by JC Kang
How could she know that? Could Lord Lin be her patron? Leina flashed a coy smile and threw out some bait. “I hear Lord Lin is quite virile.”
Purple Autumn’s pretty face contorted for a split second. Then her eyes flicked toward the entrance. When they returned Leina’s gaze, her expression was unreadable. “As much as I would love to join you ladies for tea, I have an appointment to keep.” She rose to her feet and strolled through the bead curtain and into the back rooms.
Orchid jerked her head toward the entrance and cringed. “Lotus…”
Leina looked in the long mirror behind the tea bar.
Her patron, Chief Minister Hong, hobbled in, shoulders slumped in a telltale show of defeat. Her stomach twisted.
“Until next time, my friends.” Leina rose and nodded at the Night Blossoms. Of course they knew of her secret liaison with one of the most powerful men in Cathay. Nonetheless, what happened in the Floating World stayed in the Floating World.
Leina hastened to the secret door and back into her house, the one that Old Hong had bought just for their clandestine meetings. Little did he know of the other meetings she held there, with insurgents bent on toppling the Wang Dynasty.
Opposition to the Tianzi was the only thing certain about her visitor earlier in the day. She had kept Golden Fu at arm’s length, feeding him a healthy mix of information and misinformation. The middle-aged spice merchant was likely much more than he appeared, but what he said rang true: the insurgency, while well-armed, would be too scared to act until the number of imperial troops in the capital declined. Maybe Purple Autumn’s insights on Lord Lin could compel them.
Now, she had to clear the evidence of her meeting with Golden Fu before Hong limped in. A flash of gold in the parlor’s red Ayuri carpet drew her eye. She snatched it up. A pin. It belonged to Young Lord Liu Dezhen, the heir to Jiangzhou Province. Married to the Tianzi’s cousin, Wang Kai-Hua, his baby boy had crept up the line to the Jade Throne. Or at least, that’s what she told Young Lord Liu.
By the time Hong made it into her sitting room, she had cleared Golden Fu’s wine cup from the carved rosewood table. She slid out the matching chair and invited him to sit.
He plopped down, and before she could kneel beside him, he took her arm in his worn, leathery hand and pulled her into his lap.
“A letter from Lord Zheng arrived earlier today,” Hong said. “The princess wants to marry Zheng Ming.”
Mention of the handsome young lord stirred memories of when she had slept with him, in a failed attempt to frame him for sedition. Her heart fluttered at the reminiscence of their passionate lovemaking, but in this moment, Leina had other priorities. She had heard defeat in Hong’s voice too often not to recognize it now. Without her subtle persuasion, he would have never become Chief Minister in the first place.
She reached out to stroke his leathery old skin, trying to avoid a shudder. “Dear Hong, you have the Tianzi’s ear. All he has to do is order her to return before she has a chance to marry. She would never disobey her brother’s direct command, especially with all of the hereditary lords questioning his fitness to rule.”
Hong shook his head, his thin white hair ruffling the silken pillow cover. “But he won’t force her to do anything. He is so fond of her.”
Leina wondered if that were the case. After all, the Tianzi was actually considering allowing old Hong to marry Princess Kaiya. If only Hong knew that the princess was pregnant with—
Hong sighed. “I think the princess is lost to me.”
If only he knew the whole story. Better that he didn’t, because coveting the princess had kept him motivated for what, three years now?
To have the princess return to the capital would temporarily put her out of Zheng Ming’s reach, thereby keeping Hong inspired. Yet it might also loosen Leina’s hold on Hong, and therefore her indirect influence on the Tianzi.
Leina could not allow the latter to happen, at least not yet. Certainly not when the princess had demonstrated an ability to sniff out a conspiracy. Furthermore, from what Leina knew from the other letter she received earlier in the day, the princess’ sudden desire to marry Zheng Ming showed she had a mind for conspiracy as well.
It was a gamble. Up to now, Leina had beaten the odds, using Hong as a game piece to outsmart and outmaneuver all of the other lords and ministers jockeying for power. Whether she decided to lure the princess to within reach of Hong’s paws or her assassin’s knife, the first step was the same: getting a message to her.
Now, she had to convince Hong the idea was his, something she did on a regular basis. She patted him on the chest. “It is a shame she does not want to come back yet. I am sure her brother’s widow would like to see her.”
Hong turned to her, his bright eyes gleaming in stark contrast to his wrinkled face. “Brilliant! Where would I be without your woman’s intuition?”
