My Fair Concubine

by Jeannie Lin

  ‘I’m not falling in love with him,’ Yan Ling assured, with a trace of bitterness. Dao was still staring at her. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Good, then.’

  She refused to speak any more about it. Anything she said would only reveal how deep her feelings had become and those feelings were unacceptable.

  From Dao’s perspective, the arrangement with Khitan was to everyone’s benefit. Yan Ling’s little lie to Dao was nothing when compared against the greater good.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fei Long received a letter the next morning from Li Bai Shen delivered by messenger. He pulled the paper from its sleeve and unfolded it. The first line took him by surprise.

  My family married me, Bai Shen wrote passionately, to the other side of heaven.

  That incorrigible bastard. Not a single word was Bai Shen’s. He’d copied Princess Xijun’s famous lament at being married off to a foreign land. The actor refused to set foot into the house, but he had no objections to asserting influence and stirring up trouble.

  Fei Long scanned the rest of the verses about the loneliness of living in a strange country and the princess’s sorrow-filled longing for her homeland. Li Bai Shen. Shameless.

  As if he needed the blade of guilt to be driven any deeper. Yan Ling wasn’t a privileged princess, prone to sentiment and melancholy. She was a strong, practical woman. She might mourn her departure at first, but soon she would acclimate to the steppes as quickly as she had adopted Changan and the daily routine of their household.

  The women of the Khitan were said to be more independent. They dressed in male clothing and took on the same responsibilities as men. Yan Ling might enjoy that. He remembered her swaggering back and forth in front of him, disguised as a male attendant.

  He was wrong to pity her. Yan Ling would embrace the open freedom of the grasslands. She would survive. If he knew anything about her, she would thrive.

  He pressed a hand to his side as pain shot through his ribs. The injury had been bothering him since the walk through the city the previous day. He called for the servants to brew more of the physician’s tea. The bitter taste of it had become so familiar that he could swallow it down without blinking. At some point, the kitchen had started adding honey to it. He suspected it was by Yan Ling’s instruction.

  She was taking on other responsibilities as well, conferring with Old Man Liang and Dao about the tasks that needed to be done. There was no one to take over the household while he was recovering. As Pearl’s retainer, Yan Ling became the figurehead.

  It would take perhaps half an hour before the tea took effect. He drank the medicinal brew four times a day to dull the pain and detested how much he depended on it. With only ten days to prepare for the contest, he’d have to continue taking it.

  Once dressed, he went to retrieve his bow himself from the storage cabinet. Tucking it close to his body, he retreated to his study—not hiding, but not keen on anyone seeing him. Alone and behind closed doors, he attached the bowstring.

  He’d had little use for it since returning to the city, but the wood was oiled and well-tempered. He lifted the bow with his left hand and his fingers naturally found their placement along the grip.

  Fei Long took the proper stance and hooked two fingers against the string, pulling back gradually. His body responded with a throbbing ache down his left side, but it subsided. He pulled back further, then a little further.

  Pain shot through his torso and the bowstring snapped back as he recoiled. He pressed a hand to his side until the throbbing eased.

  Breathing deep, he tried it again, slowly this time, just to test his boundaries. Again, the streak of pain stopped him. He could only pull at a fraction of his strength. This was…not good. He didn’t yet know what sort of contest it would be. The archery trials for the imperial exam had included shooting from standing position as well as in the saddle. He wouldn’t be able to endure the strain of both riding the horse and aiming for his target. He could push through pain, but how many times and for how long?

  The herbal brew started taking effect, whittling down the jagged edge of the pain, but it also fogged his mind. It didn’t matter when he was resting in bed all day, but for the contest he would need to focus.

  He’d go to the herbalist for another brew. He would also needed to start training so that he could work up to a full range of motion. There wasn’t much time. Not enough time for anything.

