Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  Father’s brows clashed together for a split second. “She is not ready to be married, not to one of those men.”

  My head spun. So the interruptions had been Father’s doing. But why? What was wrong with those suitors, besides their lack of wit and their self-absorbed attitudes?

  “She needs to marry one of those men,” Kai-Guo said. “A princess’ duty—”

  The Emperor’s lip quirked just a fraction into a frown. Kai-Guo fell silent and bowed.

  Father’s expression softened as he turned to me. “My daughter, it was unfair of me to assign you this task after shielding you from court intrigue all this time. I indulged your love of music when I should have prepared you to become my eyes and ears in your future husband’s fief.”

  Suppressing a sigh, I bowed my head. To the realm, my worth as a musician would never surpass my value as a bride. “Why one of those six men?”

  Father’s eyes searched mine. “What do they have in common?”

  Besides having less personality than a rock and egos larger than the three moons combined? I cocked my head. “They are all sons of Yu-Ming lords.”

  “Yes. Second-rank prefectural and county nobles.” Father’s stare bored into me. “From where?”

  Why was it important? Especially compared to Ankira’s plight? I caught myself before twirling the stubborn lock of hair again. “The North. Regions near the Wall.”

  “What can you tell me about the area?”

  Had I known a geography test would follow matchmaking and greeting foreign dignitaries, maybe I would’ve stolen a few minutes out of my rigid schedule to study a map. My brows furrowed. On my last trip, I’d seen… “Rolling hills rise into mountains. Bloodwood trees dot the mountainsides. The land is poor for farming, but the counties thrive from mining.”

  He looked to Eldest Brother and Cousin Kai-Long. “See? She understands more than it appears.” He turned back to me. “My daughter, while the realm may seem prosperous and stable, not all under Heaven is well. My spies say several of the lords of the North harbor rebellious intent. They are as hard as the mountains they defend. To keep them content and docile, we buy saltpeter from their mines and process it in the capital to make firepowder.”

  I stifled a gasp. For Prince Hardeep and his Ankira, that meant… “We need foreign markets to sell the firepowder to.”

  The Emperor tilted his head a fraction. “We reserve the freshest for ourselves and sell older stocks.”

  I sucked in a breath. “What about Ankira? We profit from their misery.”

  “Sometimes, practicality shades moral precepts.”

  At my side, Brother nodded. Cousin Kai-Long’s lips pursed.

  I lowered my hand from where I was again twisting that lock of hair. My own father was rationalizing actions which caused another people’s suffering. Wasn’t this the paragon of nobility who’d ingrained a sense of morality in me? “But—”

  His eyes narrowed, their warmth replaced by authority. “Convey my regret to Prince Hardeep.”

  Cowed by his stern tone, I bowed. Kai-Guo and Kai-Long followed suit.

  When I raised my head, Father’s regard softened. “You are so beautiful, my daughter. I will announce your betrothal at the reception tonight. After you send the foreign prince away, go meet with General Lu.”

  The bottom dropped out of my belly. Betrothal! To the uncultured commander of the armies in the North. Our planned meeting had been more than a choreographed farce, and with a possible rebellion brewing, perhaps the Guardian Dragon of Cathay had not been the one to request it after all.

  I started to speak, but Father’s genuine smile stifled my protest. My heart sank into my stomach. Betrothal appeared as immutable as Cathay’s agreement with Madura. I’d be married, probably as soon as I flowered with Heaven’s Dew, perhaps even forbidden by a dour new husband from singing. Forget my stomach; my heart lay shattered on the marble tiles.

  Rising, I trudged out of the hall, back into bright sunlight. This had to be a dream. Marriage. Like Xiulan, night after night of trying to make babies with Eldest Brother Kai-Guo. Monotonous routines all day. But at least Xiulan could practice the magic of her Dragon Script with friends and family.