Woman’s intuition, indeed. Her plotting was masterful, worthy of the statesmen from the First Age of Empires. Nonetheless, she feigned delight with a girlish smile.
It was a look Leina had mastered in the three years since she arrived in Cathay in search of the Cathayi father who had left her behind in occupied Ankira. Using her mother as a hostage, Emperor Geros had given her a decade to undermine Cathay from the inside. His latest messenger bird came with a demand for immediate results, so he could claim Princess Kaiya and their unborn son.
Once Hong left tonight, Leina would contact her agent. Princess Kaiya would need to be harmed just enough to keep her convalescing at the border for when Geros arrived.
Chapter 5:
Luck Favors the Well-Prepared
Sitting on a bloodwood chair by her anteroom window, Kaiya strummed at a pipa. The pear-shaped, fretted instrument resonated in harmony with the birds outside, each note intertwining in the orchestra of spring sounds. Yet even if her music was technically perfect, it lacked the passion she’d evoked in the past.
Kaiya had held crowds enthralled as emotions rippled through her music. Today, her only audience was Jie, and the half-elf seemed more interested in sharpening her knives. Kaiya continued strumming, despite the futility of trying to charm the Insolent Retainer. At the very least, her sons could appreciate it as they grew in her womb.
The pipa’s melody shifted as it bent around a newcomer by the open door. Even if her music couldn’t influence others, at least she could still sense how others’ positions and motion influenced sound.
Kaiya’s hands froze as she looked up.
A page dressed in dark green livery knelt near the door. When her gaze met his, he shifted his eyes down as protocol demanded. He proffered a letter in two hands. “D-Dian-x-xia, y-you have a message from the capital.”
Without waiting for acknowledgment, Jie padded over to the young man and plucked the paper out of his fingers. She ordered him out with a perfunctory jerk of her head, and then delivered it into Kaiya’s hands.
Her name was written on the front of the cover paper in a distinct script. Though she didn’t have to, Kaiya flipped it over to confirm it was Sister-in-Law Zhao Xiulan’s name on the back. The former Crown Princess before the death of Kaiya’s eldest brother, Xiulan was like an older sister.
Kaiya opened the cover, unfolded the message within and read:
Kaiya, I was overjoyed to hear you were safe after your months stranded in the enemy-infested Kanin Wilds. The news has helped at least a little in numbing my devastation at the loss of the crown prince. I hope to see you soon.
Her eyes glided over the enchanted script, its Artistic Magic imbued by Xiulan’s hand. The uncertain sweeps and melancholy whorls tugged at Kaiya’s heart for a split-second. The sensation quickly disappeared, replaced only by an appreciation of Xiulan’s technical mastery, as displayed in the perfect balance of characters.
Even so, Sister-in-Law’s misery screamed out in her handwriting. Xiulan had suffered through five fruitless years of trying to conceive an heir. The late Tianzi’s poor health had made the pressure all the m
ore oppressive. Now, she’d lost her beloved husband, and her position as mother of the future Tianzi.
Kaiya scanned the letter once more. A return to Huajing would put another three days between her and Ming, further delaying a marriage. Yet a sense of duty prodded, urging her to comfort the one who had always given her encouragement. Maybe even confide in the sister who always supported her.
Yet without emotions, how could Kaiya possibly empathize with Xiulan’s loss? And if she shared her secret pregnancy, wouldn’t it just crush someone who’d tried so hard and so long without success?
Kaiya glanced over her shoulder.
Jie stood above her, her mouth drawn into a pout. A trickle slid down her cheek.
A tear?
Jie’s eyes had not so much as glassed over at the death of Tian, her best friend and the man she loved. Now, she looked miserable for Xiulan, whom she was not especially fond of.
“What is it, Jie?”
The half-elf’s voice choked. “I…I… The misery in the words. It’s crushing.”
Even if Kaiya didn’t feel it herself, the power of Xiulan’s script made Jie cry. Jie never cried. Not only that, she’d proven immune to Artistic Magic ever since Kaiya started learning to focus it.
Kaiya rose and strode toward the door.
Whereas the letter’s unhappy lines brought Jie to tears, it brought the princess to her feet. What did she plan to do now?
Whether the princess was charming dragons or enchanting dictators, Jie had learned that if anything was predictable about Princess Kaiya, it was impulsiveness. That meant constant vigilance.
Granted, under the Tiger’s Eye, she’d been completely reasonable and logical. At least up to now. Jie wiped her eyes and trailed down the hall after her ward.
