by Cindy Pon
“Would you like some wine?” He poured himself a cup. She shook her head.
“Please stop kneeling at least, Ai Ling. I grow tired just looking at you.” He made his way to one of two wood-carved chairs in the room and sat down, stretching his long legs before him. “I’ll enjoy my wine here. You have the bed all to yourself.” He laughed.
Ai Ling did not argue. She stretched out her legs as well. Both feet were asleep and tingled painfully. She sank back into the pillows, bone weary.
She lost herself in the bright lanterns strung across the ceiling as she waited for his next move. Her mind kept returning to the drawings in The Book of Making. Not all of them involved…Her neck grew hot, and she wrenched her thoughts away.
If the man chose to talk, she would listen and rest—gather her strength and energy. It was not yet the right time to touch his spirit. He was too strong. She needed to distract him.
Zhong Ye poured himself a second cup of wine and downed it. “I remember the day so clearly. Not the pain, the pain is just a distant memory. But how does a man ever forget the moment his manhood is taken from him?” Zhong Ye rose and began pacing the room, making Ai Ling think of a caged creature, lithe and restless.
“I swore in writing and by word that I gave myself to the Emperor of my own volition.” He poured a third cup of wine, drank it in gulps. His pale face began to color. The more wine, the better, she thought.
“After all the paperwork, the talk, they took me into the back room to perform the ritual.” He stood by the side of the bed now, looking down on her. She felt exposed, regretted lying down, but met his gaze without wavering. Ai Ling did not want to hear his story. What would he try next?
Zhong Ye sat down on the edge of the bed. “They tied me down with leather straps. My arms. My legs. And gave me another piece of leather to bite down on.”
She heard a distant roar from the banquet hall. It surprised her. The crowd was celebrating still, probably more drunk than ever. Father. Chen Yong. O, Goddess of Mercy, let them be safe.
“They washed me with hot pepper water, to help numb the pain. But I think that was a ruse. The pain from that merely made the agony from the actual act seem less so.”
Music now, muted singing and drumbeats from afar.
“The remover gripped me in one hand. All of it. And I watched him raise the curved knife, cut everything away in one motion.” Zhong Ye stared into his wine cup.
“Why are you telling me this? Do you expect my sympathy?” Ai Ling spoke softly, controlling her voice. She did not show fear or anger—refused to show anything to him.
“I tell you, beloved wife, to demonstrate how far I will go to gain power. I risked everything to enter the Palace, worked my way up from latrine boy and kitchen sweeper to the Emperor’s most trusted confidant. Every Emperor’s trusted confidant. I have guided dynasties for enough centuries that the people do not even know me as a eunuch—do not realize what I sacrificed….” He spoke in a quiet voice, too. Ai Ling tilted her face away, studied the carvings on the bedpost instead. Two golden cranes wound themselves among the blooming lotus flowers and buds.
“But power wasn’t enough for you. You had to go further than that.” She met his eyes now, and they widened in surprise.
“What do you know about any of it?” The tone of his voice changed, from honeyed warmth to hard-edged flint.
“What do I need to know? You’ve lived centuries. You say I’ll rule with you for more to come.” Her eyes burned from tiredness, from wanting to close and sleep for days. But did they betray all that she tried to contain within herself at this moment?
Rage.
Vengeance.
“Is it so strange that a man who has seized power should choose to keep it?” he asked.
“It’s wrong to live beyond the life that was given you.” Something within her spirit shifted. Ai Ling blinked, as if she heard the words she spoke from another’s mouth. Had she said these words to him before…in another life?
He gripped her chin so fast her breath caught. “I won’t argue about this with you again. And I won’t lose you either.”
Again? She twisted her face away.
“You don’t believe Silver Phoenix loved me.” He traced her lower lip with a finger. When he pulled his hand back, she saw a smudge of red on his fingertip. “You don’t remember.”
He removed her shoes, and the heat rose to her face when he touched her feet. “Would I wait over two centuries for you if she had not? When I can have anyone I choose?” He stroked her instep.