  Not me. I’d be shipped away to barren hills. Devoid of music. Alone. No, it couldn’t be real. I took a deep breath to slow my stuttering pulse. A smooth river pebble found its way from my sash into my hand. Cool and soothing, it was a token from childhood friend Zheng Tian, the boy I’d once laughingly promised to marry. How simple and carefree those days were! When there was no grey area between Right and Wrong. If only I could marry him instead of some pompous soldier. But no; though he might be the son of a first-rank Tai-Ming lord, he’d been banished years ago for a stupid mistake.

  I glanced back at my senior-most imperial guard, Chen Xin. He was looking at my hand, frowning. Even on the worst day of my life, it would not do to let anyone see weakness. With a wistful sigh, I straightened my spine and squirrelled the pebble back into its place in my sash. Before meeting my future husband, there was first the equally onerous task of walking back and denying a desperate plea. Thoughts of my own dismal future would have to wait.

  Outside the Hall of Bountiful Harvests, I paused and composed myself. Prince Hardeep was just a man. A handsome one, for sure, but I’d met many other good-looking men without wilting into a starry-eyed fool. Steeling myself against whatever magic Prince Hardeep had used to beguile me, I stepped over the threshold.

  The prince pressed his hands together and bent his head as I entered. He looked up expectantly.

  His irises—they again entranced me.

  My straight posture softened as my insides summersaulted. I bowed low. It broke formal court etiquette, and indeed, the ministry secretary clucked his disapproval. At least it would conceal my spine melting to jelly. I held the position and focused on the prince’s red-and-gold-threaded shoes. “I am afraid that Cathay must honor its agreements, lest the Emperor lose the Mandate of Heaven and the realm descend into chaos.”

  “Do not apologize.” His voice was sweet again, with a touch of melancholy. General Lu would probably never speak to me with such affection. “Please, raise your head.”

  His last words filled me like a warm breath into a soap bubble. I straightened.

  Shoulders slumping, the prince tilted his eyes downward. He was handsome, even in sadness. “Will you sing for me? As a memory of our meeting?”

  A song. My heart flitted. I would do this for him, appropriate or not. At least someone today would appreciate my voice. I looked over my shoulder toward the official, who scowled and shook his head. No? Who was he to defy my wishes?

  The prince’s lips trembled into a brittle smile.

  My first foray into diplomacy might have ended in disaster, but with music, very few in Cathay could rival me. Perhaps if the fabled magic of Dragon Songs still existed, I could sing the rebellious lords into submission. Then, Father would value my ability over my marriage prospects. I lifted my voice in song, my soul soaring with each breath. The Broken Sword recounted how the Founder had transformed weakness into strength. Perhaps it would give Hardeep hope.

  Exultation surged through my spine, into my limbs. All uncertainties and self-doubts melted away. With each note, I shed my poor imitation of imperial grace, replacing it with the sincerity of my soul. Not even the tight dress could contain me. Verse upon verse rose to a crescendo, my spirit floating with it.

  Prince Hardeep’s blue eyes sparkled. “Even Yanyan would envy your voice.”

  Heat rose to my cheeks. How could he compare me to the girl from a thousand years before, who’d summoned storms with her music and sung the dragon Avarax to sleep? “Yanyan charmed an orc army into surrender with her song. I could not even convince my father to change his mind.”

  “You spoke from your heart, and the Emperor listened.” His forlorn smile sent a chill up my spine. “With an indomitable spirit, you can move your people to do the right thing.”

  Coul
d I? Besides Cousin Kai-Long, none of the men in the Hall of Supreme Harmony had shown any concern for morality. I sighed. “If I had the voice of Yanyan, he would have listened.”

  Those blue eyes searched mine. “Channeling magic through artistic endeavor is the gift of your people, just as the fighting arts are ours. Come with me, and scatter the Maduran armies with the power of your music.”

  Was he suggesting running away? With him? Escaping marriage with General Lu? I glanced back at the official. If he understood Hardeep’s words, the prince might lose his head. And if only shirking duty were so easy. We wouldn’t make it to the front gates, even if I could bring myself to take up his offer.

  And who knew? Maybe he was trying to kidnap me, and hold me hostage to get what he wanted.

