by JC Kang
He studied the rocky stream that fed the pond, thinking of the ancient story of the carp that swam up a waterfall and transformed into a dragon. Chief Minister was still within reach. If he played his game carefully, if he courted the right people and betrayed them before they realized what was happening, he could very well become father of the future Tianzi.
“You will need help,” the stone dragon overlooking the pond said.
Hong’s heart jumped into his throat as he gawked at the sculpture. Had it read his mind? His first impulse was to call for the guards posted just outside his pavilion.
They would think him insane.
“No need to call your guards,” a frog on a rock said in the same voice. “If you did, I would be gone long before they arrived.”
Hong found his wits. “You are the renegade agent. Tan’s asset.”
“One and the same,” said a just-opening blossom on a cherry tree, forcing the minister to turn again in confusion. “I am impressed you know me.”
“Will you stop doing that?” Hong wagged a finger at the blossom.
A painfully plain, middle-aged man with a walking stick melted out of the shadows, a bemused tone in his voice. “As you command, Chief Minister.”
“Apparently, your information sources have failed you for once.”
The man smirked. “Oh, no. My information is early. The title…and all its benefits…can still be yours.”
Being beholden to a traitor didn’t seem much better than having to trust Lord Peng. “What do you want from me?”
“First, let me thank you. You knew of the former Chief Minister’s method of contacting me, and warned me of the trap, did you not?”
“I did not,” Hong said, now thoroughly mystified. He had set the trap.
The man shook his head. “Oh, but you did, though perhaps you had intended the opposite. No matter. Which brings me to the reason for my visit. I am here to accept your assignment.”
Hong’s confusion grew, though he tried his best to hide it. “What assignment?”
“The unwritten one.” The upturn in the man’s lips almost connected to the crinkles at the side of his eyes. “The removal of Chief Minister Song.”
Hong stared at the man through narrowed eyes. “How would you do that?”
“First, you must promise to pursue war with Madura once you become Chief Minister.”
The man was perplexing. Hong threw up his hands. “Everyone now knows Madura had nothing to do with the insurgency.”
“You are a smart man. Make it happen. If you go back on your promise with me, I will not be as incompetent as Minister Tan when I try to throttle you.”
Was he referring to the bathhouse incident? Hong could not keep the incredulousness out of his voice. “How do you know such things?”
“It is my business to know,” the man said. “For example, I know how Peng has been rendering the Tianzi and his sons sterile for four years now, by replacing the imperial tea with Ayuri gooseweed.”
Hong had learned this from a business associate long ago, which was one of the reasons he had approached Peng with his plot. How did the renegade agent know? Perhaps he would spill his secret. Let him monologue.
“Your contact inside the imperial kitchens orders from your business acquaintances in Yutou province, and that acquaintance in turn procures a certain Levanthi spice through my shipping company, Golden Fu Trading. The otherwise harmless spice, which goes into the Tianzi’s longevity elixir, interacts with gooseweed to cause respiratory distress.”
The man knew of Hong’s actual treasonous actions, even more than Peng did.
“That on your command, your kitchen contact will mix that spice into the palace meals so that the princes will consume it as well. And lastly, you knew the asthma-treating herb Ma Huang, when mixed with gooseweed, will cause heart failure.”
He knew. Did he know about—
“Just as you did to the Tianzi’s brother and nephews two years ago.”
He did. Aching face muscles told Hong he must have been wearing the most ridiculous expression.
“You see, Minister Tan’s plot was simple; yours more subtle and entertaining. Mine is even more complicated, and ultimately, you will be one of the main beneficiaries if you play along.”
Though always ahead of his political opponents, Hong was completely baffled by this man. “What is your stake in this?”
The man shrugged. “I have nothing to gain personally. I only wish to make Hua strong before its neighbors swallow us. Tan was my greatest hope for success until he betrayed me, which is why I led Young Lord Zheng to him.”
