by JC Kang
He swung into his saddle and beckoned them forward. “Come. Destiny awaits.”
The horses trotted toward the main gates. They opened to reveal a heavily-cloaked woman.
Undaunted by the horses, she sank to both knees and set her forehead to the ground. “Lord Peng, might I have a word with you in private?”
That voice, the foreign accent. Hong’s concubine, Leina. Likely here to secure her lord’s favor in the new regime. It might be entertaining, and rewarding, to see what she might offer for the old man’s life. Rewarding enough to delay departure. “What do you wish to tell me that my own loyal men cannot hear?”
She looked up. “You are riding into a trap. Do you want to know why?”
Leina knelt on the tea room mats, recalling what old Hong had told her. In his own clandestine meeting with Lord Peng here, he’d been shaken by the attack on Princess Kaiya. Worried that Peng was ready to betray him.
Not even a month had passed, yet how long ago it seemed. Each player’s plot had surged into motion from that point, sometimes hiding in another’s shadow, sometimes amplifying, sometimes crashing head-to-head. The first round of winners would soon emerge from the mess of entangled plans.
With one of his underlings kneeling behind him, Peng eyed her like a bird of prey. “Hong had the Tianzi and his sons poisoned, did he not? The Dragon Throne sits empty. How am I walking into a trap and not to glory?”
He had less foresight than it seemed. To think she’d picked him out as one of the initial victors. She bowed her head again. “Prince Kai-Wu still lives, unharmed, with the authority of the Tianzi vested in his hands until either his brother or the Tianzi recovers.”
Peng pulled out and unfurled the imperial missive with a whip of his hand. “This says Kai-Wu is dead. It is stamped by the imperial correspondence seal. Do you deny its authenticity? A lie stamped with the seal would mean the Tianzi losing the Mandate of Heaven.” Despite the outward show of confidence, his trembling voice hinted at uncertainty.
She pointed. “Look carefully. There is magic of distraction embedded in the words, so much that you missed that the seal is a fake.” As his eyes roved over the page, she continued, “Minister Hong convinced Prince Kai-Wu to send these out to find out who is loyal to the Wang family.”
“I am a member of the Wang family!”
“But through a maternal line, so your claim is in question. You will be branded as a usurper, taken into custody the instant you try to claim the Dragon Throne.”
Peng’s eyebrows bunched together. “Not if I don’t claim the throne. Not if I swear loyalty to Kai-Wu. The weak-minded boy will be easy to manipulate until I can get rid of him altogether.”
She shook her head. “Hong’s mole in the kitchen staff fingered you as the procurer of the offending spice, since it came up through Nanling Province, on your ships.”
Peng paled, forcing her to hide her satisfaction. His lip quivered. “My province is loyal to me. I will retreat there and reconsolidate my power. Yutou Province is my ally. They can defend the west road into Nanling while my armies defend the north pass.”
Men. Always too confident. She shrugged. “Your fief is forfeit. Lord Liang will desert you, making Yutou Province a staging area for an invasion instead of a buffer. That is, if you even make it home in the first place. A full division of the imperial army waits on the road south to capture you.”
The young lord jumped to his feet and turned to his lieutenant. “Send word to all of my men stationed in Huajing. Order them to march east to Jiangkou. Have our men already in Jiangkou begin operations to capture the Golden Phoenix.”
He then glared down at her, the hand on his sword sending a cold shiver down her spine. “Why are you helping me?”
If there was one thing a man believed, it was his own genius; none more so than Lord Peng. As long as she sang the song he wanted to hear, she could deceive him and she would live. “You are a capable leader. If you survive, you will make an unparalleled Tianzi.”
And create enough chaos inside the nation to weaken it...
Minister Hong Jianbin knelt close to the Dragon Throne, where Prince Kai-Wu sat for the first time. The exalted spot, reserved for the Chief Minister, provided an excellent view of all the other ministers and hereditary lords who sat in rows facing the throne. It made the trip up the steps to the Hall of Supreme Harmony worth the toll it took on his old knees and lungs.