  Tearing my gaze away, I shook my head. “Even if master performers from Cathay’s past could accomplish amazing feats with Dragon Songs, those skills have since faded into legend. You would need an elf.” Like Father’s councilor, Lord Xu. Too bad nobody could predict when the enigmatic elf would make an appearance.

  Prince Hardeep took my hands in his. Excitement rose in his tone. “With your voice and musical talent, you have the potential. We will research. I can help you scour your records. Together, we could learn how the masters of old did it.”

  His touch sent heat up my arms and into my core. Behind me, the official sucked in a sharp breath and the imperial guards stepped forward. I withdrew, for his safety, and raised an open hand to assuage the guards. Was it even possible? “How can I learn from books what the elf angel taught Yanyan?”

  “I would hazard to guess that singing a dragon to sleep is just a little more difficult than convincing a doting father to do the right thing.” He put a finger to his chin. “And if—no, when—you succeed, you will save my nation.”

  Yes! No. Even if it were possible to learn from dusty old books, using magic to change an emperor’s mind flirted with treason even more than running away. I met his gaze again. Those eyes implored me, making my belly flutter. No, helping Ankira was the moral thing to do. Here was a chance to show that music was worth something. That I was worth something, beyond my value as a bride to some lord. “I will try.”

  A grin bloomed on his face. “Ankira owes you a debt of gratitude. I owe you.”

  I twirled an errant lock of hair. “We will need to retrace Yanyan’s steps. To find out exactly where she met the elf angel.” Which meant a trip to the imperial archives. After the mandated matchmaking with General Lu.

  I looked into the prince’s eyes. No. He was here, close, and marriage to the general seemed so far away. Hardeep’s people needed my help, because everyone else would just let them suffer. Again, my hand found Tian’s pebble, firm and resolute beneath my sash. He’d support my decision.

  We’d go now, even though it meant disobeying Father.

  Three

  Resonance

  Pages ruffled as I flipped through ancient musical texts with Prince Hardeep under the bright illumination of unshuttered light-bauble lamps. I’d performed in the Hall of Pure Melody’s acoustically perfect main chamber for large audiences of hereditary lords several times before, but it had been years since I visited its library.

  My two imperial guards stood at the doorway, expressions marked by tight-drawn lips and narrowed eyes. The Ministry of Appointments secretary clasped and unclasped his hands, turning his head out into the hall over and over again. He resembled a dwarf-made mechanical doll.

  Unlike those silent automatons, he had reminded me several times in the bowels of the imperial archives, then on the jaunt across the central plaza to here, that General Lu awaited; and that perhaps I should preen a little first. When it came time for him to file a daily log with his ministry, there was no telling what he would say about me.

  Perhaps he would mention how I’d dallied with a foreign prince instead of meeting my future husband. The rumors would swirl through the palace for days, humiliating me—and worse, embarrassing Father.

  Shifting my gaze from Prince Hardeep, I stifled a sigh. Helping him had sounded just and righteous earlier. Now though, rummaging through the music library, without permission no less, for the sake of a foreign country… Father might very well order me married immediately, before I even flowered with Heaven’s Dew.

  And for what? The prospects of unearthing lost Dragon Songs seemed bleak so far. None of the hundred song transcriptions looked out of the ordinary, beyond the beautiful sound they each sang in my head. Gritting my teeth, I replaced yet another bundle of brittle rice-paper scrolls.

  With the enthusiasm of a puppy, Prince Hardeep pointed to a wall of books bound in faded silk cord. “Perhaps we should search the oldest ones.”

  A smile came unbidden to my lips. General Lu would never look at me like that, never think of me as more than a stepping stone. Never care about what was important to me. Yes, this was the right thing to do. Nothing bad came from helping others. My hand left Tian’s pebble and reached for one of the books—

  “What are you doing?” a male voice barked from the door.

  My heart leapt into my throat. I swung around.

  The Hall of Pure Melody’s steward marched in, his blue robes swishing. His glower fell on me, widened, and then shifted downward as protocol demanded. “Your Highness, I was not informed you would visit today.”

