Gateway

by Sharon Shinn

  “I’m sorry. I truly am,” Daiyu said, but she could tell her voice sounded impatient, not contrite. “But, please. You have to let me know what happened to Kalen.”

  “I can’t return here once I have left for the day. You know that. I do not have so privileged a place.”

  Daiyu almost glowered at her. “Aurora, I almost didn’t come back to Xiang’s house because I was so worried about Kalen. If you don’t let me know what has happened to him, I swear I will leave here tonight to find out for myself—and I won’tbe permitted back inside either.”

  Aurora pressed her lips together. “Fine. Ombri or I will return and leave a message of some sort. A red scarf in the yard will mean that Kalen is hurt. A green scarf will mean that he is perfectly whole. I will braid them together if he is hurt but his injuries are not severe. We will leave one of the scarves in the garden below your window.”

  Daiyu nodded. “And if he—if he is dead?”

  “He’s not dead,” Aurora said sharply.

  “If he is?”

  “A black scarf. But he is not dead.”

  “All right. Then go home. And come back as fast as you can.”

  Daiyu had one hand on Aurora’s arm, pushing her toward the door, but Aurora did not budge. For such a delicate woman, she was surprisingly solid. “Don’t stay awake all night fretting over this,” Aurora said. “You must be at your best tomorrow. You must be rested and beautiful and charming and quick- witted. Everything we have schemed for succeeds or fails tomorrow night.”

  “I know,” Daiyu said. “I will go to bed as soon as I see the scarf in the garden. As soon as I know if Kalen is all right.”

  There was a long pause, while each of them had the same thought. Daiyu added in a whisper, “Don’t lie to me, Aurora. Don’t tell me he is alive if he is dead, just so I do my part.”

  Aurora’s hair seemed to brighten in indignation. “That is something Chenglei would do, so I would not,” the blond woman said. “Whatever the truth is, I will give it to you. And in return, you must give us your best effort.”

  “I will,” Daiyu said. “Now go, please, and quickly return.”

  The next hour passed so slowly it was as if each minute were being etched in glass to be preserved for all posterity. Daiyu paced around her room, stopped long enough to brush out her hair and get herself ready for bed, and then took up the pacing again. Every five or ten minutes she paused at the window and stared out into the fenced yard, hoping to see a signal left behind by Aurora or Ombri. She had a feeling that even if she stood there and watched for the rest of the night, shewould not actually catch a glimpse of either servant of the gods creeping into the garden. She didn’t know why, but she believed they could make themselves invisible, if they chose; they could probably teleport or walk through walls or fly. Just because they hadn’t showed such powers to Daiyu didn’t mean they didn’t possess them.

  It was well past midnight when she paused in her agitated circling to gaze out the window again. And there it was—a braided shawl of red and green, seemingly blown into the garden by a careless breeze. The colors would have been difficult to see except that Aurora had thoughtfully left the scarf within the circle of light that a street lamp threw into the yard. Red and green intertwined. Kalen was injured, but not critically.

  Even as Daiyu felt a profound relief course through her muscles, leaving them jittery and loose, she wondered if Aurora was telling the truth. Aurora must have realized that any other flag would have sent Daiyu fleeing into the night, despite her promise—the news that Kalen was gravely wounded, the news that he was dead. Even a green scarf, the harbinger of good news, would have caused Daiyu to run from the house, because she had witnessed enough of Kalen’s beating to know that this signal would have been false.

  Somehow Aurora had known to leave behind the only token that would make Daiyu keep her place.

  SIXTEEN

  XIANG STOOD BEFORE Daiyu and studied her like a predatory bird examining a potential meal. “Stand taller,” she commanded. “Throw your shoulders back—show off your bosom. Let me see you walk across the floor.”

  Had she been doing this all over again, Daiyu thought, she would have spent more time practicing how to move in the ridiculously high heels that Xiang had commissioned to match the blue dress. She was surprised the shoes didn’t actually hurt, for they made her rather large feet look slim and graceful. But they were so perfectly constructed that they were quite comfortable except for the fact that she was sure she would fall off of them.

