by Julie C. Dao
“So you may eat, rest, and be properly dressed to meet Her Imperial Majesty.”
She waited, but he offered nothing more, so she sighed and had turned to go back when she noticed a soft glow on her hand. She spread her fingers, spotting the same pearlescent shine on the soldiers’ armor. It was everywhere now that night had come: glistening in the tree trunks, the snow, and even Wren’s severe knot of hair.
Jade looked up.
Leafless branches stretched like veins across the deepening sky. Set against this encroaching darkness were hundreds of orbs like enormous fireflies nesting in the treetops. They were brilliant white lanterns dangling from the forest canopy, casting their light upon the bleak winter woods, radiant sentinels against the night.
An odd, buoyant feeling rose in Jade’s breast, like the urge to laugh. It didn’t make sense, but somehow she felt both comforted and overwhelmed with joy as she basked in the glow.
“Amah,” she exclaimed, “there are lanterns in the trees like in my mother’s story.”
“I know,” the old woman said tenderly as Jade came to sit by her.
Wren dropped down from the tree, breathing hard. “I’m not familiar with that story.”
“It was my mother’s favorite,” Jade said as Wren pushed snow with her boot. “There was once a princess who loved a poor musician, but the queen wished her to wed a nobleman, so they decided to elope. The musician would leave a trail of lanterns in the forest, and the princess would follow only the red ones to him. But before he could put the red lanterns up, he was killed, and his blood splattered one of the white ones. The princess thought he had abandoned her and walked in the forest every day, heartbroken. One morning, she found the single red lantern. She heard a bird singing her lover’s song on a branch nearby and realized that it was the musician come back to her. When she drank its tears, the princess was transformed into a bird herself and reunited with him for eternity.”
They sat looking up at the lights. Each globe hung on the uppermost branches, too high for anyone to climb. And though Jade knew it was only a folktale she was much too old for, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that all the lanterns were white. “Who put them up?”
“No one knows, Your Highness,” the leader of the soldiers said stiffly. “They appeared years ago all around the palace and the Imperial City. Empress Xifeng has had them removed many times, but they keep returning and doubling in number.”
Amah let out a strangled laugh that she disguised as a cough.
Jade stared. “Doubling? How many are there now?”
“Likely thousands. If it pleases Your Highness,” the man said, “we ought to be on our way. We can’t keep the Empress waiting.”
“Well, you heard the man,” Amah said, with an unmistakable smirk of triumph. She lowered her voice as she and Jade walked back to the palanquin. “The lanterns appeared after Lihua’s death. On our journey to the monastery, I rode through the Great Forest with their light upon you in my arms. Odd, isn’t it, that your mother’s tale came true and the usurper Xifeng cannot remove them, try as she might?” She gave the lights a conspiratorial wink. “Lihua is watching over you, my love, and always will be.”
Whether that was truth or a mere hope, Jade didn’t know, but she felt sure the image of lanterns shimmering in the trees would stay with her long after this night. She glanced at Wren, who stood puffing warmth into her cupped hands. Whatever her feelings toward Jade, she had ridden many long days and nights in the cold.
Jade’s stomach twisted. And perhaps I deserve her jealousy. “Would you like to take my place in the palanquin?” she called. “I can try riding your pony, if she’ll let me.”
Wren gaped at her. “Ride in that fancy vessel like a queen? You can’t be serious.”
Jade couldn’t help chuckling at her astonishment. “I don’t feel right riding in it either, to tell you the truth. But it’s warm and snug.”
Wren’s eyes grew even rounder. After a long pause, she said, “I’ll ride my pony. But thank you for the offer.”
“At least take a blanket. We have more than we need.” Jade tugged out a thick fur wrap for Wren, then stepped into the palanquin before the other girl could protest.
As the swaying motion began once more, the last conscious image in Jade’s mind was the lantern light twinkling at her like a kindly wink.