Prince Kai-Wu fidgeted, his attention shifting from person to person. Sweat matted the hair peeking through the Tianzi’s hat of office. Never expecting to inherit, the poor boy was in over his head. It was fortuitous—or at least well-planned—that Hong had put himself in the prince’s good graces to become his advisor. Once the Tianzi and Crown Prince died, his power would know no bounds.
“He will show,” Hong said. At least he hoped the soon-to-be ex-Lord Peng would show. It would be far easier to take him into custody inside the palace, unarmed and lightly protected. He looked at the hundred imperial guards deployed around the room, each more than a match for Peng and a pair of guards. Malleable Prince Kai-Wu’s first decisive act would be a public humiliation of Peng.
Unless the wily young lord had sniffed out the trap.
Hong had distinguished himself in Prince Kai-Wu’s esteem with his infallible wisdom and accurate predictions. To have this plan fail would undermine his credibility, though he had also advised Prince Kai-Wu to surround Peng’s compound.
A messenger appeared at the threshold, quieting the murmuring lords. He stepped into the hall and dropped to both knees, forehead to the ground. “Dian-xia! Horrible news! Our troops surrounded Lord Peng’s villa, but he already escaped. He is moving on Jiangkou Port!”
Blood rushed from Hong’s face. “He is going to try to steal a ship. Maybe even the Golden Phoenix herself.” How could he have not foreseen such a move? Where was the opportunity in this disaster?
There it was. Zheng Ming, soon to embark for his reunion with Princess Kaiya, might already be on the Tianzi’s flagship. Maybe Peng would kill him. Or better yet, hold him hostage and expose him for the weakling he was.
Hong met Prince Kai-Wu’s gaze, trying to speak as quietly as he could. “Send word to Young Lord Zheng to defend the Golden Phoenix from the traitor’s imminent attack.”
CHAPTER 34:
The Perfect Dance
As a collector of unique and beautiful objects of art, Prince Dhananad looked forward to possessing this stunning girl whose every move embodied grace. Even without the use of the intoxicant-laced nectar, Princess Kaiya had fallen for his charm. Yet she still kept up the charade of innocent misunderstanding.
How cute! She surely understood his wedding proposal. He had made it obvious with the talk of binding royal families.
“As always, you are well-informed,” Princess Kaiya said. “My ancestor Wang Xinchang used many methods to ensure civil stability and lasting peace, political marriage among them. He was also famous for the cultivation of the fine arts, especially among our nobility. Beyond economic, political, and military acumen, all of our hereditary lords are well-versed in some form of art. Is that not the same in Madura? I have heard that you are an excellent dancer.”
She knew of his dance! He waved a nonchalant hand. “I have been told that my dancing is passable. Certainly not on par with one such as yourself.”
Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “It is rude in Cathay to directly ask someone to perform, but I would be honored if you show me an Ayuri dance.”
“By all means, Sweet Kaiya.” He returned her coy smile. “But it is our custom that if I dance at your request, you must dance for me as well.”
She covered her mouth with delicate fingers as she giggled. “This is not our custom, but, When in Vyara, do as the Ayuri do.”
Dhananad laughed. “Then it is a mutually beneficial situation, much like a union between our two illustrious families would be.” He beckoned toward the musicians. “Play The Scorpion King Vanquishes the Twelve-Armed Demon.�
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The Teleri official—what was his name again?— shuffled petulantly beside him. Cursed with a short life, Bovyans lacked patience. That was why their soulless empire would never achieve greatness compared to Madura. If this uncultured boor could not appreciate fine art, that was his problem.
He stood and sauntered to the middle of the room. The music, which had been barely perceptible while they ate, now resonated clearly in the domed room. The rhythmic beat energized his solo, which he knew to be the epitome of Ayuri male dance: distinct poses with rapid transitions to the music’s cadence. Perhaps she would find it jerky, but no more than their dance between the bed sheets would be.
At the end of his display of technical mastery and physical flexibility, she wholeheartedly applauded. “Prince Dhananad, I am embarrassed to follow such an amazing performance.”
