by JY Yang
Did people think it was suspicious? Of course everyone fucking thought it was suspicious. Do you think people are that stupid? Please. Hekate often had me report how the winds were blowing through the servants’ hall, and for weeks they chattered about nothing else. Idle gossip, of course, but if you wanted a forecast of the Protectorate’s mood, there was no better place. Servants have lowborn cousins and family, and they slipped between rooms of the elite while they talked amongst themselves, didn’t they? The combined knowledge in that hall could have toppled empires. That’s the secret, girl—those who serve you, you’ve got to keep them happy. Take it from me.
There were many theories as to how Kamine died. Some of them were pretty wild, like someone training an animal to smother him, or someone manipulating the nature of fate so that it became inevitable that he would die. What’s with your face? People come up with the stupidest ideas. Anyway, the prevailing theory was slackcraft. Some kind of advanced witchery that killed from afar. Maybe some master of forest-nature reached in and stilled the muscles of his heart, just like that. I mean, they weren’t crazy. Theoretically, it could have been done. But that degree of control is pretty much impossible, even for the most talented of Tensors. And thank goodness, because can you imagine? Think of how many people would just drop dead. You and I would have died a long time ago.
No. He was poisoned. If the new Protector had wanted to boil the lies off the truth, he would have found out that his late cousin had been taking a new tonic for months, a tonic formulated and produced by a laboratory overseen by Wang Shaoyun. It was really just as simple as that.
So, Hekate got what she wanted. The man she despised, Sanao Kamine, was dead. And in his place, her beloved brother, Sanao Hemana, ascended the throne.
Chapter Six
Ah, Hemana. I’ve not spoken much about him, have I? He was a man who embodied the phrase “skin of a lamb, heart of a snake.” Unlike Kamine, he was a quiet presence in any room. Bookish and soft-spoken. People either trusted him or pitied him, but they didn’t see him as a threat. Not until he became Protector, and by then it was too late.
Hekate and Hemana had always been close. He was fifteen years her senior and practically raised her. Both their mothers had died, one after another, and the old Protector had not a nurturing bone in his body. It fell to his older son to look after the wailing infant while his father shut himself in his room, bemoaning the loss of a second wife. That’s how he became her caretaker. With his gentle voice and unassuming manner, he taught her hard lessons, about who to trust and who to destroy. Everything she had learned about survival at court, she had learned from him. He had honed her cunning and ruthlessness since she was old enough to walk and talk.
In the brief time I’d been with Hekate, I’d never taken much notice of him. I never had much reason to. At that time, he headed both the Ministry of Defense and the Ministry of Finance. He was a powerful man and an extremely busy one. He kept counsel with Hekate on long weeknights, but I was not allowed in the room during these sessions. No one else was. His bond with Hekate was sacrosanct and utterly private. Hekate had no quarrel with this. She loved her brother. Idolized the man. And anyway, he was nice to me, his sister’s pet. Unfailingly polite, smiled when he saw me, almost made me feel like a human being.
But you know what they say. It’s the quiet ones who kill you the fastest. Hemana had reached the summit of power. The world was his. Nothing could hold him back.
The thing about Hemana was that he wasn’t cruel. Unlike the many tyrants who litter our nation’s glorious history, he took no pleasure in making people suffer, felt no satisfaction from destroying an enemy. Hemana saw the world in dry, logical terms. To him, ruling the Protectorate was simply like a game of xiangqi. If a pawn had to die, if a rook had to be sacrificed, so be it. He would take the offending piece off the board with no more joy than a farmer pulling weeds from their paddies.
