The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu

ruler.
    The emperor was disappointed. Mapidéré had always respected Tuan and hoped such an enlightened man could see further than the others. But he could not permit the man to live after such criticism. Mapidéré gave Tuan a grand funeral and published a collection of his writings posthumously, edited by the emperor himself.
    He had many other ideas about how to improve the world. For instance, he thought all the people of Dara ought to write the same way, instead of each locale maintaining its own variant of the ancient Ano logograms and its own way of arranging the zyndari letters into word-squares.
    Just remembering how the scholars of the conquered Tiro states had howled at the Edict on Uniformity of Speech and Writing brought a smile to the emperor’s face. The edict had elevated the Xana dialect and the Xana script into standards for all of Dara. Virtually all the literati outside of the Xana home islands of Rui and Dasu foamed at their mouths and called the edict a crime against civilization. But Mapidéré knew perfectly well that what they were really objecting to was the loss of power. Once all the children had been educated under one standard script and one standard dialect, the local scholars no longer could dictate what thoughts could spread within their realm of influence. Ideas from outside—such as Imperial edicts, poetry, the fruits of the culture of other Tiro states, an official history that superseded the local interpretations—could spread across all of Dara without the ancient barriers put up by seven incompatible scripts. And if scholars could no longer show their erudition by knowing how to write the same thing in seven different ways, good riddance!
    Also, Mapidéré thought everyone should build their ships following the same specifications—ones he judged to be the best. He believed old books were fatuous and contained nothing useful for the future, so he collected them and burned every copy except one, and these last copies he stored deep in the bowels of the Great Library in Pan, the Immaculate City where everything was new, where only those who would not be corrupted by outdated foolishness could see them.
    Scholars protested and wrote tracts denouncing him as a tyrant. But they were only scholars, with no strength to lift swords. He had two hundred of them buried alive and cut off the writing hands of a thousand more. The protests and tracts stopped.
    The world was still so imperfect, and great men were always misunderstood by their own age.

    Time’s Arrow arrived in Rui. There, messengers led by bloodhounds carried the emperor’s letter deep underground and followed the course of the Grand Tunnels, deep under the sea, until the hounds found the scent of Crown Prince Pulo and General Gotha Tonyeti.
    The crown prince unrolled the letter and found a small sachet enclosed. He blanched as he read.
    â€œBad news?” General Tonyeti asked.
    Pulo handed the letter to the general. “This must be a forgery,” Tonyeti said after he was finished.
    The crown prince shook his head. “The impression of the Imperial Seal is real. See how there’s a chip in the corner? I saw the seal often as a boy. It’s authentic.”
    â€œThen there has been some mistake. Why would the emperor suddenly decide to strip you of your title and make your little brother the crown prince? And what is that packet?”
    â€œIt’s poison,” Prince Pulo said. “He’s afraid that I might engage in a war of succession with my brother.”
    â€œNone of this makes sense. You are the gentlest among your brothers. You have trouble even ordering these laborers whipped.”
    â€œMy father is a difficult man to read.” Nothing his father did shocked Pulo anymore. He had seen trusted advisers beheaded because of one careless comment. Pulo had defended them time and again, trying to save their lives, and for that his father had always