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

by CK Dawn

  He gawked at me. With sadness or anger, it was impossible to tell. Bolting up, he spun on his heel and stumbled out of the courtyard. His officer trailed after him, while Chen Xin and Zhao Yue looked on with what could only be described as bewilderment.

  A cloaked figure materialized out of nothingness, just on the other side of my guards. The pipa slipped from my startled hands and hit the pavestones with a discordant groan. Shaking their heads, Chen Xin and Zhao Yue both swept dao swords from their scabbards and backed into a defensive position.

  Chen Xin pointed the tip of his weapon at the stranger. “Identify yourself.”

  The man strode forward. His hands made no move toward the thin longsword hanging at his side.

  The guards sprang into action, attacking in a synchronized flash of blades that would have eviscerated even a highly skilled warrior. Yet the intruder blurred through the deadly barrage and arrived on the other side unscathed. Without looking back, he waved a hand at the guards, sending both tumbling to the flagstones.

  Interposing myself between Xiulan and the intruder, I fumbled for the curved dagger tucked in my sash. Not that I stood a chance against someone who could effortlessly defeat two of the realm’s best swordsmen. My chest squeezed around my pounding heart.

  Seven

  Challenges

  With the reverberation of the pipa and the clattering of metal on the flagstones still echoing, I pointed my dagger at the intruder. As if that would deter someone who had just dispatched two imperial guards with even more ease than Prince Hardeep had.

  My pulse pattered like spring rain on the tiled roofs of Sun-Moon Palace. I swallowed the fear and found my tone of command. “Stand back.”

  The stranger lowered his dark hood, revealing the pointed ears of an elf. Relief washed over me. Lord Xu, my father’s aloof councilor. Though he shared his rarely seen brethren’s slight build and delicate features, he stood as tall as a human did. He let his long golden hair flow freely, caring little about fashion trends that might come and go; he’d undoubtedly seen many in his centuries of life. His violet eyes sparkled with mischief. That and his youthful appearance belied unknown years of wisdom.

  Behind me, Xiulan and Kai-Hua blew out long sighs.

  I crossed my arms, frowning. “Lord Xu. You have a flair for the dramatic. Was that necessary?”

  The elf didn’t bother to bow. My ancestor had decreed that Lord Xu need pay obeisance to no one, not even the Emperor himself. “I need to keep my skills sharp. Little around here is more challenging than approaching a princess protected by imperial guards.” He looked back and grinned at Chen Xin and Zhao Yue, who staggered to their feet. “Though I guess they hardly constitute a challenge.”

  Both soldiers dropped to one knee, head bowed. Chen Xin held his sword up in two hands. “Your Highness, forgive our incompetence. If you command it, we will take our own lives as punishment.”

  Xiulan waved them off. “There is no shame in being bested by the councilor. As you were.” She turned back to the elf. “To what do we owe this unexpected visit, Lord Xu?”

  He pointed to the pipa, lying forgotten on the ground. “Twice today, the energy of the world has rippled out from Sun-Moon Palace.”

  I searched the elf’s unreadable eyes. Twice? The first was with Yanyan’s pipa, which meant the second was just now. With General Lu. Perhaps that was why he’d left so abruptly. Excitement tingled in every nerve.

  His stare fixed on me. “You have finally made a breakthrough in your music.”

  My eyebrows rose. Finally? And where had he been hiding? “You heard it?”

  The elf’s gaze bore into me, ripping away any mental armor I might have. “Felt it. We taught the Cathayi people to manifest magic through artistic endeavor, but the ability to do so with music—Dragon Songs—was lost. Great masters disappeared one by one, after your great-great-grandfather bade them to play Yanyan’s pipa. Yet without a teacher, you have intuitively figured out the basics.”

  Maybe not so intuitively, but Xu didn’t have to know about Hardeep. Heat rose to my cheeks.

  He placed a hand over his chest. “You have learned to project emotions through your music, though you require an acoustically ideal location like the Hall of Pure Melody. Or this courtyard. However, before you learn to project energy through music, you should learn to listen. Close your eyes. What do you hear?”