The first thing he did was finish what Hekate started: purging what was left of his cousin’s power base. He assessed them by the threat they posed and the retaliation he might expect. Some he simply exiled; some he blackmailed into retiring. Others he had killed. One particular administrator in the south—more like a robber baron, really—he didn’t just execute. He wiped out the entire family as well. They were prone to revenge killings, and he didn’t want any trouble. Then he made the same cold calculation with those who were a threat to him: old enemies, those he didn’t like, those who didn’t like him. It was brutal, and done within a few weeks. He filled all the vacated spots with his cronies. Within weeks, the power structures of the Protectorate and the Tensorate had been flipped upside down. The Council of Governors—the only ones with enough collective power to resist a Protector’s edict—was almost entirely restaffed with those loyal to him.
I asked Hekate if she was worried by what her brother was doing. Manipulating someone into murder was one thing, public executions another. It showed he was a man who had nothing left to fear. Do you think it might be dangerous? I asked her.
She simply laughed and said, This is what a leader does. Watch and learn, my darling.
I wonder if she ever regretted saying that to me.
Soon after he had ascended to the throne, Hemana sat Hekate down and told her it was time for them to think about their succession. Neither of them had children. This must change, he said. You must find a husband, as I have found a wife.
Her! Getting married and having children! Of course I wasn’t pleased. She had dozens of lovers, and a small handful of confidantes, but a husband? That seemed wrong somehow. I didn’t want her to get married. I didn’t want her having someone who she could retreat to the shadows with at night or whenever she needed comfort. I didn’t want her to have someone else more important than me.
I protested and was met with more laughter. Don’t be foolish, she said, of course I must marry. What did you think would happen?
I hated it, but it made sense. Of course she had to continue her family line. Of course she could not remain unmarried. Of course the strictures of Protectorate society would not part around my new and gleaming reality. In my head, I accepted that this was going to happen, but in my heart, I bled like I’d been stabbed. I couldn’t believe that she had caved to her brother’s demands so easily.
Yes, I was being ridiculous. Did you think I didn’t know that? Who the hell was I? Some servant girl who once did her a favor. A lowborn chit who had been in her life for the blink of an eye. She was descended in the direct line of Sanao Chikasu the Conqueror. I just . . .
Give me a moment.
Hekate listened to me. She asked my opinion on things she thought important. She treated me like I mattered. Like—like I was worthy of attention. And love.
But I was determined. She had changed my life, and I would be loyal to her unto death. I let the idea of Hekate having a husband burn me for a few days, and then I forced myself to get over it. So what if she were to be married? A mere husband was nothing. Theirs would be a transactional relationship, existing merely to fulfill a single purpose. It couldn’t change what I had with the woman who had become the single most important thing in my life.
Hekate assembled a list of her favorite lovers and a few more eligible highborns she didn’t completely loathe. She handed the list to her brother to make a selection. The Protector looked over the list, considered the options, and picked the lucky man who would have her. It was Shaoyun, the poisoner. His part in Kamine’s death had already reaped him handsome rewards, and now they were about to get sweeter.
It’s a good choice, Hekate told me. I know his worst secret. We’re already bonded.
See, it was entirely transactional. She didn’t see him as a partner. More a necessary evil, one she needed to control.
Still, it was hard to watch her on the wedding dais all smiles and glowing delight, as if this was what she’d wanted out of life. To be a wife, to sire children for the throne. Surely, she wanted more than that?
That night, afte
r the trials and the tea ceremony and the street parade, there was a lull to allow the bride to change outfits and get ready for the banquet. I was there, helping her out of the ceremonial robes she’d worn, into the sequined dress decorated with so many beads, the fabric strained at its seams. It had taken six royal seamstresses two months to finish it. I’d helped when I could, pricking my thumbs through sunrises and sunfalls. My blood graced the threads of that dress.
She asked me if I was alright. I said, Well, of course. You look so happy. I’m happy you’re happy.
She said, This is the best outcome I could have imagined. Things will be different now. But it’ll be better. The Protectorate has been sliding into decay for the last three generations. But we’re going to change that. I’m excited. Aren’t you?
She said we. Those syllables lifted my heart more than anything else ever had.