As she should be; but at the very least, it would allow her dress—irritatingly altered to befit a virgin priestess of Shakti—to expose more of her smooth skin. He grinned. “Yes, but you promised!”
“And it would not reflect well on Cathay if I go back on my promise, would it?” She blinked with captivating eyes. “But since we do not have any of our instruments, please forgive me as I improvise to your music.”
Casting him an apologetic smile, Princess Kaiya spun and glided over to the musicians. She approached the drummer, whose various-sized tabla hand drums stood in a semicircle around him. She tapped out a long sequence on the drums at a moderate tempo. “Please play this as your tala refrain.” She then turned to the rest. “And please, let your inspiration guide you.”
The musicians nodded, and Dhananad could not help but be impressed with her knowledge of Ayuri music theory.
She returned to the center of the room and bowed. “I will dance The Loves of Prince Aralas. It recounts the story of the elf angel who fell in love with eight human girls, thereby establishing the alliances that helped overthrow the Tivari during the War of Ancient Gods.”
A dance of love! Albeit with a tragic ending, at least as recounted by the Ayuri storytellers. Perhaps the Cathayi had a different take. At the very least, the theme was obvious: she was dreaming of their marriage!
The girl drifted into a pose, forming an elegant curve reminiscent of an elephant tusk. Her right arm floated upwards with her palm facing to the heavens and delicate fingers gracefully bent. Her other arm sank low as if cradling a giant ball. Both the free end of her makeshift sari and her hair cascaded behind her. The shift in the langa exposed the perfect arc of her calf, and the choli rose to allow her navel to peek out. Had he been sitting in the right place, he could have snuck a glance at the luscious valley between her breasts. Soon enough.
She gave no signal, yet her movement and the tune started in perfect synchronicity. Had the musicians reacted so fast, or had she been moved by the melody? The flavor of the dance was decidedly foreign, and yet harmonized with the local style of music.
The langa around her legs should’ve restricted her mobility. Yet she seemed to swim through it as she wafted across the floor, like a fluffy cloud on a perfect day, blown by the strumming of the sitar and transforming to the beat of the drums. It seemed gravity itself had paused to admire her, allowing her to achieve impossible feats of balance and flexibility.
The symbiosis between musicians and dancer caused the seconds to blur into minutes, minutes into hours. Dhananad sighed. It was like experiencing the legend firsthand, through the eyes of the dashing elf angel (how appropriate!). His beauty, reflected in the enchanted eyes of the ancient human princesses; the ecstasy among lovers; and at last, the melancholy as they aged and died while he remained youthful.
The music slowed to a stop, guiding the girl to the floor in a tangle worthy of a yoga guru.
Yet it was Dhananad whose stomach twisted in knots. His heart hammered in his chest. A few minutes of utter silence followed, interrupted only by an occasional bird chirp and the shifting of the Golden Scorpion. He looked out the arched window toward the iridescent moon, which had passed through two phases in the blink of an eye. It would have required a monumental reserve of stamina to dance as the princess had for so long. He rose from the chair, ready to help the girl to her feet.
To his surprise, she spun up unto her toes, appearing as energized as if just waking to the morning sun. When she batted her lashes at him, he knew then he would do anything she asked.
He applauded, followed by the musicians and even the Teleri troublemaker. Dhananad said, “I have never experienced such a dance. You, my lady, give sound a shape, a tangible form.”
Sweet Kaiya bowed again before returning to her seat. With dainty grace, she took up a glass and sipped some water. When she smiled again, he thought his heart would stop. She gestured toward the west windows. The sun, now meeting the Shallowsea, flooded the room with red rays of dusk.
“Alas, Prince Dhananad,” she said, her very inflection of his name sending sparks up his spine. “Time is short, for I have been invited to dine with the maharaja of Vadara tonight.”
Dhananad waved his hand, even if his chest felt squeezed by her imminent departure. “Well then, I look forward to seeing you again.”
The Golden Scorpion prodded his back. “The Princess of Cathay did not respond to your proposal,” she said, voice silky. “She should not leave until she answers.”
