by Julie C. Dao
“I think my nursemaid would like you,” Jade told him, amused.
“And I know I would like her.”
Jade turned shyly back to her tea when Koichi grinned at her. He clearly liked walking a fine line between boldness and disrespect, but he balanced it well.
“Has she been good to you, your nursemaid?” Shiro asked.
“I love her like my own grandmother.”
He nodded, satisfied. “And how has it been at court? Are you happy here?”
“The palace is wonderful, but there are always so many people watching.”
“The princess is very well liked,” Lady Tran chimed in. “The ladies who visited her had nothing but the highest praise for her manners and conversation.”
“I do agree, Your Highness, about the people watching,” Koichi said. “On the rare occasions when my father and I come to court, you’d think no one had ever heard of a dwarf before! That openmouthed gawking!”
“I’m sorry,” Jade said, contrite. “I complained without thinking.”
The young man waved away her apology. “It’s a fact of life, and another reason Father prefers to live away from the palace.”
“Have you spent much time with your father, Princess?” Shiro asked.
“Only five minutes. I spent most of my life wondering about him, and now we’re under the same roof and I can’t see him.” Jade gazed into her teacup, feeling the already familiar worry gnawing at her stomach.
“I’m glad, at least, that the Emperor has loyal servants by his side,” Lady Tran said reassuringly. “Perhaps you saw Pei when visiting your father? A big, nervous eunuch?”
“The one with the mole on his nose?” Jade asked, remembering how he had scurried out of the room to fetch His Majesty’s medicine. Have patience, he had told her through Wren when returning all of Jade’s notes to her father.
“Shiro and I have known him for years,” the woman said. “He is faithful and trustworthy, and will care for His Majesty to the best of his ability. But we will still all pray for the Emperor.”
“Thank you.” Jade hesitated, then added, “And I will pray for the safe return of Hana. I hope, for your sake and that of her little boy, that she’ll be found soon.”
The men bowed in thanks. “The Empress kindly allowed Hana’s family to be together today, but we shouldn’t intrude longer than necessary. We ought to go.” Shiro’s eyes on Jade were soft. “I hope this isn’t too bold, but our home is always open to you, Princess. We live by the southeastern gate, not far from the river. Please call on us if ever you need a friend.”
“I’d like that,” Jade said gratefully, getting up from her chair as they rose. The thought of Shiro and Koichi leaving made her feel lonely.
“It was a pleasure, Princess,” Shiro said. “Until we meet again.”
“Until we meet again,” she echoed.
Jade noticed Xifeng’s incense at once when she entered the Empress’s apartments that evening. Dozens of tall black sticks burned all around the sumptuous chamber, which was showy and ostentatious, but functional. Neat shelves full of bound volumes of poetry, ink pots, and scrolls lined the walls behind an elegant desk. A smaller map of Feng Lu hung by the window, surrounded by exquisite paintings of birds and flowers inscribed with verses.
For what is the gleam of the sun on bright metal, Jade read on one, without the strength of its sting?
Another painting read, The lion knows not to doubt the mouse, for size does not betray strength. Jade studied the artwork of a timid mouse sitting on a rope severed by tiny teeth marks, feeling both pleased and surprised. She wondered if Amah had known about this poem; if so, her nickname for Jade—little mouse—was not silly, but rather an affirmation.
“I love beautiful words, as you can see,” Xifeng said. Jade turned to see her stepmother watching her from the doorway. “Arranged in the right way, they have the power to make you laugh, cry, or feel. I hear you met former Ambassador Shiro today. Did you like him?”
Jade bowed low to the Empress. “Very much, Your Majesty, and his son, too,” she said, blushing a bit. “They chose to remain here instead of returning to Kamatsu after he resigned?”
“Shiro had a difficult relationship with his family back home,” Xifeng told her, gliding into the room. “They treated him unkindly because of his height. I haven’t known many men who deserved more respect than he does, but his own flesh and blood refused to see that.”