Whatever made him think Tan betrayed him? Still, his goals seemed noble enough, and were very much in line with Hong’s. He would at least reap benefits until he found a way to tie up this loose end. “Very well. I swear to press for Expansionism once I am Chief Minister. Now, how do you plan on killing Chief Minister Song?”
“Killing?” The man glared. “I have no such plan. He is a good man whom Hua still needs. But he will resign in embarrassment when he learns his son is an insurgent.”
If Hong’s jaw could drop any further, he would have to pick it off the ground. “How do you know that?”
“Because he has worked for me for two years.”
Hong’s head spun. “And what do you need me to do?”
“First, let us remove Lord Peng from the picture. Left unfettered, he is conniving enough to thwart our plans. Go through with your plan to poison the Tianzi.”
CHAPTER 32:
An Audacious Proposal
Yan Jie’s sharp eye caught the small scar on the side of Maduran Prince Dhananad’s neck. The Architect’s intricate plan from thirty-two years before had called for kidnapping the young prince. The Surgeon had nicked him when the brave boy fought back.
Adult Dhananad covered the mark with a thick layer of cosmetics—part and parcel of a flamboyant package. It did little to compensate for the toll age had taken on a mildly handsome face.
Gold pins held up his hair in a twist the Hua would consider feminine. His rust-red kurta of fine cotton hung to his knees, embellished with a repeating pattern of gold scorpion symbols. Gold-threaded slippers graced his feet, while a cloying musk hung about him, competing with the sweet incense burning in the brazier. All told, Prince Dhananad’s vanity could challenge even Princess Kaiya’s.
“Absolutely stunning!” He brought both of his palms together below his chin in a typical Ayuri greeting. “Truly, you have come prepared to impress us!”
The princess covered her laugh with a slim hand. She pressed her palms together to imitate his greeting. “We say, When in Vyara, do as the Ayuris do.”
Jie suppressed a snort. Although the Hua expression was liberally translated, the pretext was a white lie: the princess had planned to wear a priceless Hua silk court robe, lost aboard the still unaccounted-for Golden Phoenix.
Refusing to meet dignitaries in simple clothes, she’d recruited the young and enthusiastic Meixi, who had grown up in Vyara, to help her choose something local and presentable. At first light, she visited a tailor to alter a local dress to reflect her own conservative tastes.
Even with little fashion sense, Jie had to admit the result was stunning. A langa petticoat wrapped around the princess’ legs and to her ankles, the most modest part of the ensemble. A long, broad strip of bright blue Hua silk, embroidered with white cranes and bamboo, swathed around the princess’ waist and draped over her left shoulder much as the local women wore their saris. It partially covered a tight-fitting white cotton choli blouse with short sleeves and a low neckline. It completely covered her back and midriff, contrary to local fashion trends—thank the Heavens, as if the neckline didn’t reveal enough! The unaltered choli looked like the Hua bust supports Jie never needed, except to stash weapons.
With none of her handmaidens around, and dubious of Jie’s hairstyling abilities, the princess let her hair cascade freely down to her waist. That girl certainly loved her hair. Ho
w long before she fiddled with a stray lock, again?
The prince’s eyes roved over her like a starving man at a royal banquet. Jie wouldn’t mind helping the princess bathe tonight, if it would help wash off the stains his leer left.
He extended his hand toward two matching chairs made of a maroon wood. Topped by plush burgundy cushions, the chairs stood on either side of a knee-high oval table. The tabletop’s pink marble matched the color of the dome above them in the Bijuran embassy.
Following his gesture, the princess glided across the red and gold carpet, whose high-quality wool and Ayuri craftsmanship were prized throughout Tivaralan. She settled on the edge of the chair while Ambassador Ling stood to her right. Chen Xin, the only imperial guard in attendance, stood behind him. He wore the light blue robes of the embassy guards, his own armor and ceremonial clothes aboard the missing Golden Phoenix.
Jie knelt on the princess’ left, dressed in a standard choli and langa that bared her midriff, with a bolt of Hua silk matching the princess’ wrapped around her as a sari. She stole yet another glance at her reflection in the silver lamps. She looked good! If only Tian could see her like this. Though he’d probably focus more on the numerous small weapons the sari concealed.