Kaiya’s eyes widened at the Scorpion before turning back to him, where they belonged. She looked up at him through her lashes. “Matters of peace are important, but please give us some time to consider details.”
“No,” the Scorpion said. Dhananad hoped it would be now. They could exchange private vows at the local Temple of Surya now, celebrate in each other’s arms tonight, and then hold a grand wedding in Maduras within a month.
Princess Kaiya shook her head, sending her voluminous tresses prancing. “My next several days are marked by meetings with officials from other Ayuri Kingdoms to discuss trade and docking rights. Let us meet in seven days, when the white moon wanes to its half-phase.”
The Bovyan wore a stupid grin on his face, nodding. “One week, very reasonable.”
One week! It was too long not to be graced by her beauty. Still, waiting made good things even better. “Very well. I had planned to return to Madura before then, but I shall delay my departure.”
She dipped her chin. “Then let us host you at our embassy as a means of compensating you for the time you have lost.”
Dhananad clapped once. “Of course! I would be delighted to enjoy Cathayi hospitality.”
The Golden Scorpion—what was her name?— poked him again. “We will make arrangements to meet here, at the Bijuran embassy.”
The Scorpion’s voice tugged at him, pulling at the fog in his mind.
The princess shook her head. “We have troubled the Bijurans too much already. We are more than happy to have you as our guests.” Princess Kaiya locked her gaze on the Golden Scorpion. Their eyes waged a silent battle of will.
Dhananad wavered. His logical brain understood the Golden Scorpion’s intervention: it was better to talk at a neutral site instead of giving the Cathayi a territorial advantage. Yet his heart could not bring him to oppose the princess’ will. Finally, he waved off the Scorpion. “The princess is right. We have already asked much of the Bijurans. Let us meet at the Cathayi Embassy in seven days. I hope to hear some good news then.”
Sweet Kaiya stood. She motioned for her retinue, and they all followed her lead, standing and bowing. The imperial guard led them out of the room, with the infuriating handmaiden in the rear.
Standing at the window above, Prince Dhananad watched her entire entourage of two dozen guards form up. The haze shrouding his mind lifted. Why had he let the princess dictate terms to him?
He waved toward the musicians, who whispered among themselves as they packed up their instruments. “You, drummer. How did you know when to start playing?”
The drummer exchanged glances with his compatriots. “We were just discussing that,
Your Eminence. We felt the princess’ movements guided our hands. We may never put on such a wondrous performance again.”
The Golden Scorpion and the Teleri official came up on either side of him. Both stared out the window.
“Your Eminence,” she said, her voice soothing. “Do you not find it curious that the Princess of Cathay travels with such minimal protection? Among her guards, I can count the truly skilled warriors on one hand.”
The Bovyan nodded. “Our spies say she arrived in Vyara in secret, with a very small retinue and no baggage. Usually, Cathayi royalty travel abroad with at least a hundred of their elite soldiers.”
Dhananad slapped the window sill. “Curse the clumsy handmaiden. May the many arms of Yama drag her down to Hell! Had my Lotus Blossom drunk the nectar, we would be making wedding arrangements now. It would only be a matter of years before we could take Cathay without drawing a sword.”
“It was no accident,” the Scorpion said. “The handmaiden intentionally knocked the glass out of the princess’ hand.”
He turned to the woman, trying to read her expression. “Could she have seen you slip the aphrodisiac into the princess’ drink?”
“Only one with natural talent and trained in the Bahaadur fighting arts could have perceived the speed of my motion.”
Dhananad looked to the Bovyan. “Bring out your Nightblades. Have the princess followed, find out what she is doing over this next week.”
“Your Eminence,” the man replied. “The Teleri embassy must attend to many issues in Vyara city. We cannot commit all of our resources just to chase this latest infatuation of yours. I will certainly speak to our ambassador about it, though.”
Dhananad spat. “Bah. To control Cathay would mean monopolizing the supply of guns and firepowder. Your enemies in the East and ours in the West would soon fall before us. My marriage to Princess Kaiya, combined with your empire’s machinations in their country, will put my future son on their throne.”