  “Keep your eyes lowered until you have been addressed,” Xiang went on with her instructions, which had been repeated so many times already that Daiyu knew them by heart. “Never take your gloves off while you are dancing.”

  That last injunction, at least, Daiyu was absolutely certain to obey. She clasped her hands together before her, and the blue cotton of the gloves was a perfect match for the dyed silk of her dress.

  It was possibly the most beautiful item of clothing she’d ever owned, though it looked nothing like any dress she had ever worn. The top was made of layers of thick silk so heavy there was very little drape from the shoulders to the hips, though it had been cut so that it pinched in subtly at the waist. The sleeves were very straight and came all the way to her wrists; the square neckline was deep enough to show off the upper curve of her breasts. The saturated cornflower blue of the fabric was accented at the neckline and wrists with a wide border of brilliant embroidery in shades of pink and coral. Her black skirt—tight at the waist and falling all the way to the tops of those high-heeled shoes—flaunted a matching border at the hem.

  Qiji gems glowed at her throat, her wrist, her ears, and her fingers, and tingled insistently against her skin. The dragon ring was a cool, familiar shape under the folds of the right-hand glove.

  Her hair had been braided with so many ribbons that someone might have to look twice to be certain she wasn’t wearing a tapestry on her head.

  “Come closer to me,” Xiang commanded. “Let me see when I can smell your perfume. Stop. There.” Xiang sniffed the air. “Yes. Perfect. Not a drop more.”

  “No, Aunt.”

  Xiang tilted her head and gave Daiyu one final survey. “I believe we are ready,” she said. “I don’t think we have forgotten a thing.”

  Daiyu rested her hands flat against her skirt. Through the fabric of the gloves and the silk of the dress, she could feel the silver bracelet in her left pocket, the quartz stone in her right.

  She had not forgotten anything either.

  Xiang said, “Then it is time to go.”

  Daiyu had not expected to sleep at all the previous night, but in fact the combined effects of panic, terror, and relief had put her out almost as soon as she finally sought her bed. She had still been asleep in the morning when Aurora came in with Xiang’s own personal dresser to help Daiyu begin the long process of getting ready. As soon as she was awake and coherent, Daiyu sent Aurora a sharp look of inquiry, and the other woman nodded. Kalenisfine.

  Still, Daiyu hadn’t been entirely reassured until Aurora slipped her a note—which she had instantly realized could not have been faked. “I’m bruised and a little bloody, but no broken bones,” Kalen had written. “Don’t worry. Do what you’re supposed to do. If you remember, think of me every time you see a waterfall.”

  He was safe, then. He was not dead. Daiyu would do what she had come to Jia to do, and then she would be gone.

  If she could bring herself to leave Kalen behind.

  For their ride to the prime minister’s palace, Xiang’s car had been closed up. A shell of glass and a metal roof replaced the usual open-air awning, keeping the passengers safe from any breezes but intensifying the smells of perfume, cosmetics, starch, and hair oils. It was nearly eight in the evening,but here in the heart of summer, night had not yet fallen, and the temperature inside the closed vehicle was stifling.

  Daiyu made no comment. She merely sat on the seat across from Xiang, hands folded in her lap,
eyes cast down. Although she did not look up to make sure, she was certain that Xiang would approve her meek demeanor.

  She was less certain that Xiang would approve of her plan to hurl Chenglei to another dimension.

  The outing with Kalen had decided her. Feng’s words had been convincing; the tales of rescinded supplies and starving families had touched Daiyu’s heart. Chenglei could not be left here to wreak incalculable damage. He must be sent home where he could be contained by people who knew how to punish evil.

  All Daiyu needed was one dance. . . .

  When the driver turned onto a wide, rolling boulevard that seemed to stretch north and south, Daiyu started paying attention to their route. Soon the road was clogged with hundreds of cars, all configured in the formal “closed” style of Xiang’s. Daiyu peered through the glass to try to see the occupants of the other vehicles, catching only a glimpse of silk here, a flash of jewels there.

  “Don’t be rude,” Xiang said.