They arrived at the Imperial City gates on a cold, clear morning. The stones on the wide gravel road made a shh, shh sound beneath them as Jade peered out, blinking in the sunlight reflecting off the soldiers’ armor. She had never seen so many people in one place, pushing wheelbarrows and lugging baskets of goods upon their shoulders. Children ran around shouting, neighbors greeted each other, and farmers led skinny donkeys through the crowd. In fact, Jade noticed that all of the animals were so thin, she could see their ribs.
She watched a mother divide a piece of bread among six children, taking only a morsel for herself. One of the girls dropped her piece, which her brother seized. The girl began crying as the mother yanked the hem of the boy’s shabby tunic and shouted at him.
“That was all we had for today, and you ate your sister’s share!”
The girl sobbed even more loudly, pressing dirty hands over her tear-streaked little face.
Jade’s eyes stung in sympathy as the child’s shoulders trembled. She and the monks had eaten plain meals, but none of them had ever known a day of such cruel hunger. The boy, too, was crying now, for even the extra piece of bread he’d stolen had not been enough.
Amah saw her turn to their small sack of food. “You cannot feed them all, my love. Even if we had more to offer than this.”
The palanquin moved swiftly past the family, attracting plenty of attention. Snippets of conversation floated in through the brocade coverings:
“Mama, is that the Empress?”
“Her Majesty travels in a grander litter. That might be a noble lady on her way to court.”
“Is she going to marry Emperor Jun?”
Amah’s eyes twinkled at Jade’s shock. “They think you’re a concubine. As though Xifeng would ever tolerate that.”
The nursemaid had explained the concept to Jade long ago. Poorer men had one wife each, but a wealthy man of high stature might have concubines as well to give him sons and ensure his line continued—a practice Xifeng had long ago done away with at court.
Jade had sympathized with Xifeng. “I would want my husband for myself as well.”
“It is not for a woman to decide.”
“But Empress Xifeng decided.”
“She is not like other women,” had been Amah’s careful response.
The Imperial gates loomed ahead, and Jade noticed patterns carved into the enormous gold doors: dunes of sand, a mountain range shaped like a dragon, a swirling ocean, and grasslands all dwarfed by an immense forest. Soldiers teemed in front, armed to the teeth.
Three long objects hung from the watchtowers with thick black rope, dangling just above the entrance to the Imperial City. Jade bit down a scream when she realized what they were: corpses in ragged clothing, their arms and legs limp, heads lolling and eye-holes staring sightlessly out at the crowd. One of them was a young woman who didn’t appear much older than Jade.
“What did they do to deserve such a terrible fate?” she demanded.
“Perhaps they stole food, or spoke out against Xifeng. It could be as simple as that.”
Jade squeezed her lids shut at Amah’s grim response, but she could still see the bodies in her mind. Men’s voices sounded as the soldiers spoke to the guards, and then they entered the bustling city. Jade had wanted to gaze out, imagining an eighteen-year-old Xifeng seeing it for the first time, but found she could not. She kept picturing the dead woman, her rags fluttering in the winter wind.
The palanquin stopped in front of a large, elegant teahouse with a façade of red lacq
uered wood. It rose a dozen floors high, its roof so wide, it touched those of the neighboring buildings. When the soldiers opened the door, the chilly air carried the smell of smoke, cooking meat, lantern oil, and sandalwood incense. The place was deserted, despite its well-kept grandeur.
The leader of the soldiers bowed to Jade. “Tung, the owner, ensured that the teahouse would be empty today, Your Highness. Her Majesty commanded it to be so for your safety.”
“Will any of you eat?” Jade asked, though she knew it was a lost cause.
“We will remain out here to protect you.”
“Wren may come in with us, at any rate,” Jade said, sighing, and the young woman got off her pony at once, perhaps too hungry to argue. Jade lowered her voice as she spoke to Amah. “I haven’t seen any of these men eat or rest in two weeks.”
“They are resting. And it is right for them not to eat in your presence,” her nursemaid explained. “You are above them and will receive treatment they aren’t entitled to have.”
