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

by CK Dawn

  Tonight?

  Secretary Hong—that was his name—cleared his throat. “Your Highness, General Lu is waiting.”

  I looked back at Hardeep’s diminishing form. Tonight… There would be no tonight, at least not with him. He wouldn’t be let back in the palace, and there was no way for me to get out. Even if I could grow in my knowledge of Dragon Songs, Father would never let me go to Ankira. Not to mention, there was my own country’s stability to consider.

  Whatever he had done to addle my good judgment…well, it had been a fleeting diversion. A three-hour diversion, gauging from the iridescent moon’s waning toward new. My future husband, Cathay’s savior, waited. My lip jutted out, unbidden. If only it could be Hardeep.

  Six

  Visitors

  The happy birdsongs couldn’t cheer me as I considered my fate. I’d made a breakthrough in rediscovering Dragon Songs, yet there was no avoiding meeting General Lu.

  Hiking my gown up and holding my hair in place, I hurried back toward the inner castle. Secretary Hong and two guards rushed to keep up with me. The faster I could put distance between myself and Hardeep, the sooner I could forget him and accept my fate.

  If only it were so simple.

  Though abated, the squirming sensation in my belly was a constant reminder of the power and bliss I’d felt while playing Yanyan’s pipa. With each step away from Hardeep, the chasm widened between me and possibility.

  The possibility of being more than just a skinny, pimply political tool. Of being something special. I blinked and found myself at the inner moat. Behind me, Secretary Hong hunched over, hands on his knees, panting. Unlike him, my imperial guards Chen Xin and Zhao Yue managed to maintain a dignified demeanor and appearance.

  In the middle of the arching stone bridge, I stopped and found my reflection in the dark water. Heavens, my hair appeared as if a family of songbirds had nested there, and perhaps rearranged the clips and pins as well. The gown, originally folded at an exact angle, now hung awkwardly over my shoulder. I must’ve looked ridiculous to Hardeep, who inexplicably thought there was even a remote chance I could escape the palace tonight.

  “Hurry, Kaiya.” With the slightest hint of a frown, Sister-In-Law Xiulan beckoned from the other side of the bridge. “General Lu has been waiting.”

  My paternal cousin Wang Kai-Hua nodded from where she stood beside Xiulan. Several handmaidens bowed in a flash of colorful robes. One of them, Han Meiling, gawked, with wide eyes focused on my head.

  My hand shot up to my disheveled hair. With a sigh, I descended the bridge. My imperial guards stopped and dropped to a knee, fist to the ground.

  “Your Highness, you cannot meet General Lu looking like this.” Meiling shuffled over and adjusted my hair.

  With a deft hand, Xiulan rewrapped my sash. “You look like you wrestled a dragon.”

  “I hope you won.” Kai-Hua tugged on my sleeves. Though only a year older, she’d already flowered with Heaven’s Dew and filled out. She now glowed with radiance since her own betrothal to Liu Dezhen, heir to Jiangzhou Province.

  I clenched my clammy hands. Neither Kai-Hua nor Xiulan were malicious, yet neither understood the stress of being sixteen and not yet flowered into womanhood, nor my lack of interest in marriage.

  Xiulan stepped back. “General Lu has been waiting anxiously to hear you sing.”

  Given the general’s reputation, he probably cared more about the sound of his own voice. At least today I’d been able to sing for someone who did care.

  “You are so fortunate,” Kai-Hua said. “General Lu would make a wonderful husband. So dashing and handsome! With his experience and intelligence, he might rise to head of the Ministry of War.”

  A path to glory blazed with the dying heart of an imperial princess. I suppressed a snort. “I am not ready to marry.”

  Both Xiulan and Kai-Hua stared at me with round eyes. Xiulan said, “You will have to, sooner than later.”

  Kai-Hua nodded. “Yes, all the girls we grew up with are reaching that age. You know what they say: a woman unwed by sixteen is like a New Year’s feast on the third day of the year.”

  As if a woman were meant to be devoured. I shuddered. In any case, being all skin and bones, I was more like a nun’s rice porridge and tofu than a New Year’s feast.

  Leaning in, Xiulan said, “I met Kai-Wu’s betrothed, Wu Yanli. She is quite…strict and reserved.”

  I cocked my head. That didn’t seem to fit all the rumors. Second Brother’s upcoming wedding hadn’t been arranged, at least not in the formal sense. It had been a supposedly chance meeting, followed by a torrid love affair. The handmaidens whispered that the second prince had already partaken of that New Year’s Feast.

  And yet, in affairs of the heart, the Emperor wouldn’t extend any leeway to me, his only daughter. I stifled a sigh. Prince Hardeep, learning the magic of Dragon Songs—they might as well have been a storyteller’s fanciful tale.

  “Come along,” Xiulan said. “You have made General Lu wait long enough.”

  I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders, only for my posture to slump. All the energy I’d put into projecting an imperial image this morning now flagged. Instability in the North had turned a match I’d planned to reject into a fait accompli. What I really wanted, Hardeep—no, reviving Dragon Songs—now lay beyond reach. Each step through the inner castle grounds felt like slogging through knee-high mud toward a funeral.

  So unlike Kai-Hua, whose graceful stride might have been skipping for all the effervescence she exuded. So different from Xiulan, the personification of dignity and elegance. Even the handmaidens would make better princesses.

  A hand grasped my sleeve, pulling me to a stop. Xiulan nodded toward a gatehouse at the side. “General Lu is in Murder Gap.”

  How appropriate. A hypothetical invader would believe this the most direct route to the inner castle’s gates, only to find themselves trapped in a dead-end courtyard surrounded by high walls. Now, it would be the site of my own proverbial death. But, “Why is General Lu here? I thought we were to meet in the Danhua Garden.”