  Yan Ling would be leaving soon to become a far-married bride on the other side of heaven. He was losing her, but there was no way he could stop it while his own fate was hanging on a thread. He was one breath away from ruin. Who was he to take away her salvation?

  But if he could win.

  If he could win, there was still the obligation to Minister Cao and the imperial court. There was the family honour and reputation. It was a cage of his own design, but there was no use thinking of those other obstacles until he won.

  He raised the bow and took aim at an imaginary target. His mind and hands and eyes knew what to do. He could feel the sense memory flow into them—surer than anything else in the world. There were many things that he couldn’t do, but he could hit a target.

  * * *

  Yan Ling stirred at the tapping sound on her window. At first she thought it might be a bird, but the sound continued, accompanied by a hushed voice calling her name. It was coming from the window that faced the courtyard. She rose to open it, squinting at the sunlight that streamed in through the crack.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she mumbled.

  It was Fei Long, crouching outside her window like some illicit village boy instead of the master of the house. She warmed at the amusing picture.

  ‘Get dressed and come with me,’ he said.

  She rubbed a hand over her eyes. From the slant of the sun and the stillness throughout the house, she knew it was early.

  ‘I’ll get Dao to help me,’ she said through a yawn.

  ‘Just wear the clothes from the night at the Pear Blossom Gardens.’

  He wanted her in disguise? She couldn’t raise one eyebrow the way Bai Shen did, but she attempted it. Her effort most likely looked like a half-squint.

  ‘Quickly,’ he demanded.

  She shut the window on him. What sort of caper was this, waking her so early in the morning and making most improper demands? It wasn’t like Fei Long at all. How exciting!

  The disguise had been tucked away in the corner of her wardrobe since the night at the theatre. A small, secret thrill went through her whenever she glanced at the boots. Fei Long had pulled them off her, his hand curled intimately over her calf. She pulled the robe and boots on hastily and tied her hair back.

  Fei Long was waiting in the hallway. The quiver of arrows strapped to his back was the only explanation he offered as they headed towards the stable. The attendant led the horse out to them just as they arrived, but the boy didn’t make any remark at seeing her dressed in male clothing. He merely assisted Fei Long onto the saddle and handed him his bow, which Fei Long slung over his shoulder. She climbed onto the horse behind him with some assistance.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, placing her hands tenuously around his shoulders.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, irritated.

  He snapped at her much the same way whenever she politely enquired about his recovery. She knew how Fei Long hated mentioning it, but he had moved stiffly when mounting the horse.

  ‘I won’t break,’ he said over his shoulder before urging the horse forwards.

  She grabbed on to him, her arms circling his narrow waist to hold on. It wasn’t so much that he was angry as there was a lot on his mind. She’d become adept at interpreting Fei Long’s moods, or at least her guess seemed to be wrong less often than for some others.

  The archery contest was only three days away. Shortly after that, the imperial wedding procession was scheduled to leave for Khitan.

  She wouldn’t think of that now. Instead she laid her cheek against the
space between Fei Long’s shoulder blades and closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the ride sooth her.

  They moved through the ward gates and then travelled on the main avenues of the city to an area she hadn’t visited before. A park spread out before them, as least four times the size of the Pear Blossom Gardens. Fei Long rode on to the grassy area and headed for a distant cluster of trees. The vibrant lushness of the green beckoned to her. When they finally dismounted, she let her feet sink into the dew-covered grass and inhaled the crisp scent of it. The city was a glorious place that she’d only barely begun to discover. As Fei Long went to tether the horse, Yan Ling noticed the row of straw targets propped up across the field of grass.

  He came up beside her. ‘I should practise at least once before the contest.’

  She helped him unstrap the quiver, watching him carefully. His movements, though careful and deliberate, had improved from even a week earlier.

  ‘What should I be doing?’ she asked, holding on to the leather bindings of the quiver.

  He presented a striking profile as he sighted the target in the distance. The bridge of his nose was high like an eagle’s and his jaw was set with determination. He spent a few moments absorbing the energy of the shaded area before turning to her.