“But everyone in the monastery was equal and had a share of the food and work.”
“We’re not in the monastery anymore, dear,” Amah pointed out.
Jade caught Wren looking at her strangely as a middle-aged man greeted them. He was short and balding and bowed so low to Jade, his nose nearly touched the floor. She fought the impulse to bow back, though it seemed rude not to. Amah had taught her that outside of the monastery, a princess bowed only to her superiors, including her parents and any brothers.
“Your Imperial Highness, allow me to show you to our warmest table.” He ushered them into a large room, his head lowered as he scurried beside Jade.
The teahouse was just as elegant on the inside. Bright wooden beams lined the high ceiling, and bamboo mats lined the walls. On every surface was a blue porcelain vase filled with gray pebbles from which miniature trees grew. A roaring fire stood against one wall, illuminating a dozen long wooden tables flanked by cushioned benches. The air smelled of ginger and pepper, with the undercurrent of cooking meat Jade had detected outside.
Her stomach rumbled as Tung led them to the table nearest the fire. The minute they sat down, an army of servants hurried out from a side door. Two brought a basin of warm, lemon-scented water for Jade to wash her hands in while one poured steaming hot tea. One girl placed lacquered, padded footrests beneath the table as two women swept out and placed bowls of soup on the table. Another girl darted forward, tasted Jade’s bowl, and handed her a fresh spoon.
“The Empress has ordered that your food be tasted for your protection,” Tung explained.
“I don’t want anyone to die of poison on my account,” Jade said, stunned, but the man guffawed as though she had made a clever joke.
Most of the servants kept their eyes lowered with respect, but a few of them stared at Jade. She shifted in her seat, knowing they would probably all discuss her in the privacy of the kitchens. One was a plump, round-faced woman of forty or so, who blinked openmouthed at Jade and scurried off when Tung scowled and barked an order at her.
“So sorry for their rudeness,” he said, all smiles again. “I’ll have a word with them.”
“No need,” Jade said, but he excused himself and hurried after the servants.
Amah sniffed. “That peasant could have caught a fly with her mouth. They’ve never seen a royal before. Likely Tung didn’t have much notice that you were coming and had to scrape the bottom of the barrel for last-minute help.”
Wren, who had been silent throughout this exchange, had already inhaled her soup, and when Jade tasted it, she understood why. The monks had only ever eaten the plainest broth: nothing more than water with a few slices of onion. But this was a thick, rich soup brimming with silken cubes of tofu, diced scallions, tender slivers of pork, curly black mushrooms, and bamboo shoots. It was both spicy and sweet, and the warmth of it radiated to Jade’s toes.
“You must be used to food like this, working in the palace kitchens,” she said to Wren, who seemed more relaxed beside the fire. “I’m sure you’ve prepared the most delicious meals.”
“They don’t trust me enough to touch the food. I only scrub pots and pans for banquet cooking, since Her Majesty has a celebration almost every week.”
“So often?”
Wren shrugged. “Before I left, she held a celebration for some fancy Kamatsu nobleman. The Imperial cook prepared twenty pheasants and a roast boar the size of this table.”
Jade thought of the mother who had divided one piece of bread among six children. “Does she ever invite any of the citizens to partake in these lavish feasts?”
Wren gave her another strange look. “No, only nobles and high-ranking diplomats.”
The servants flocked out again, bearing tray after tray of steamed dumplings stuffed with shrimp and pork; buns containing every filling imaginable, including ginger beef and chicken; minced pork and onions in crispy wrappers; and a plate overflowing with crunchy, crisp greens, roasted just enough to bring out their color and flavored with a tangy glaze.
“This is a meal made of smaller dishes, Your Highness,” Tung explained, coming out to supervise the serving girls. “A tradition along the trade route of Feng Lu. Travelers want light, simple fare with variety, so they can be on their way again.” He led the servants back to the kitchen, uttering commands as he went.