She refused to believe his lies.
“Don’t worry, Ai Ling. My manhood may be sitting in a jar, but I can still satisfy you in every way.” His hand slipped beneath the heavy wedding gown, stroking her calf. “I’ve gained considerable power in the dark arts and will be whole for you tonight.”
The heat that had blazed across her cheeks spread to her neck, down her chest. Terror seized her limbs, and Ai Ling clenched every muscle so she would not tremble. Of course he would consummate the marriage. Zhong Ye kissed her brow, her closed lids. She wished he were less gentle, less loving in his manner. It would make it easier for her. And quicker.
His mouth covered hers, and even though she had expected this, her back still arched from shock, and a small gasp rose from her, smothered by his kiss. He broke away and pulled her to her knees to face him.
Slowly, with great care and patience, Zhong Ye began to undo the hidden clasps of the wedding gown. His fingers were swift, and he was pushing the gown off her shoulders within heartbeats.
He stroked her bare arms and shoulders with both hands, ran his fingers along her collarbone. Her flesh pimpled at his touch. Ai Ling willed herself to stay still. He bent over again to kiss her, longer now, more deeply. She tasted the wine he had drunk as his arms encircled her and began to unravel her breast binder.
Her heart raced, but she was pliant beneath his hands and mouth. She coiled her spirit tighter—not yet; wait, wait. The red silk fell like shuddering wings to the bed. Zhong Ye drew back to take her in with those pale gray eyes, hungry now, bright with a heat she did not want to recognize.
He began to work the clasps of his own tunic. “Help me,” he said in a thick voice. She obeyed, bringing stiff fingers to the gold brocade, unclasping one hook while he undid three. He drew off the tunic, revealing a pale and toned form. Completely naked. It was not what she had expected so soon. The shock must have registered on her face as Zhong Ye smiled, amused.
“I can’t be that terrible, my wife. But if it pleases you, I can take on the form of anyone I choose.” His body blurred around the edges, wavered for moments—then Chen Yong kneeled before her, naked.
It was so convincing, her heart leaped. Longing and terror catapulted through her. She wanted to slap him, shove him away. Ai Ling fought not to collapse in surrender, fought for control. She looked up. His eyes stayed a pale gray. He smiled at her, and there was a glint in them, a cutting twist to the lips that she’d never seen on Chen Yong.
Ai Ling turned her head.
“I knew you’d prefer your husband to that mutt,” Zhong Ye whispered into her ear, his breath warm on her neck.
He was himself again, his silver-streaked head bent and pressed to her chest. She bit her lip when she felt his tongue on her breast. She fisted her hands, forced herself not to scream.
His hands were on her bare hips now, worked their way down until they cupped her buttocks. He pulled her closer to him, kissing her midsection, licking her navel. She wanted to cry, tear the hair from his head. Instead she reached down for his face.
Zhong Ye looked up, desire suffusing his pallid features.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He smiled and rose to his knees. Ai Ling wound her arms around his neck, clasped her hands at the nape of it. She opened herself up to him, opened herself up entirely. She kissed him deeply and released all the light that burned within her, letting it flow in a blinding rush into him.
He twitche
d slightly as their spirits met. She did not attempt to take control, but continued to fill him with her own unleashed being. She felt her lips through his, and his through her own.
All at once, it was as if hundreds of beings kissed her—all the souls Zhong Ye had stolen to keep himself alive. She heard a low moan, more within his mind than from his lips, which pressed on her mouth like hot coals. Sensing his distraction, the spirits worked as one to break free from their prison.
She folded her spirit over Zhong Ye’s.
He felt their frenzy, was suddenly aware of her presence. His mind roared in fury, with abrupt understanding. He tried to pull away, both body and spirit. She pressed herself to his bare chest, wrapped her arms about him more firmly, deepened her kiss. His mouth was slack now, his lips brittle and cold. He struggled for control, struggled to harness the souls clamoring against him. But he was powerless, his spirit bound within hers.