  I exchanged confused glances with Xiulan and Kai-Hua, and then listened. The sounds of spring mixed with the rippling of Sun-Moon Lake in the distance. “Waves, wind, and birds.”

  Xu snorted. “How about your guards’ breaths? The beating of your handmaidens’ hearts?”

  I gawked. That was impossible, even for my exceptional hearing. Maybe the elf could, with his big ears, but it was too much to expect from a human.

  To a collective gasp, the pipa materialized in his hands, looking none worse for the wear after its fall to the pavestones. He proffered it. “Close your eyes and listen.”

  I received it in two hands and closed my eyes. As if holding a pipa would make difference… But wait, there was Zhao Yue’s inhale, barely a whisper over the other sounds. I straightened my spine. Chen Xin’s exhale vibrated in one of the strings. The handmaidens’ heartbeats were soft puffs in my ear, yet they too resonated almost inaudibly in the pipa strings. I looked up at Xu.

  “You understand. You hear. Listening is your greatest asset.” Ears twitching, he lifted a finger. “What do you hear now?”

  Around me, Xiulan and the handmaidens quieted. I closed my eyes again. There. In the distance. The twang of a plucked instrument and whine of a bow on strings danced with one another.

  I opened my eyes. “A pipa and erhu.”

  “Follow it to its source.”

  Xiulan nodded. “You go ahead. Kai-Hua and I will look for General Lu.”

  I favored Lord Xu with a tentative smile. Even with permission from Xiulan, it seemed inappropriate to wander the castle grounds with an elf. But why not? I’d done worse this day, and nobody would suspect Lord Xu of having any attraction to humans. General Lu had cut our matchmaking meeting short, leaving plenty of time before tonight’s reception, where Father would likely not announce my betrothal. It’s not as if I could get in that much more trouble.

  It was worth the risk, for the improbable chance to grow in the power of Dragon Songs. With a bow, I left the courtyard and ambled through the paved alley until it came to a white rock path. I listened as it wound through a garden in the inner castle. Somewhere beyond the budding plum trees, master musicians sparred in an improvised duel between pipa and the two-stringed erhu.

  My imperial guards marched behind me, crunching the stones beneath their boots, synchronizing with the beat of the song in the background. The handmaidens followed with the shuffle of robes. Though the Spring Festival was just a few days away, winter maintained a tenuous grip on the breeze. I tightened the outer gown around my shoulders.

  And discovered Lord Xu had not followed.

  My footsteps fell short at the edge of the Danhua Garden. Before me, the mottled trunk of a weeping danhua tree curved upward, its willowy limbs cascading downward in strands of red buds. On the ground at the edge of the canopy, almond shrubs formed a circle, their still-grey buds clinging to bare branches. Inside the circle, two of my music teachers sat with perfect posture, playing ornate instruments.

  Master Yong Shu ran his bow across the erhu in furious strokes, the whine of its two strings urgent. Master Ding Meihui plucked at her pipa, calm and resolute, waiting. Middle-aged now, rumor had it the two had been involved in a torrid relationship almost three decades before, culminating in their epic performance before my newly enthroned father.

  That was then, and age and cynicism had since set in, evident from their strict lessons. Yet at this moment, their performance captured passion and youth, making them seem fresh and vibrant again. Buzzing like a hummingbird’s wings, his notes pranced like a fire blazing, while hers churned like the swell of a tidal wave.<
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  My spirit soared and my belly fluttered. This was love, made tangible by sound. My feelings for Hardeep, perhaps. Too soon, the duet ended. Master Yong turned to me and bowed low, and Master Ding followed suit.

  Finding my breath, I returned their salute with a low bow. Princess or not, I might as well have been a beggar before my teachers. I straightened and walked into the ring of shrubs. “I have never heard such a passionate performance.”

  Master Yong nodded. “We will play tonight at a reception in honor of your brother’s wedding.”

  Right, the reception. The one I would have to escape if I had any chance of leaving the castle and meeting Hardeep. Yet with a new world opened to my ears, and General Lu fleeing our matchmaking appointment, the opportunities seemed boundless. Everything fell into place as if Heaven had willed it.