Jade tried, and failed, to imagine Amah rejecting her because of her appearance.
“A good man,” Xifeng said. “I think well of him, though he doesn’t always agree with my methods.”
“He dares to disagree with Your Majesty?”
The Empress’s laugh held a touch of bitterness. “Shiro has always had a mind of his own, whether he’s speaking to a peasant or a king. He has had nothing to do with politics—or with me—these ten years or more.” She sank gracefully onto a teal brocade couch, gesturing for Jade to do the same. “I’m sorry we haven’t dined together until now. The Kamatsu matter has troubled me greatly, but I won’t bore you with the details.”
“On the contrary, I’d like to hear more about it,” Jade said. “I am ready and willing to learn, as Your Majesty mentioned I would have to.”
Xifeng raised an eyebrow. “Do you know much about politics?”
“I’ve read about the relations between the kingdoms. I know Kamatsu’s ministers have fought for independence from the empire for a long time, and that their princess is too young to rule, so her uncle serves as regent in her stead.”
The Empress gave a contemptuous sniff. “The regent is weak. He bends like a stalk of grass, and his council is the wind. They’re determined to win their bid this time, and if I refuse, it might spark a war we can’t afford.”
“You’re considering their independence, then?”
“I must. But, free or not, they will still pay allegiance to the most powerful crown on Feng Lu,” Xifeng said, studying her slender hands. “Fortunately, I have a strong supporter in Lord Tanaka, a rising star in the Kamatsu court. If their kingdom leaves the empire, he will ensure our lasting trade partnership and help me . . . persuade the regent whenever I need him to. You’ll meet Tanaka at the banquet, and I very much hope the two of you will like each other.”
Though the Empress spoke offhandedly, there was no mistaking her meaning. You’re here as a pawn, Amah had said. She just doesn’t know what she wants to use you for yet.
Clearly, marriage to Lord Tanaka, Xifeng’s puppet in a foreign court, was one of the options for how Jade might be used if the Empress bore a son as she hoped.
“As for that little princess of theirs,” Xifeng continued, “I can make an additional match with her for my son, when he is in my belly, and further secure Kamatsu to the Great Forest.”
A false promise of independence to Kamatsu, bribing a powerful nobleman with marriage to the princess of the Great Forest, and plotting to use a child not yet conceived—all within the span of a few breaths. Jade’s mind whirled at the alarming speed of her stepmother’s thoughts.
“Tell me what you think about this matter, then, dear. Since you’ve such an interest.”
From the way Xifeng tilted her head expectantly, Jade knew each word she said would be tested and weighed. “When I was little,” she said slowly, “I asked Amah why my family rules over all other kings. She told me that the blood of the Dragon King, the greatest of the gods, gives us the divine right to rule.”
Something shifted in Xifeng’s face, but she nodded at her to continue.
“But I was never satisfied by that explanation. Simply having the right bloodline and the ability to seize other lands by force doesn’t make someone an ideal ruler.”
“Yet time and time again, history rewards the people who possess those very qualities,” Xifeng pointed out. “You should know that, coming fro
m a line of emperors.”
“But as history rewards some, it always punishes others.” Jade’s mind returned to the protesters and the children, laboring for the blacksmith with their faces covered in ash and soot. “Many people crave change. They want power in their own lives, whether that means standing free of an empire or simply having enough money to buy food.”
“Power often comes with unexpected burdens.” The Empress lowered her eyes, looking a bit ill. After a long moment, she asked, “Do you believe in destiny?”
Jade hesitated. “I would like to think our decisions can influence our fate.”
Xifeng went very still. “We have a choice, then?”
“Yes, I believe we always have a choice.”
“How funny,” the Empress said quietly. “I think Shiro once told me the same thing.”
She made a slight gesture, and several eunuchs, invisible until now, came forth with trays of food and jugs of sweet rice wine. They laid a red silk cloth and bowls of delicate porcelain on the table between Xifeng and Jade. One of them prepared Jade’s plate: pickled duck eggs sliced onto a bed of thick, fragrant noodles in a sweet chili sauce.