His body began to convulse, and a deep-throated scream reverberated inside him, between them. He tried to push her off, but he was too weak, trembling in her arms. He began to slip, his bare back slick with sweat, yet she clung to him. A white heat radiated from him until a blazing light filled the room, blinding even beneath her closed lids.
For a mere breath, the world hung motionless between them. Then she heard Zhong Ye speak in his own mind. Why?
“Because I loved you,” Ai Ling replied, in a voice not her own.
She felt herself lifted into the air from the force of hundreds of spirits passing. They slashed across her bare flesh in a thunderous roar before she fell back onto the bed.
Small lights danced across her vision, and the room came back to her in a slow blur. Zhong Ye was sprawled beneath her, emaciated, barely human, unrecognizable. She twisted away from him, her hand pressed to her mouth. His sunken eyes were open, staring up at the red-and-gold wedding lanterns. But no life flickered within them.
A soft sob fell from her bruised lips. She tottered and reeled before darkness smothered her consciousness.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ai Ling dreamed of Li Rong. They sat in the gardens of the Golden Palace, by the banks of the Scarlet River. He showed her a coin trick, and she laughed. The gold coin then turned into an emerald duck and waddled into the shallow water. She clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “Do another!”
“But I need my heart back,” he replied.
A gaping hole bloomed across his chest. Ai Ling shivered in the sunlight.
“Without it, I cannot be reincarnated.” There was the same mischievous glint in his dark eyes, the same smile on the corners of his mouth. She ached to see him again. Of course he was right; she had been led so far astray. By her own pride, her stubbornness—her anger against the gods.
“Besides, you always had my heart. I just never had yours.” Li Rong extended his hand and she reached out her own, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
“I know, it’s an awful jest, even for me,” he said, his fingers brushing hers like a kiss.
Ai Ling woke with a start, her throat parched, the salt of tears on her lips. She turned her head. Zhong Ye’s skeletal hand grazed her cheek, and she jerked away, choking back a cry. She felt no triumph. Her teeth clacked violently, and she hugged a cushion to her nakedness. Were Father and Chen Yong all right? She tore her eyes away from the corpse to glance up at the lattice panels. The sun had not yet risen.
She stepped from the bed, bent, like an old woman. She took several deep breaths, her hands pressed against her trembling thighs, before she was able to straighten. She searched the bedchamber and found her knapsack in the red wedding cabinet. Zhen Ni had not failed her.
She pulled on a pale green tunic and trousers, then retrieved the cloth bundle containing Li Rong’s heart, still ice cold to the touch. She placed it with care on the bed. Ai Ling reached for a lantern and poured the lamp oil on the coverlet, lowered the burning wick to its braided edge.
“Forgive me, Li Rong. I only wanted to make things right.” She murmured a prayer to the Goddess. The material caught fire, fed on the silks and satins of the bed.
She stumbled backward, clutching her knapsack. The fire’s heat burned her throat, seared her skin. She turned and ran. Her last glimpse was of the golden drapes of the bed bursting into flames.
The night air revived her. The courtyard was empty. She sat underneath a plum tree, pulled her knees to her chest, and watched as the fire grew. The blaze from within the bedchamber cast menacing shadows through the high lattice windows.
It was Zhen Ni who discovered her, teeth clattering, despite the heat from the inferno. “Mistress!” The alarm in the handmaid’s voice was clear.
Ai Ling rose to her feet, only just realizing they were cold and bare. “Bring my father, Master Wen, to me. And Chen Yong.” It was a command, as regal as any empress could make.
Uncertainty flickered across the girl’s delicate features. Ai Ling lifted her chin. “Master Zhong is dead. You need not fear him.” Zhen Ni’s mouth grew as round as a goose egg. She half bowed before rushing out of the courtyard.
Several eunuchs charged in from another entrance, shouting over one another. Huge urns of water were wheeled by servants who suddenly swarmed the courtyard. Alarm bells clanged. More eunuchs emerged, pushing water-filled vats, the wooden wheels thudding against the cobblestones.