I said, I’m excited for the days ahead. And I smiled, taking her hands in mine.
I swore that I would never let her see my discomfort. I would never show her my petty jealousy, lest she think less of me. This was to be my life now. My future.
Chapter Seven
Hekate fell pregnant four months later. A piece of news that set the whole Protectorate abuzz with joy: an heir to the throne so soon! How unexpected! How fertile the Sanao girl was, unlike her brother’s wife, who had four years of marriage with nothing to show for it. The Great High Palace was electric with delight. Geomancers were consulted. A doctor was brought to the Palace to live just a summons away from the mother-to-be.
Personally? I was blindsided by this. Hekate-as-wife led a life almost identical to that of Hekate-as-single-maiden. Wang Shaoyun, now ascendant and very important in the Tensorate, spent all his time away from the Great High Palace. He never took permanent residence in Hekate’s chambers, only coming in once or twice a week for conjugal visits and the exchange of useful information. Hekate, meanwhile, had her days packed with meetings and consultations in her new role as the Protector’s key adviser. I played the role of messenger and secretary, composing and copying scrolls for her, relaying edicts to lesser administrators. She let me sleep in her bed most nights. An arrangement which pleased me just fine.
Like everyone else, I had assumed that a child would be a long time in coming. After all, Hemana had been married for years and hadn’t produced an heir; why should Hekate have been any different? My petty jealousy reared its head again. Surely, a child would unite Hekate and Wang Shaoyun in a way that excluded me.
But I couldn’t tell her this. How could I? Hekate glowed at the prospect of motherhood. The tonics she took gave her fine complexion a new radiance, and the fat she put on deepened the beauty she already had. She seemed so thrilled by the idea of having a child to raise.
When this baby is born, Hekate told me, you’ll be its main caretaker while I attend to affairs of state. In this I trust no one more than you.
What about your husband? I asked.
She laughed for a full minute before she could answer. Him? Him? That man? As if I would let him take charge of raising my child. He’s interested in nothing outside his little career.
It was exactly what I wanted to hear. I drank in this role eagerly, taking charge of preparing for the arrival of a new life. I set up a nursery. I sewed baby clothes. I sent couriers to all the provinces to collect tribute for the royal child to come. If Wang Shaoyun thought he could usurp my place by her side, he was sorely mistaken.
One night, two months before the child was due, I found Hekate sitting quietly in her bedchamber, staring pensively at a calligraphy scroll. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. I went and sat with her, knee to knee, in a way that no one else was allowed to.
She said, I’m frightened of what’s to come.
How come? I asked. I was surprised. That morning, when I’d seen her in the sunlit gardens, she’d seemed so confident, so sure and happy of the path that had been laid out for her.
Everything’s so uncertain, she said. My brother isn’t happy. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant first.
It made sense that Protector wanted the firstborn heir to be his child. They were the only two left in his generation. The pool of heirs would be small. But he had a four-year head start. I told Hekate as much. If he wanted a child so much, why hadn’t he had one yet?
Hekate said, He’s been busy. I was supposed to wait. We did everything right. The slackcraft was supposed to stop my cycles so I wouldn’t bear a child. I don’t know what happened.
I’d never seen her this distraught. It’s not your fault, I told her. Slackcraft can be fickle. Sometimes it fails.
She insisted: It wasn’t supposed to fail.
So, her brother thought she did it on purpose. That was a dangerous position to be in.
She said, I think he’s angry. He’s started using my pregnancy as an excuse to shut me out of meetings and important decisions.
She said, I thought there would be no division between us. We’re siblings—my child should be as good as his. I don’t know what the problem is.
This vulnerability in Hekate was new to me. So, I said the first thing that came into my head: If the slackcraft failed, there must have been a reason. I think the fortunes wanted you to have this baby. The child must have some kind of destiny.
That drew laughter out of her. She said, I didn’t realize you were so spiritual, my darling. You surprise me sometimes.