“I ordered simpler fare,” Xifeng said as the eunuchs bustled around them, “since you were so concerned about His Majesty’s diet that you had to speak to Gao about it. I mention it in person to you now because Kang told me my writing a note displeased you.”
Jade’s stomach twisted at the woman’s cold gaze. “Your Majesty . . .”
“You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Worrying about your father, commanding my servants.” Xifeng sipped her wine. “By the way, the eunuchs are too busy with the banquet to move Lihua’s map. I hope you’ll understand.”
“I do,” Jade said evenly, “and I hope Your Majesty will understand that it’s my duty as a daughter to be concerned about my father.”
“Of course. But when I tell you I’ve done everything I can for him, it would be gracious of you to believe me. Not interrogate Gao or disturb your father by trying to send half a dozen messages.” Xifeng blinked at her. “You’re not eating, darling. Aren’t you hungry?”
Jade reluctantly picked up a piece of duck egg, but it tasted like sand in her dry mouth.
“You’re a bit difficult to please, aren’t you, Princess?” Xifeng’s eyes ran over her from head to toe. “You even refused my handmaiden, Madam Ong, and insisted on finding your own.”
“I did not mean to offend Your Majesty.” Jade had done no wrong and had made every effort to be courteous and respectful, and she was determined not to apologize.
But Xifeng softened as though she had. “I only want you to be happy,” she said, draining her cup. The moment it was empty, a eunuch stepped abruptly from the shadows to refill it and she gave a violent start at the sight of him, crying out and dropping the cup. The man prostrated himself on the floor, groveling. “I told you,” Xifeng told him in a low, dangerous voice when she had recovered, “never to approach unless I call for something. Get out of my sight.”
The poor eunuch fled, weeping, and Xifeng leaned her head against a cushion, her pallor heightened and her eyes feverish. Jade stared at her, wondering if the woman had expected to be attacked. “Are you feeling well, Your Majesty?” she ventured. “Should I call someone?”
But at that moment, Kang swept in and spoke softly into the Empress’s ear, then handed her a wooden box. When he was gone, she took a few deep, slow breaths.
“I’m all right. I was just startled,” she said, giving the box to Jade. “Here, this belonged to your mother and I thought you’d like to have it, though I know it isn’t the only present you’ve received.” A slight edge entered her voice. “The noblewomen seem to have taken to you like ducks to water. They were just as infatuated with Lihua.”
“They only wished to make me feel welcome,” Jade said neutrally, accepting the gift with a bow. She opened it to reveal a hair comb with teeth of pure silver, through which white silk jasmine flowers had been threaded. “Thank you, Your Majesty, this is beautiful.”
“The silver was tarnished, so I had Kang polish it with a special tonic.” Some of the color returned to Xifeng’s cheeks as she smiled, looking for all the world like a doting stepmother. All that had passed—her grievances with Jade, her jealousy over the nobles’ gifts, and her frightened reaction—was swept neatly under her mask. “I thought you might wear it to your banquet.”
There was something childlike in the Empress’s volatility, Jade thought, and the way she dismissed people and went from resentful and vengeful one moment to adoring the next. She obeyed the woman’s gesture to kneel, bending her head so her stepmother could slip the comb into her bun. The teeth scraped across her scalp, making the skin tingle.
“I see even more of Lihua in you now,” the Empress said in a soft voice, her eyes dark and haunted as she touched Jade’s cheek. “Your skin is sun-browned and you have wider eyes, yet you are her image. Has she returned in you to watch over what I do?”
Jade followed uneasily when Xifeng rose and beckoned, leading her down a dark corridor into her inner chambers. The plumes of incense, which were even stronger here, resembled shadowy figures darting out of the rooms toward them. They passed through a curtained doorway into a room with one wall covered in a thick, glimmering sheet of burnished bronze.