  Daiyu subsided back onto her seat. “Are they all going to the ball?”

  “If they are people of any substance, yes.”

  Finally, their car pulled up in a graceful, curved driveway in front of a grand house. Daiyu let a servant help her down while she stared up at the building, making no attempt to hide her curiosity. It was as big as the convention center in downtown St. Louis, but more deliberately elegant, a five-story structure of white stone, black marble, and painted red accents. The roofline quirked up at all corners in that familiar pagoda-style architecture; she thought there was a cupola perched on the very top of the building. She followed Xiang past two fountains alive with colorful fish, past perfectly kept stands of topiary, and into a huge hallway where a crowd had already assembled. Daiyu tried to keep her eyes modestly lowered, but she could not help sweeping her gaze from side to side, trying to get a sense of the size of the room, the art, the décor. She received mostly an impression of high walls, red velvet curtains, and gold statuary. The carpet beneath her feet showed a pattern of dragons interspersed with suns and stars.

  Slowly the throng emptied into an even grander room with a ceiling so far above them it must have risen through all five stories to crowd against that cupola on the roof. Daiyu risked one quick glance up and then had to forcibly restrain herself from staring at the intricate painting on the ceiling. The walls showed an alternating pattern of red velvet curtains and panels of woodwork painted in impossibly detailed scenes. The floor featured inlaid marble patterns that mimicked the dragon-and-star motif of the outer room.

  Suddenly Daiyu straightened and looked around again, her eyes too wide for maidenly modesty. Could it be—? They had seemed to travel west and north to arrive there; she was sure the river was several miles due east if she stepped out the front door and kept walking. The prime minister’s house stood on the same site as the Fox Theatre, an unparalleled spot of opulence and beauty.

  It made Daiyu feel a little less nervous to be someplace that reminded her of home.

  Nothing else about the evening felt remotely familiar.

  Despite all of Xiang’s instruction beforehand, Daiyu did not understand the protocols that governed the evening. By rules mysterious to her, everyone else seemed to know where in the room to stand, when to sit, whether or not to speak. If there wasfood,Daiyuneversawit.Therewasmusic,butitwasodd andnot,toherear,particularlymelodic—somepercussivebeats overlaid with a wandering woodwind. Ombri’s exercises on his keyboard had been more tuneful than this. Daiyu just stood close to Xiang, saying nothing and moving not a step unless Xiang indicated that she should. It was clear this was going to be a long night.

  When a gong sounded repeatedly, Xiang linked her arm with Daiyu’s and led her to a short line that was forming in the middle of the room. A quick scan led Daiyu to believe that all the young women and their mothers—or aunts—were queuing up to be presented formally to the prime minister. Maybe she wouldn’t have to wait till the dance after all. Maybe she could offer him a little something extra during her presentation. . . .

  But Xiang had hold of her left arm, and unless that changed soon, it would be difficult to slip the bracelet from her pocket. Not only that, the presentations were clearly the focal point of the evening, and everyone standing on the sidelines was closely watching each introduction. If Daiyu magically made Chenglei disappear right now, everyone in Shenglang would see it happen.

  She had time to consider her options; the line moved slowly. But when it was her turn to be introduced, her choices evaporated. Xiang had clasped Daiyu’s left hand in both of hers, and with a flourish, she transferred that hand to Chenglei. He pressed it between both of his and inclined his head.

  “Prime Minister, may I present to you my niece, Daiyu, my sister’s daughter,” Xiang said, her voice a little louder than it needed to be so that everyone nearby could hear the next boastful sentence. “Of course, you have met her already.”

  Chenglei smiled down at Daiyu with every evidence of pleasure. She had forgotten how very handsome he was; she had forgotten how appealing his smile could be. He did not release her hand, and she could feel the warmth of his palms even through her glove. “I have met her indeed, and I enjoyed our conversation very much,” he said. “Xiang, I compliment you on your good taste in sponsoring such a niece. She is very pretty, and I discern some intelligence in the brilliance of her eyes.”

  “Thank you, Prime Minister,” Xiang said.