  Xiulan covered a giggle. “While you were gallivanting about the palace, he took to wandering the castle grounds.”

  With all my willpower, I straightened my carriage. I strode through the gatehouse and then down the wide alley. At the hairpin turn, I paused and peeked into the courtyard.

  A handsome man in formal court robes sat on a porcelain garden stool next to a bloodwood table. He appeared older than Hardeep, maybe in his early thirties. Long, glossy black hair framed an oval face with the chiseled jaw and nose of North Hua. He reached for a teacup on the table, the very motion refined, almost effeminate. The unarmed soldier standing a respectful distance behind him wore blue robes, marking him as an officer in the imperial army.

  Without warning, Xiulan gave me a firm prod. I stumbled into the courtyard.

  The officer knelt, fist to the ground. General Lu barely rose before sinking to his knee. “Your Highness, thank you for honoring me.” His voice echoed off the high courtyard walls.

  “Rise,” Xiulan said, her voice resonating.

  He stood…and barely met my eye level.

  So short! I bowed my head. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.” My own words resounded off the walls.

  When his mouth opened, he spoke in a high pitch reminiscent of bird chirps. “Your grace and beauty made the wait worthwhile.” His contrived smile and rote intonation suggested otherwise. If his insincerity didn’t give me a headache, the persistent echo would. He motioned to the garden stool across from him, inviting me to sit.

  With as much grace as I could muster under the circumstances, I shuffled over and settled on the edge of the stool. Xiulan and Kai-Hua sat to the side. The handmaidens and imperial guards deployed in positions around us.

  Meiling took up the kettle and poured tea.

  “Thank you, General,” Xiulan said, “for leaving the unsettled North just to meet Princess Kaiya.”

&nbs
p; He chuckled. “We inflicted heavy casualties on the pale-faced barbarians the last time. I do not think they will be returning soon.”

  “Pale-faced?” I ventured. “Don’t they stay on their own side of the Great Wall?”

  The officer harrumphed, but General Lu silenced him with a wave of his hand. “I am posted in Wailian County, outside of the wall.”

  That wasn’t possible. Surely, Father wouldn’t approve of establishing colonies in foreign lands. I turned to Xiulan, who nodded, and then back to General Lu. “What can you tell me of Wailian?”

  He laughed. “Had I known we would be discussing the North, I would have come better prepared.”

  “My apologies for Princess Kaiya.” Xiulan bowed her head a fraction.

  General Lu waved a hand, the same motion he’d used to silence his own underling. “No need to apologize. The Five Classics say a ruler should know the land, and I would be happy to explain.”

  Heat flared in my cheeks. Not like I’d be anything more than a political tool, let alone a ruler. No doubt he was thinking of himself.

  “We annexed Wailian County nearly a year ago,” General Lu continued, “when we discovered abundant reserves of an essential firepowder ingredient. We could not let it fall into barbarian hands. Lord Tong has been building a castle overlooking the mines. A ravine surrounds the castle on three sides, and a sheer cliff drops away on the other side. It is impregnable.”

  My head spun. Hua had invaded a neighbor, just as the Madurans had attacked Prince Hardeep’s Ankira. Though, given the circumstances, it seemed this Lord Tong would be a more appropriate husband than General Lu. I bowed my head. “Thank you for your report.”

  He laughed again, living up to his reputation for arrogance. “Do not worry, Your Highness. With our guns, Wailian is well-defended.”

  My insides twisted. A lifetime with such a conceited little man, in occupied territory, might be worse than death. If only Avarax could swoop in from the Dragonlands and immolate the courtyard now.

  “That’s enough politics for the day,” Xiulan said. “Princess Kaiya wished to sing for you.”

  Wished, indeed. As if General Lu even cared; he just played along. My face must’ve flushed redder than Yanluo’s Star, if my hot cheeks were any indication. Yet what choice did I have? I turned to Meiling. “My pipa, please.”

  Bowing, Meiling presented the instrument in two hands.

  “Thank you.” I extended both arms to receive it. How lifeless it felt compared to Yanyan’s. I tilted my head toward General Lu. “If I may?”

  “Please.” He bowed his head, but not before revealing the tight lips and glassy eyes of boredom.

  Sadness clamped my chest. He would never appreciate me beyond the prestige of my lineage. I took a deep breath and plucked.

  The sound resonated off the high courtyard walls, sending subtle vibrations into my core. My stomach coiled again, just like it had in the Hall of Pure Melody when I’d played for Hardeep. How had I never noticed the sensation before?

  Back straight, shoulders level, feet rooted to the ground, just as Prince Hardeep had suggested. Ah, Prince Hardeep. He was handsome and charming, to be sure, but pining over him seemed silly. It must’ve been those beautiful, hypnotic eyes, convincing me of a happier future than the one for which I was destined. That must be how the cobra felt when sung to by an Ayuri snake-charmer. How preposterous to consider such an impossibility.

  Closing my eyes, I plucked out more notes. The book from the Hall of Pure Melody suggested that a skilled performer could project the emotion of a song. Yet for all the happiness this piece embodied, only melancholy trudged in the verses I played. Align your spine, the book implored. Let your heart impel your voice. I adjusted my posture, and the vibrations spread throughout me.

  There it was, the ocean of power from before, dripping in small drops, the rhythm setting the beat of my music. The song seemed to change of its own accord, and my brain somersaulted in my skull.

  Gasps sheared the air. Robes shuffled. Porcelain shattered on the flagstones.

  Lifting my hand from the strings, I opened my eyes. Though I’d stopped playing, the music trailed off in the echoes.

  Tears streaked Xiulan’s cheeks, while Kai-Hua and some of the handmaidens freely wept. General Lu…

  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 peo
ple 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.”