“Come admire yourself in my mirror,” Xifeng said, standing before its murky depths. In the darkness, her reflection had stark-white skin and lips red as blood.
Next to the Empress, Jade thought she appeared frail and childlike. The incense made her feel dizzy and off-balance, and suddenly she recalled why it smelled familiar: Emperor Jun’s medicine, the one Xifeng had ladled into his mouth, had possessed the same scent.
No, it can’t be, she reassured herself. The Empress’s incense must have been burning in her husband’s rooms and Jade had mistaken it for the smell of the liquid. But even as she tried to convince herself, her mind spun with the possible revelation. The thoughts raced in her head, one after the other: her father’s imprisonment and severely restricted diet, ensuring his weakness and the immediate absorption of any medications; the physician’s fear when he told Jade he didn’t make the medicine; and this foul remedy poured down the Emperor’s throat.
Jade’s heart thundered. Her eyes slid to her stepmother’s perfect face in the mirror.
Xifeng is poisoning the Emperor.
Enough to keep him under her control, not to kill him. It would not do to have to marry another man, one who might see through her schemes and keep her from ruling in her own right. As soon as the suspicions materialized, Jade told herself firmly to stop—but they had already taken hold in her mind as strongly as any roots in the Great Forest.
The Empress’s eyes met hers. “Well? Do you think you look beautiful?”
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty,” Jade said, her head still muddled.
“Taking pride in your appearance is everything. Someone once told me that this,” Xifeng said, touching her own cheek, “is all we have as women in this world. Beauty is our strength, don’t you agree?”
Jade shifted her weight. “I’m not sure I like people looking at me,” she admitted, thinking of the court ladies’ scrutiny, friendly though it was. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
The Empress’s hand fell from her face. “Why?”
“They’re forming an opinion that has nothing to do with who I am. You, however, are so beautiful, Your Majesty,” she added hastily, “that people do not dare presume to know you at all. It makes sense that beauty is your strength.”
Xifeng waved a hand. “You didn’t offend me. I understand, even if I don’t agree.” She turned back to her reflection, which was immaculate even though the hollows beneath her eyes were pronounced. “I’m tired. Your banquet is in two days and we should both rest. And, sweet daughter,” she added, lips curving as Jade moved at once, eager to go, “a pi
ece of advice. Curiosity is not an attractive quality in a woman, especially at court. Will you remember that?”
She knows, Jade thought, her breath catching as she gave an unsteady bow and stumbled out of the room. Somehow it had grown even more smotheringly hot and oppressive in the dark and smoky apartments, and she had a frightful headache like a band of tightness around her temples.
I am beginning to see now. And she knows it.
In the dream, Jade stood in a cavern of stone with a high ceiling and walls of rock. A waterfall raged down into a stream that seemed to boil, coils of heat rising from its surface.
Xifeng, Empress of Feng Lu, sat in this ancient chamber with candles and a pot of the ever-present black incense smoking beside her, the fragrance smelling even more poisonous in the moist, heavy air. Shadows nested under her eyes, and her thin shoulders slumped as she studied a collection of pale yellow objects on the ground.
Like all dreamers, Jade knew she was safe—this was not real, she would not be seen. Yet when she approached to see what her stepmother was studying, Xifeng’s head snapped up, nostrils flaring. “Who’s there?” she demanded. “I can feel you.”
“Your Majesty, there is no one here but you and me,” Kang said in the soft, patient tone used to calm a frightened child. He stood nearby, stirring a great black pot that simmered over a dancing fire. The flames illuminated the objects beside him: glass jars of herbs, a bowl of liquid, and a gold bird-shaped vessel with a matching ladle. “Nothing can harm you while I am here.”
Xifeng’s wary eyes moved to a recess of rock near the base of the waterfall.
Kang followed her gaze. “They’re gone now and they won’t return,” he assured her. “You made certain of that. You destroyed every last woman who stood in your path. The bodies in that pool are a mere reminder that we are all mortal.”