  The corner of his mouth lifted as he replied, ‘For now, just think good thoughts.’

  He extracted a single arrow from the quiver. His eyes lingered on hers before facing the target. Again, he spent some time centring himself on the target in the distance before setting the arrow against the string. He righted himself in one smooth motion, taking aim with his back straight, head lifted. She could sense the awe of Dao’s story in the confidence of his stance.

  His arm pulled back and he let out his breath slowly, then held completely still as he released. The arrow sailed straight, but fell into the grass far short of the target.

  That was just the first one, she told herself, though her stomach sank. She handed him another arrow and said nothing as he positioned himself to shoot again. The next one flew further, but still fell short. Yan Ling held her breath through each shot. The third one managed to embed itself within the lower corner of the target.

  She didn’t know if his performance was typical or not, but Fei Long was not pleased. He didn’t show it with any impatient remarks or angry gestures. She only knew it in the steely set of his eyes. An unbearable tension settled over her, making her insides churn.

  It was the sixth arrow that finally hit centre. Yan Ling was counting. She nearly let out a celebratory cry, but Fei Long was still not pleased. The next shot hit left of the mark. One more at centre, then the one after it flew wide. Her spirits rose and plummeted with each flight.

  Fei Long lowered the bow after the last shot and held his hand out, flexing and curling his fingers.

  ‘Your arm?’ she asked. She knew he hated hearing her fuss, but what else was one to do?

  ‘Just lack of use,’ he said. It wasn’t an excuse. Fei Long was trying to assess the problem. He shook his arm out and held his hand out for the next arrow. ‘Let’s continue.’

  The next five shots showed some improvement, but remained inconsistent.

  She went to fetch the arrows to give Fei Long a rest. After only four shots into the next set, he stiffened, pressing the heel of his palm to his side. Since this was Fei Long, it must have been hurting long before he showed any signs of weakness.

  ‘You should rest,’ she insisted when he reached for the next arrow.

  She knew he hated when she told him to rest, as well, but she didn’t care. This time, he didn’t fight her. He lowered his bow and stood there, head down, thinking. She was genuinely worried now, not about the archery contest, but that Fei Long would push himself too hard.

  ‘Will the target be that far in the competition?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know what Zōu is planning.’

  ‘Your body just needs to readjust. You’re doing much better.’

  She wasn’t helping. She knew she wasn’t helping when Fei Long pinned her with a cold look. The echo of her encouragement rang hollow in her head.

  It was all Dao’s fault. Dao had spoken of a legend, but what Yan Ling witnessed before her was a man struggling with his own limits. In three days, everyone else would be expecting the legend as well, including the crime boss.

  Fei Long resumed his practice, attacking the target with a new determination. One in three arrows were hitting centre now, but a few of the misses were still flying wide. Was one in three good enough? She didn’t think so.

  Suddenly Fei Long bent over, clutching a hand to his ribs. His breath rushed out and his teeth clenched. She wanted to run to him, but she froze, unable to move or speak. It frightened her to see him like this.

  He straightened and muttered a curse, kicking at the ground in frustration. The pain had cracked through the layer of calm shielding him.

  Why had he brought her along? It must have been to avoid showing any weakness to the servants who depended on him. Saving face was so important to Fei Long.

  Did he consider her an outsider whose opinion didn’t matter? But a nobleman and a soldier wouldn’t show such vulnerability to a stranger. Fei Long trusted her, in a way he trusted no one else. It was a rare gift, and it tore her apart to watch him, struggling to remain composed, when there was nothing she could do or say to help. Fei Long exhaled sharply and ran his hand over his face.

  ‘I can use a lighter bow,’ he said with a scowl. ‘One that’s easier to pull. The arrow won’t fly as far, but the way things are going now…’

  His voice trailed off and he turned to stare at the target again, his eyes narrowing as if looking upon an arch rival.