Only the round-faced woman remained. She held the teapot aloft as though to pour, but stood motionless with her eyes on Jade. “I’m sorry for staring, Your Highness, but you are very like your mother. There are a few paintings of Empress Lihua left in the city.”
Amah scowled at the servant. “Her Highness doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman repeated, her eyes moving to the kitchen door, “but I wanted so much to meet Her Highness. You can imagine how eagerly I offered to help when Tung was hiring new servers! You see, I knew Empress Xifeng a long time ago.”
Amah opened her mouth to rebuke her again, but Jade stopped her, intrigued. “What’s your name? And how did you know my stepmother?”
“I am called Ning, Your Highness,” the woman answered, her pink face glowing at Jade’s interest. “The Empress and I were raised by her aunt. Of course, I haven’t seen Her Majesty since she left our village. The path she took was a bit different from mine!” She let out a great laugh.
The other servants came back, so Ning hastily refilled their teacups and hurried off.
Wren lowered her voice as the girls cleared the empty dishes. “Smart people don’t often speak of the Empress in the city. You never know if something you say could be misinterpreted.”
“A most irritating gossip,” Amah grumbled. “She made up that story to impress you.”
“But think how fascinating it would be if it were true,” Jade pointed out. “Ning could be one of the few people left who remember the Empress as a girl. I wonder what she was like.”
“Well, you won’t have to wonder long,” Amah said tartly when Ning returned with a few other servants, bearing fragrant hot cloths for the guests to wash their hands and faces.
“I wish you all the best at the palace, Your Highness,” Ning whispered, beaming as she pretended to wipe the table. “Though you must be nervous about all of the disappearances. Just keep your servants about you and you should be safe.”
“Disappearances?” Jade echoed.
Ning could not have looked more delighted. “You didn’t know?” She paused for dramatic effect, watching Jade’s reaction. “They say a dozen women have gone missing from the palace over the past few years. A maid or two at first, then a kitchen wench and some garden workers. Their families were given a tidy settlement and told never to speak of their loved ones again.”
“The kitchen girl ran off with a lover,” Wren said, frowning.
“That’s what they want you to think,” Ning said eagerly. “But then a visitin
g minister’s wife went next, and then a lady-in-waiting. Those were not so easily explained . . .”
“Ning!” Tung barked, appearing in the doorway. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s my fault. I kept her here,” Jade told him. “I was complimenting your teahouse and asked if she had ever served any distinguished guests.”
The owner’s face creased into a broad smile at the flattery. “This servant hasn’t been here long, Your Highness,” he said, giving Ning a look that sent her rushing back to the kitchen, “but you are correct in guessing that we’ve had many interesting customers . . . though none as honored as your own self, of course. Last week, we had an assassin from the Crimson Army.”
Wren’s head snapped up. “Here, in this teahouse?”
“The female assassins who supposedly live in the mountains of Dagovad? I thought they were a folktale,” Jade said, taken aback, glancing at Amah.
“They’re real as life, Your Highness. And there’s no need to fret, my young friend,” Tung said, grinning at Wren. “The woman was polite, dressed and hooded in black. I suppose being a cold-blooded killer doesn’t affect one’s good manners.”
Wren bristled. “I’m not fretting. Was she in full armor? Were her lips painted blood-red?”
“I don’t remember, I was so flustered when I saw her crimson sash. I didn’t want to give her any reason to kill me, you see.”
“Imagine walking around as you please,” Wren said dreamily, ignoring him. “Alone, dining when you wish and going wherever it suits you because no one would dare take offense.”
Amah rolled her eyes. “Better to imagine a good day’s work in the kitchens, for that’s what you’ll do tomorrow, my girl. I hope they’ll take you back after running away like this.”
Just then, the teahouse door opened.
The leader of the soldiers entered, bowing to Jade, and Tung beamed as he said, “Your ladies-in-waiting must be here, Your Highness. Allow me to show you upstairs so they can prepare you for your first meeting with Empress Xifeng.”