  “What made their song so distinctive?” Lord Xu whispered in my ear.

  My heart might have jumped into my throat. Where had he come from?

  “Well?” Xu raised an eyebrow.

  There were too many details to mention! I could barely contain my smile. “The harmony and balance. Two opposite styles coming together to form a whole.”

  “Very good,” Xu said.

  Master Ding clapped her hands. “You will soon outshine us.”

  “Never.” I bowed my head.

  Master Ding laughed. “The greatest honor for a teacher is for the student to surpass her.”

  Wiping sweat from his brow, Master Yong grunted. “Our piece reflects the interaction between Yin and Yang, the push and pull, the mutual creation of harmony.”

  Xu harrumphed. “Call it what you will, the key is that you listened and understood. Now, try it yourself.”

  Bowing, Master Ding stood and gestured to her seat. “Please, Your Highness.”

  Try? Someone who was just learning about love couldn’t imitate that music. To do so would be an insult to what they had just played. I begged them off with a wave of my hand.

  With a scowl, Lord Xu nudged me toward the seat. “Please, Your Highness.”

  It might as well have been an order; audacious for a lord, but perhaps not for Xu. I nodded. In any case, Hardeep had asked me to practice. What better way to practice, than with two of my best teachers and an elf wizard?

  Master Ding bowed. “Remember what I played, but do not let that constrain you. Let Master Yong guide you, and you will find you are guiding him.”

  Such curious advice, especially given the rigidity with which both usually taught. I sat, rooting my feet to the ground and straightening my spine as Hardeep had suggested. Satisfied my posture met his standards, I nestled the pipa in my arms. Like before, it felt lifeless compared to Yanyan’s.

  “You have to give it life,” Lord Xu said.

  My pulse skipped a beat. It was as if the elf could read minds.

  Master Yong laughed and swept his bow across the erhu. A jubilant sound burst forth.

  The melody would work so well with what Master Ding had just played. I plucked the strings, copying the beautiful music note for note. The sound resonated inside of me, coiling my belly again as it had done in the Hall of Pure Melody. I adjusted my posture, and the vibrations percolated from my arms into my core, and then into the ground. Capture this, and I was one step closer to helping Prince Hardeep.

  Seize the song’s emotion and make it your own, the book had implored. This song was more difficult than the one in that ancient tome, mixing jubilance with resolve. Opposites. Impossible to grasp both at the same time. What had Master Ding thought of when she was playing?

  Love, perhaps? What she might have felt for Master Yong so many years ago? Not that I could even understand such emotion, given my own limited experience. Zheng Tian? We’d talked about marriage at a time when we thought it just meant always being able to play with one another. Hardeep? I barely knew him, even if his eyes twisted my stomach into knots. General Lu? I’d never learn what love was with him.

  On the periphery of my vision, Master Ding’s tight lips sank into a frown. Master Yong’s playing fell out of beat with my own. No, I was losing it. Blowing out the breath I held, I lowered my hands.

  “Your Highness, if I may.” Master Ding held up a hand. “Your playing is technically perfect. It would make a wonderful solo…”

  But.

  Master Yong lowered his bow. “If I may, Your Highness. We are not playing off each other, as a duet should. Ideally, as my song pushes, yours receives. When you expand, I contract.”

  Lord Xu nodded. “You are playing what you want, and you are doing it very well. However, you are not listening. That is the key to playing a song like this.”

  There was denying it. So focused had I been on replicating Master Ding’s piece, that I’d missed the changes Master Yong had improvised. I bowed my head in contrition.

  “Keep practicing, keep listening,” Lord Xu said. “I will seek you out when you have made another breakthrough.” He disappeared, the air popping where he had stood.

  I covered my gasp with a hand. It was surprising to see him disappear just like that, but not nearly so shocking as his certainty that I’d make another breakthrough.

  Eight

  Dilemmas

  I listened to the chirping of birds as a cold breeze whispered through new tree buds. Perhaps a garden wasn’t the best place to practice the pipa; not when the chill brought goosebumps to my exposed arms. However, Lord Xu had implored me to listen, and it was near impossible to distinguish sounds with the preparations for tonight’s reception stirring a ruckus inside the castle.