  “As I recall, Daiyu, when we last met you had just arrived in Shenglang,” he said. “Tell me, have you had an opportunity to see more of our city?”

  “Indeed I have, Prime Minister,” she said, keeping her voice soft and shy. “I remembered that you said the aviary was your favorite place, and I have been there three times.”

  “And did you enjoy it?”

  “Very much! The birds were breathtaking and the spirit of the place was peaceful.”

  “I am gratified to learn that an old man like me can still advise a young woman on activities she will find pleasing.”

  “You are hardly old, Prime Minister,” Xiang said.

  “It is when I am surrounded by such youth and beauty that I most feel my age!” he replied with a certain rueful charm.

  Xiang smiled. “It is when I am surrounded by youth that I most revel in my intelligence,” she said slyly.

  Chenglei laughed and finally dropped Daiyu’s hand. She brushed at the pocket of her skirt, but it was clear she would have no chance to pull out the bracelet; this interview was over. Chenglei said, “Xiang, your intelligence is never for a moment in doubt.”

  She gave him a regal nod. “Prime Minister.” And then she took hold of Daiyu’s arm and pulled her away, and the next young woman stepped forward with her mother.

  Daiyu would have to wait until the tiaowu.

  Another hour went by before the dancing began. After Chenglei made it through the presentation line, there was a little excitement in the corners of the room: Four fountains sprang to life, bubbling with colorful liquids. The guests exclaimed aloud in pleasure and began making their way to one corner or another.

  “We must visit all the fountains and sip from each one,” Xiang directed, pushing Daiyu subtly toward the one where a cranberry-colored concoction sprayed from a chrome nozzle into a gleaming black marble base. “They represent health, prosperity, luck, and long life.”

  Daiyu was thirsty, so she was grateful for the chance to drink something, though they were only allowed to dip minuscule cups into each fountain and take tiny sips. The cranberry liquid, red for health, had a sharp and bitter taste, but left her mouth feeling refreshed. Prosperity was conferred by a syrupy green brew that was much too sweet for Daiyu’s liking. Long life was symbolized by rich flowing cocoa, and Daiyu noticed that many people had second and third helpings at this fountain, since the flavor was so delicious. But it was at the citrus-flavored fountain of lemon-colored water that Daiyu refilled her cup again and again. She felt like she was going to need all the luck this world could provi
de.

  She and Xiang were still standing by the lemon fountain when the music changed from the drums-and-oboe duet to something a little livelier.This was more like what Daiyu would consider dance music. At the same time, the whole mass of people pressed toward the outer walls to leave the central portion of the room open. Quickly enough, couples began streaming back onto the floor and arranging themselves into the pattern of the tiaowu. Daiyu had a brief, dizzying moment remembering the first time she had tried out those steps in the small house that Aurora and Ombri owned. Her palms had been pressed to Kalen’s, and as always, that light contact had reassured her, made her feel protected and secure. She could do anything if Kalen was there to help her through. . . .

  She could not think about Kalen—not here, not tonight. She stared fiercely out onto the dance floor, forcing herself to see what was in front of her and not what her wistful heart insisted on remembering.

  Xiang was still giving instructions, so Daiyu concentrated on listening to her voice. “Remember, when Quan asks you to dance, you must refuse twice. You only say yes the third time,” Xiang said.

  “I remember, Aunt,” Daiyu replied.

  She had not seen Quan within this whole crush of people, but apparently he had been tracking them, for Xiang had scarcely finished speaking when he materialized at her elbow. Daiyu was glad to see him; his presence would help her keep thoughts of Kalen at bay.

  “Mistress Xiang, may I be permitted to partner your niece in a dance?” he asked.

  “It is acceptable to me, but you must ask her,” Xiang replied.

  Quan turned to Daiyu. “You are the most beautiful girl in the room. Please, Daiyu, will you dance with me?”

  Daiyu kept her eyes lowered as she said, “Oh, young master Quan, surely there are other girls here who are more deserving of such an honor.”

  “It is I who would be honored if you considered me deserving of your time. Will you dance with me?”