  I nodded. “I am…” I looked to Prince Hardeep, then back. “I am looking for a song to play for my brother’s wedding.” A cringe-worthy lie.

  The steward shuffled on his feet. “It is uh, highly irregular for people to visit the musical archives, particularly the rare, and uh, especially delicate volumes. Perhaps I can help?”

  “Yanyan,” I said. “Do you have any of her music here?”

  Frown returning to his face, the steward favored the prince with a furrowed brow. “Who is this?”

  I straightened and channeled my most authoritative voice. “A guest of honor.”

  “And a fellow lover of music.” Prince Hardeep pressed his palms together. “I have researched your peoples’ music for years.” He hummed a familiar tune.

  Da-Xiong’s Lullaby? The famous flautist Da-Xiong, one of the last to master Dragon Songs, had calmed a furious Yu Dynasty emperor with that song, sparing hundreds of innocents from his wrath. Prince Hardeep knew the song, while the only tunes General Lu probably knew of were war chants. The prince’s hum hung in the air, each note heavier than the next. My shoulders relaxed as the melody settled my skittering pulse.

  The steward’s ridiculous grin spread from the edge of each eye, while he blinked as if he had dwarven anvils for eyelids. His Ayuri came out with a halting accent. “Simply amazing! Few have heard of that song, let alone can hum it. I am duly impressed.”

  “You are too kind.” Nodding at the steward, Prince Hardeep winked at me. “I would love to see Yanyan’s songs. Even if none of my people could invoke the magic in her tunes, legend has it the melodies are beautiful.”

  “Alas.” The steward sighed. “Her songs were transcribed in one single book, lost in the chaos after the Hellstorm.”

  Prince Hardeep’s lips quirked upward. “A shame. In any case, though I appreciate the offer, we do not need your help. You may all leave us.”

  “Let me know if you do.” The steward bowed. He turned and left, the secretary and imperial guards escorting him out.

  Leaving me alone. With Hardeep. Whose command both the steward and the secretary and guards had obeyed. My heart buzzed like a dragonfly’s wings. Maybe the secretary would report back to Father that I was alone with a man.

  Hardeep brushed a finger across my thumb, and then clasped my hand. Excitement jolted from my palm to my chest. Smiling conspiratorially, he tilted his head toward the older books. “Come.”

  I cast my gaze down. Heat flared from my toes to my head. To think that an hour before, marriage seemed so onerous. With him, however… He understood me. Maybe he even liked me. I let him guide me toward the books.

&nbs
p; He pulled a few off the shelves, handing me some while flipping through the pages of others. I peeked up through my lashes a few times to catch his singular focus on the task. From the bounce of his head, he could clearly read the musical transcription.

  He passed another book to me. “What does the script say?”

  The song itself was innocuous enough, a piece for the four-stringed, fretted pipa from the preceding Yu Dynasty. In that era, during which the emperor had kept a large harem, a court musician had cheered a depressed concubine with it. “Once you have seized the song’s emotion and made it your own,” I read, “you must project it. Rooted to the ground, your spine aligned, let your heart impel your voice.” Rooted to the ground, spine aligned…it sounded like my doctor’s breathing exercises.

  “As if people were trees.” He laughed, clear and jubilant. Still, his eyes darted over the page before searching mine. “I wonder what it sounds like.”

  My lips quirked upward as I contemplated his hand. My own shot out to take his and I gave him a tug toward the exit. “Come.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The main hall,” I said before I could change my mind. It was one thing to go to the library, but the main hall was off-limits except on rare occasions. If the Emperor found out, he might never let me perform here again. Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Yes, it was. Here was a chance to evoke a Dragon Song, something no Cathayi artist had accomplished in centuries. I could be special, something more than just a chess piece in the game of national politics. And Prince Hardeep wanted—no, needed—me to succeed. I squared my shoulders and shuffled ahead of him.

  Though steeply pitched eaves of blue tile capped the Hall of Pure Melody on the outside, the main hall vaulted in an elliptical dome. Prince Hardeep looked upward, his irises tracing the coffering that partitioned the porcelain tiles.