  Never moving from its reliable spot in the halls of heaven, the iridescent moon waxed to mid-crescent. Prince Hardeep wanted to meet past sundown at the first waxing gibbous, four hours hence. That left plenty of time to practice. Maybe I could show how far I’d progressed just from the morning. The thought sent prickles dancing through my core.

  Focus. I shook the excitement out of my head. The book instructed the musician to seize the song’s emotion and make it their own. I’d read the lines over and over again since leaving my teachers, and tried to play the song with the happiness it embodied. If I could affect General Lu, certainly I could influence the mood of my handmaidens.

  One more try. Adjusting my posture, I lowered my hands to the strings and plucked out perfect notes. My rendition of the song was so precise, it had to work. I cast a glance at Han Meiling and the imperial guards Chen Xin and Ma Jun. They stood like statues on the veranda, almost blending into the background. Despite my best efforts with the music, they remained stoic as always; the exact opposite of the song’s intended effect.

  My lower lip jutted out. Learning from a book was getting me nowhere. The sensation of power I’d felt, first in the Hall of Pure Melody with Yanyan’s pipa, then later when playing for General Lu, seemed so distant. Like a dream.

  Listen, Lord Xu’s voice echoed in my mind, almost too real and with too much of an exasperated tone to be the memory from just an hour before.

  I closed my eyes and opened my ears: the battle between spring and winter, played out in the birdsongs, wind, and waves. Spring sang an uncertain song as winter held a tenuous grip. The irregularity of weather seemed just like Prince Hardeep’s influence. I’d broken more rules today than I had my entire life, even angered the man Father wanted me to marry.

  The uncertainty found its way into my music as I strummed a random tune on the pipa, the hesitant notes reflecting the weather and my emotions. Duty dictated marriage to the general. My soul wanted to sing with the song of the world. An impossible dream before today, but now my spirit soared. Between Prince Hardeep’s promise of the Dragon Scale Lute and Lord Xu’s certainty of a future breakthrough, it now seemed possible.

  It also meant leaving the palace tonight, during a formal reception no less, using some lie to meet Hardeep. His Ankira needed my help, but it shouldn’t require sneaking behind Father’s back. It shouldn’t require imposing my will through magic, even if it were the right thing
to do. Surely, there had to be other avenues. My notes wobbled.

  I steadied my breath, and the music with it. Right. It was best to obey the rules. Stay in the castle tonight.

  Not that it was even possible to escape. A thousand eyes would be on me, because either the Household Ministry secretary or the Hall of Pure Melody’s steward had undoubtedly reported to Father about my unapproved adventures in the palace. Minister Hu had probably spread rumors that Hardeep wanted to take me hostage. Maybe he did.

  Father might be too busy preparing for the reception now, but when it did come time to mete out punishment, he’d probably forbid any more contact with Prince Hardeep—in addition to any other reprimand I might face.

  In the corner of my eye, blue robes twitched in a short blur of motion. Chen Xin and Ma Jun had shuffled, perhaps from the uncertainties in my music.

  Another flash of blue and black robes swirled from beyond the veranda. Maybe they were just reacting to that.

  No, it was my music. It had to be. It was a sign. All uncertainties faded. I was destined to liberate Ankira.

  “Young Lord Peng Kai-Long requests an audience with Princess Kaiya,” Household Affairs Secretary Hong’s voice cracked from the edge of the garden. He’d been following me around quite a bit today. A spy perhaps, there at his ministry’s bidding—or even Father’s—to make sure I didn’t break any more rules.

  My hands froze over the strings. I set the pipa down and searched for the voice’s source. The old man bowed, his lips tight like he had just sucked on sour plums. Cousin Kai-Long stood at his side, folding a sheet of paper.

  A letter from Prince Hardeep? My heart pattered. Another sign.

  Kai-Long took the steps down the veranda. “Your Highness,” he started, addressing me formally. Even though he was an elder cousin, my position as a princess from the direct ruling line ranked me above him.