As if in response to their pleas to heaven, a light rain began to fall. At first, it only misted her cheeks, until it pattered, plastering Ai Ling’s hair onto her neck. The handmaids who had scurried into the courtyard when the alarm sounded fell to their knees in supplication. Heavy rain doused the raging flames, aided by the eunuchs throwing pails of water.
Ai Ling crouched beneath the plum tree, rocking back and forth, the acrid smell of smoke and rain filling her senses. She felt a light touch on her back—Father. Chen Yong stood a short distance behind him. She rose and collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing onto his shoulder as he smoothed her damp hair, unbound for her wedding night.
“Come. Let’s take refuge from the rain,” her father said.
Zhen Ni had stayed close, and Ai Ling asked, “Can you show us to empty quarters?”
“I can take you to where we prepared you for the wedding…only”—Zhen Ni bowed her head lower—“men are not allowed there, mistress.”
Ai Ling could not suppress a wry smile. “I hardly think decorum matters now. Please lead the way.”
The handmaid turned, and they followed her. Her father walked with his hand clasped protectively around her shoulder, and Ai Ling leaned into his thin frame. Chen Yong strode on her other side. She couldn’t look at him. How could she ever speak to him again?
They followed Zhen Ni’s bright lantern in silence. When they reached the steps of the bridal dressing quarters, Chen Yong touched her arm with a light hand. Ai Ling glanced up in surprise.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said.
More tears gathered in her eyes, and she was grateful for the rain.
“Me too.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but it didn’t matter.
The handmaid led them into the darkness of the dressing chamber. She began lighting the lanterns on the tables and in the corners of the room.
“Can you bring food and tea?” Chen Yong asked.
The handmaid retreated. Ai Ling shivered in her wet tunic, which clung to her skin like rice paste. Her entire being felt numb, from each fingertip to her fogged mind, which turned with random thoughts and images.
“You should change.” Her father crouched beside her, concern etched in every line of his face.
“I have no more clean travel clothes.”
Chen Yong handed her the luxurious robe she had worn after her bath so long ago. “This will keep you warm.” He carried a small peony-etched lantern into the bath chamber. “You can change in here.”
Ai Ling smiled, even though her face felt too numb to do so. Chen Yong, ever chivalrous. “What about dry clothes for you? And Father?”
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nbsp; “Do not worry for us, Ai Ling.” Father stroked her damp hair. “I must take leave now to find Master Cao. He was an old friend and remains adviser to the Emperor. He may be able to help us.” He turned to Chen Yong and clasped his shoulder. “Can you keep my daughter safe?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Chen Yong said.
Ai Ling emerged from the bath chamber after combing her wet hair and braiding it. The plush robe warmed her, and she pulled it tighter. Chen Yong sat at the enameled table, a tray laden with small dishes of food and a large pot of tea before him. A grin spread across her face.
“That’s what I hoped to see,” Chen Yong said. He poured tea into two celadon cups.
She slid onto the stool across from him and examined the tray’s offerings: a small bowl of thick beef stew with white radish and carrots, sticky rice and chicken wrapped in lotus leaves, young bamboo shoots with mushroom and tender greens cooked with sliced garlic. Ai Ling breathed in the delicious aroma wafting from the dishes. She took a sip of hot tea, delighting in the warmth that wound from her throat to her core.
“Thank you, but I’m not sure I have the appetite….”
Chen Yong raised a hand to stop her. “Eat a little, you need the strength. I’ll worry if you refuse good food laid in front of you!”
Ai Ling smiled and picked up her eating sticks. “Only if you eat with me.”
“Agreed.”
They ate in silence. She sneaked glances at Chen Yong from under lowered lashes. He appeared puzzled, his dark brows drawn together.
“Were you treated well?” she finally asked.
He poured more tea for her. “I was housed in very opulent quarters and locked in.” He clenched his fist. “Zhong Ye threatened to kill you if I tried to escape, tried to aid you. I’m so sorry, Ai Ling.”
“It’s not your fault. It didn’t happen like I thought it would.” She prodded at her food with the eating sticks. “I don’t know what I expected.”