“It’s not a riddle!”

“So you’re giving up?”

“No!”

A lengthier pause.

A tree stump flamed to ash

before the dragon answered,

“Twenty-five.”

Complaints, commiserations, confessions,

conjectures, strategy, philosophy,

riddles, rumor, friendship

traded across hundreds of miles

over the course of centuries.

FIRST DAY

“My stomach hurts,”

announced Prince Keng

when King Xau collected him.

King Xau crouched down,

felt Keng’s forehead.

No fever, no sign of pain

when Xau pressed Keng’s belly.

“Are you worried about lessons?”

“Noooo.”

“Are you worried about something else?”

“The others,” said Keng.

“The other children?”

Keng nodded.

“It’s all right to be worried.”

Xau stood, took Keng’s hand in his,

started down the corridor.

“But maybe you’ll become friends.”

That was why Xau had arranged this.

All Keng’s life, people would defer to him,

yet these three—one girl, two boys—

might see him as their classmate,

not their prince.

Xau would have preferred a larger group,

but few families lived at the palace,

and of those few, fewer still

that would not try to please Xau

by having their children

please his son.

The fathers of these three

all men who’d spoken up

when they disagreed with Xau,

all men he trusted

with his life.

He’d been lucky to find

as many as three.

“Why can’t Mama keep teaching me?”

“Mama will still teach you Sumbrese.

The tutor will teach mathematics,

history, reading, writing—”

“I can write already.”

Pride in Keng’s voice,

though his fingers

clutched tight to Xau’s.

“I can write my name

and the numbers and the colors

and lots of animals.”

“That’s a good beginning.”

Then they were at the classroom,

and Keng, spotting Chee, a girl

with whom he had played twice,

the daughter of Xau’s guard Shuen,

let go Xau’s hand and ran to her.

Xau stood in the doorway,

his hand empty.

FOREBODING

A stolen day, the air golden,

sweet with honeysuckle,

his children playing under the greening trees,

the sound of his wife laughing.

A shadow on the day, on King Xau’s heart

as he sat cross-legged on the grass,

helping Ying, his two-year-old,

pick the small yellow flowers

all about them.

Xau looked up at Li, captain of his guards,

standing, watchful, within arm’s reach.

“Li, which guards will stay behind

when we go to Innis?”

“Dao and Shuen.

Dao’s off-wrist is not yet at full strength.

Would you like to bring Shuen?”

“No.”

A centuries-old history of war with Innis;

the peace recent;

that Xau would have enemies there

beyond doubt.

And Shuen the only one

of Xau’s guards with children—

a son Ying’s age, a girl Keng’s age—

despite which Xau had risked Shuen

in war, earthquake, the demon’s onslaught.

But now, today,

Xau glad Shuen would stay behind.

“You expect trouble,” said Li.

“As do I. We could take twenty

of the palace guard. Or more.”

“No. We go not to prove our strength,

but our friendship.”

Xau watched Ying,

the way her mouth opened

as she took a flower from his hand.