But the passage of time cares little for the worries of mortals. The baby grew in her belly and came on time. The labor was as smooth as these things could be, and quick. Everything went as auspiciously as possible. The child was named Nengyuan, a name chosen for good fortune.
The child’s arrival seemed to change the Protector’s negative attitude. Whenever he had a free moment, he would come to the nursery where I tended the infant. He’d ask me about the child’s development, what they had done that day, and so on. Sometimes, he would even hold the child, if he was feeling generous.
Hekate told me, He sees Nengyuan as his own. We are blood kin, after all. I supposed that he managed to accept the child’s existence, now that they were real.
It was a very busy time. Young children, as you know, require constant supervision. Can’t take your eyes off the bastards even for a bit. The infant’s parents and parent figures were all busy, so all the fussing and caretaking beyond feeding the brat was left to me. I gladly set aside my former duties as Hekate’s administrative assistant. Like my lover had predicted, Shaoyun wasn’t interested in raising the child. I never saw him. I suppose he thought he didn’t have to worry as long as the child kept breathing. Perhaps he would have taken more of an interest once the child grew old enough to learn slackcraft. We shall never know.
Hekate, at least, adored the child. She was busy, of course; she had a position to maintain! But she made it her duty to spend as much time with the infant as she could. She was there when the baby first rolled onto their stomach and she was there when they learned to stand, wobbling on their chubby legs. Imagine, if you will, two young women laughing in a sun-dappled room while a baby babbles in their arms. If you had asked me about the future back then, I would have painted a pretty picture of a family blossoming. Of Hekate and I walking down a peaceful, shaded path together, having left the horror and darkness of the last few years behind. I was so sure this joy would last forever.
It’s strange, knowing what I know now, being the person I am now, to recall how human she seemed during that time.
As with all things concerning that place and that person, it couldn’t last. I remember: it was the day of Nengyuan’s first birthday. One year of watching this squalling creature go from a barely sentient worm to something almost like a human. I’d sewn a new outfit for their birthday. Stayed up all night finishing it. Red silk with golden threads, festooned with motifs of the four celestial beasts: dragon, phoenix, tiger, and horse. I’d been looking forward to seeing them wear it.
I woke to a scream, the blade-sharp sound of grief.
It was Hekate. I’d been sleeping in the next room—I’d stayed up late, and my lamplight would have disturbed the child. I stumbled from my bed and ran into the nursery.
At some point in the night, the child had died.
I don’t remember much of that day, or that week. Wish I did. Wish I spent more time observing and analyzing how everyone dealt with it. I don’t remember the Protector’s exact reaction. Or Shaoyun’s. Not that it would have made much difference. Or any difference. Not to what happened afterward. But I like to have my references in my head, my records. You know what I mean? You know?
If you’ve ever gone through something like that . . . no, what am I saying, of course you have. Fuck. It takes everything out of you. All the energy, all the reasoning, all the meaning. You had something, and all of a sudden, it’s gone. It’s so hard to understand.
Hekate was . . . well, she was broken. Devastated. Of course she was! Her firstborn, her child that she had carried within her for months, the child into whom she had poured so many of her hopes and dreams. Taken from her in a single cruel, incomprehensible blow.
But Hekate’s not the kind to lie in a dark room, weeping into her sleeves. Even in her terrible sorrow, she was angry. Burning with rage. Her fire is not like the kind that sweeps forests and leaves only ashes behind. It’s the kind that burns underground, hollowing out the ground from under you. It’s the kind of anger that’s like lava, a force of nature that reshapes the world. Don’t think you can break her with sadness; she’ll come for you every time.
I shouldn’t talk about her like she’s still alive.
Mere weeks after that, Shaoyun died. It was said he succumbed to a broken heart, drank himself to death chasing his child. Hekate refused to believe it any more than when the doctors had said Nengyuan had died of natural causes. The timing of both deaths was a bit too convenient.