Prince Dhananad took a seat on the chair opposite the princess. To his right glowered a giant of a man with fair hair and fair skin, dressed in a kurta of black with gold embroidery. The size and emblazoned sun symbol marked the brute as a Bovyan from the Teleri Empire, though he stood even taller than the prince’s escort the day before.
To the prince’s left stood a Golden Scorpion, obvious from the dark bronze kurta. Dark brown eyes stared out from beneath the oval slits of the otherwise expressionless mask. As the Bijurans had stipulated, no weapons were allowed in the embassy, and so the Scorpion didn’t bear the curved sting of their order.
The prince clapped his hands together, summoning servants as if they were his own. Several Bijuran girls, dressed in light green saris, emerged from the door and hurried over to place food and drink on the table. The centerpiece was an enormous oval dish made of Hua white porcelain with four-clawed blue dragons—audaciously denoting Tai-Ming status—with two dozen matching rectangular bowls nestled within.
Each held a unique Ayuri delicacy: colorful sauces and pastes filled some bowls, while chicken, pork, rice, and vegetables filled others. Saffron, curry and other exotic spices provided a symphony of delectable aromas. A piece of roti flatbread wrapped in a white cotton napkin on a silver dish, a single silver spoon, and a crystal glass graced each setting. A matching decanting carafe filled with a yellowish liquid sat on the side of the table.
“Is this your first time in Vyara City?” The prince flared his fingers toward the dish; according to Meixi’s primer of Ayuri etiquette, an invitation to eat.
“This is my first time leaving Cathay.” The princess tilted her head and imitated his gesture. Thank the Heavens it was her manners on display instead of Jie’s!
“Ah!” He clapped his hands together. He made each gesture intricate, even the crude act of eating with bare hands. “You must allow me to show you around this magnificent city!”
“If time permits,” the princess said.
“And sometime, hopefully in the near future, I would like to personally give you a tour of my hometown of Maduras.” Dhananad flashed a broad smile of straight white teeth and turned his palms up. According to Meixi, each refined movement denoted some deep meaning, but Jie had lost track of the lesson in the first few minutes. In any case, it would be far more interesting to see what that masked Scorpion could do.
The princess predictably brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I have heard that while Vyara City’s skyline is a testament to Ayuri cultural beauty, that of Maduras bears witness to Ayuri cultural might. Is it true that your entire capital is a virtual fortress?”
He grinned ear-to-ear. “The fortifications are impregnable. Yet within hides a true architectural gem, befitting a jewel such as yourself. It is certainly worth seeing.”
“Yet fortresses hold little interest for me, for I have seen so many crenellations and battlements along our Great Wall.”
Jie stared at the princess is admiration. The naïve girl who’d chased after Prince Hardeep now delicately broached the issue of Maduran aggression.
Prince Dhananad frowned, leading to seconds of palpable silence. He then gestured to the table. “Are you enjoying this fine sampling of Ayuri food?”
She nodded. “It is delicious. By comparison, Cathayi cuisine varies widely by region, and some of the foods in the west have very bold flavor. But most of what we eat in the capital has a very subtle taste. I am afraid you would find it bland compared to Ayuri fare.”
“Any food would be like sweet nectar from Heaven when shared with an angel.” His grin was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and probably just as toxic.
All discipline lost, Jie shuddered. The silky delivery of his responses resembled Zheng Ming’s charming tone. All the more reason to dislike him.
The princess placed a hand on her chest. “Then you should come to Cathay to enjoy our food, for we treat all of our invited guests as royalty.”
A warning, wrapped in pretty words. Jie glanced at the men across the table. The prince’s eyes shifted back and forth, and his lips jiggled into a somewhat gracious smile. The metal mask hid the Golden Scorpion’s thoughts, but the Bovyan official’s displeasure was evident from his silent scowl.