  ‘Stop for a while and you can try again,’ she suggested.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but bit back the protest. His expression softened just a touch. ‘Yes,’ he relented. ‘I can rest for a moment.’

  Fei Long lowered himself down into the grass, legs out in front of him. He propped the bow across his knees and tried to look like he wasn’t preoccupied with the target. She sat down across from him, sinking her fingers into the cool grass. The sun had risen to burn off the morning dew.

  ‘Dao told me the story of the Great Shoot,’ she said.

  ‘She remembered?’

  ‘She was thirteen years old at the time. Hardly an infant.’

  Fei Long shrugged and set the bow beside him. ‘I remembered her and Pearl as children at the time. My sister must have been eleven.’

  ‘Dao said you were a giant to them, that you could do no wrong.’

  He laughed at that, reaching up to rub at his shoulder. ‘Like I said, children.’

  Fei Long didn’t realise how easily others looked up to him. She’d seen it among the servants of the household and even the actors in the Pear Blossom Garden. No matter how much he distanced himself, people were drawn to him. She was drawn to him as well, hopelessly so.

  ‘Dao told me you were flawless that day.’

  ‘She’s mistaken.’

  ‘You’re being humble,’ she admonished.

  ‘Humility is a virtue.’ He rotated his arm in small circles, wincing slightly.

  ‘Here, let me help.’

  Yan Ling forced herself to sound casual, but her throat went dry. She moved around behind him before her courage slipped away. Holding her breath, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

  Fei Long lowered his arm and grew still, but didn’t protest. She ran her hands over his back, curving over hard muscle and sinew. Her touch was gentle at first, tenuous. With each breath, her hands became more confident. She roamed over the span of his shoulders. His muscles were knotted into tight, unrelenting cords.

  How many times had she wanted to do this while they were together in the study? Every time Fei Long had set down a letter to rub a hand over his temples, she’d imagined being bold enough to go to him.

  ‘No wonder the arrows aren’t hitting. You’re so tense here.’ She worked her th
umbs in small circles near the base of his neck. Her pulse leapt as her fingertips grazed the back of his neck. Skin to skin. It was a wonder to be able to touch him.

  ‘Maybe I make you nervous,’ she teased.

  ‘I don’t get nervous.’ His reply sounded strained.

  She sank down further onto her knees and closer to him. She used the leverage to increase the pressure, rubbing at his neck and shoulders in earnest. A single breath filled him, then released slowly. She paused to absorb the shape and feel of him.

  She swallowed to regain her voice. ‘Better?’

  He didn’t say anything. His head tilted up and down as he nodded. A breeze blew by. A few figures appeared at the other end of the park, but she didn’t care. They were alone together in the great city.

  ‘Yan,’ he said finally. ‘Inspector Tong sent a message to the house yesterday.’

  ‘I know.’ Her hands slipped from him, lingering for just a second at the base of his neck. She stared at the contours of his shoulder blades through his robe.

  ‘Not much longer now.’

  ‘Don’t you think about that,’ she said harshly. Fei Long prohibited all talk about his recovery. She could refuse to talk about Khitan. ‘Just focus on what needs to be done.’

  ‘Hitting the target,’ he murmured.

  He picked up the bow and stood. She would have hoped to see the legend suddenly emerge, but it was more of the same. Fei Long still struggled to hit the centre, but there was a definite change. He didn’t seem as displeased with himself. She didn’t know if that was progress or not.

  When the quiver was empty once again, she walked ahead to collect the arrows. As she returned, she saw Fei Long as a lone figure in the field of green. He had set the bow aside and stood completely still, not moving.

  ‘Are we returning now?’ she asked.

  He turned to her slowly, his expression weighted and grim. She didn’t know why, but her heart started pounding and her breath became short. She couldn’t read anything in his demeanour. There was a storm cloud of warning about him and she could feel his gaze searing into her.