are not compatible at all—you’re mixing up Faça and Cocru cuisines.”
    â€œIf you haven’t tried it, how do you know it’s no good?”
    And Jia did try Kuni’s invention; it was delicious. Surprisingly so.
    â€œYou have better instincts with food than you do with poetry,” Jia said, and she reached for another pot sticker dipped in plum paste.
    â€œBut you’ll never think of Lurusén’s poem the same way again, will you?”
    â€œJia!” Her mother’s voice pulled her back into the present.
    The young man who sat before her now was not ugly, Jia decided, but he seemed to have gone out of his way to make himself appear so. His eyes roamed all over Jia’s face and body, eyes devoid of any sign of intelligence, and a