Conversation over lunch between prince and princess continued along these lines. Seemingly mundane topics about the New Year and weather all carried unspoken suggestions and refusals. Prince Dhananad repeatedly extended invitations for her to visit his homeland; while she repeatedly rebuffed him, packaging her refusal in flowery language. He was either annoyingly tenacious or inordinately dense in his persistence.
Kaiya drew strength from the high whine of the sitar and rhythmic beating of drums, which an ensemble of Bijuran musicians in the far corner of the room played as background music. Without it, she might have withered under Prince Dhananad’s ogling. At least most men tried to hide their peeks. The elegant Ayuri body language would’ve been easier to imitate if not for the need to conceal all that the local clothes tried to expose.
As they finished eating, a serving girl came to the table and reached for the decanting carafe.
The prince held up his hand to stop her and motioned for the Golden Scorpion to serve. Agile as a cat, the warrior knelt and poured the yellow fluid into the two glasses, and slid the drinks in front of her and the prince.
Like a happy wolf, the prince bared his teeth. “This nectar is extracted from several different rare flowers, and served only to royalty. Please, drink.”
Kaiya took up the wineglass in her hands and lifted it toward him. “In Cathay, it is our custom to toast friendships.”
His eyes tightened into slits, but he raised his glass as well.
With a smile, Kaiya brought the carafe to her lips. Her rouge would leave a mark, and there was no telling how the pervert would—
Jie took a step and tripped over her skirt. Her light weight plopped into Kaiya’s lap, her sari sweeping across the table. Dishes clattered noisily onto the floor. The glass was knocked from Kaiya’s hand, its precious contents spilling out onto the fine carpet.
“Clumsy fool!” The prince bolted to his feet, his hand reaching to his left hip, where a talwar hung the day before. Not finding a weapon, he stepped over and cocked his arm back to strike Jie.
The girl cowered, covering her head with her arms.
Recovering from her initial shock, Kaiya leaned over to protect her Insolent Retainer. Jie must’ve seen something; she was far too dexterous to fall like that.
The prince growled, his glare bearing down on the half-elf. “If you caused such a scene and wasted the nectar in Madura, we would pluck your eyes out. You are lucky your liege is more forgiving than I.”
Jie picked herself off Kaiya, took several steps back and s
unk to her knees, forehead pressed to the ground. “Please forgive me,” she pleaded in halting Ayuri.
Jie could speak better than that. Kaiya extended her hand, which the ambassador took and helped her to her feet. She bowed deeply at the waist. “Gracious Prince Dhananad, please forgive my handmaiden’s clumsiness. Let us not allow this unfortunate accident ruin what has thus far been a pleasant afternoon.”
The prince pressed his palms together. “As you wish, dearest Kaiya. Your magnanimity is truly admirable.” He invited her to return to her seat with a wave of his hand.
So presumptuous, addressing her by name! She settled on the edge of the chair. Jie shuffled back, holding a low bow. Oh, to be able to ask what she saw. But no, one of the prince’s entourage might be able to speak Hua. It would have to wait.
“So, Kaiya,” Dhananad said, “it came as a great surprise when your nation approached glorious Madura through the Bijurans to propose such a high-level meeting. Since our past trade agreement expired, we have had little contact. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” His focus dropped to her bust, which the cut of the choli embellished and revealed too much of.
It was no furtive glance, but rather the most unabashed stare yet, less subtle than her childhood lapdog waiting for a treat. Kaiya brought an arm across her chest, feigning to adjust the sari’s position at her shoulder. Dhananad’s gaze shifted up to meet hers.
She lowered her hands to her lap and bowed her head. “Benevolent prince, my father sent me to express Cathay’s desire to maintain amity between our peace-loving nations.”
Confusion, which could only be genuine, contorted his expression. “I did not realize there was anything but peace between us.”
Perhaps Lord Peng’s accusations were unfounded. Kaiya searched Dhananad’s eyes. “Of course. The Ayuri Kingdom of Ankira—”
The Teleri official cleared his throat, the sound commensurate with his Bovyan size. “Certainly, Princess Kaiya, Cathay recognizes that Ankira is not a kingdom, but merely a province of Madura.”