Yet the magic embedded in the miserable twists and turns of the former Crown Princess’ handwriting continued to tangle through Jie’s heart, yanking out bittersweet memories. Her near-kiss with Tian, forestalled by duty. Then she’d lost him. First to distance, then to the princess, and finally to death.
Persevere. It’d been her mantra for the last week. She wore her discipline like armor, and took pride in her ability to focus. Then again, she had yet to be truly tested with anything beyond trailing Lord Zheng, forging a letter, and snooping on a meeting.
Now, even the thought of the letter’s words hacked away at years of training, leaving her a quivering ball of pathetic emotion. Just like any other girl. Just like the princess, before the Tiger’s Eye transformed her into an efficient and practical dwarf clock.
Jie looked up. She’d been staring at her feet, lulled by the floor’s rhythmic chirping.
Princess Kaiya was gliding down the halls a good seven paces ahead of her.
Just in front of the princess, the messenger from before dropped to his knee, left fist to the ground, the other hand—
The messenger. When he’d delivered the Crown Princess’ letter, beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead. His eyes had darted back and forth while he clasped and unclasped his hands.
“Dian-xia! Danger!” Hand on a biao throwing star, Jie surged forward, her short legs covering half the distance in just a second.
A second too late.
The princess stopped where she stood. She looked back. Her eyes widened like a startled doe’s.
A short blade flashed in the messenger’s hand. He sprang at her.
Even as the princess’ turn opened a window for Jie to attack, the assassin’s lunge on the other side of the princess rapidly closed it. Where was his knife?
Jie flung the biao.
It whistled within a hairbreadth of the princess’ ear, shaving off wisps of her hair and catching the man in the right breast.
He let out a shriek.
So did Princess Kaiya.
In a split second, Jie spun the princess out of the way and reached the messenger.
She spiraled out of his slow thrust and wrapped up his hand. With a quick twist of her wrist and jerk of her hips, she dislocated his elbow and shoulder.
He screamed again and the bloody dagger slipped from his fingers.
Jie silenced him with an elbow to the temple.
Even as unconsciousness quieted the would-be assassin, the rest of the castle roared to life. Provincial guards raced toward them with bared weapons, their feet kicking up a chorus of discordant chirps on the nightingale floors.
Heavens, that’d been close. Jie looked back toward the princess. “Dian-xia, are you unharmed?”
Though standing, Princess Kaiya’s face paled and her eyebrows knitted together. She held her left hand to her right flank as she spoke through gritted teeth. “He…he grazed me. It hurts, but does not seem serious.”
“Summon Doctor Fang,” Jie called out. They’d gotten lucky. Perhaps Princess Kaiya’s inadvertent spin had turned her out of the path of a more dangerous blow. Jie beckoned the guards.
She glared at the shift captain, who now knelt before them. “Why was the messenger not checked?” Unless in the hands of an imperial guard or a secret agent like Jie, no weapon was allowed near a member of the Imperial Family.
The captain bowed. “We did check him, at the entrance to the guest wing. He only carried the message, no weapons.”
Bending over, Jie retrieved the curved knife. The imprint at the base of the blade showed it came from a provincial weaponsmith.
A weapon issued to a provincial soldier.
Her gaze raked over the assembled men as she held it up. “Is anyone missing their dagger?”
Two dozen hands checked their sides. A soldier rose, took a tentative step forward and dropped to his knees. He proffered a scabbard. “D-Dian-xia, it was m-my dagger. I s-swear, I didn’t give it to him. I didn’t even realize it was gone.”
“You will submit to questioning.” Jie snatched the sheath out of his hand and upended it. Fine white sand cascaded out. An old pickpocket trick; one used by her clan. Could the assailant be one of her temple brothers? Until a year ago, she’d only heard of one renegade, the one she had been tasked with tracking down in the Eldaeri Kingdoms. Since joining Princess Kaiya’s guard detail, she’d met two. She rolled the unconscious man over.
Probably no older than thirty, he didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen before, and she knew every Moquan to pass through the Black Lotus Temple over the last three decades. He was too small for a Teleri Nightblade. Perhaps he belonged to one of the small, less reputable clans than pawned their skills to provincial lords. “Do any of you recognize him?”
Heads shook.
“Very well, bind him and let me know when he wakes.”
The man was skilled enough to find a way through a cordon of guards, steal a knife, and attack the princess. He’d hesitated, and they’d gotten lucky.
For the Imperial Family, luck was not enough. Jie would have normally sniffed out such an attacker in her sleep, but in her current state, she wasn’t fit to serve.
Though an imperial guard’s response to failure would be to offer his own life, the Moquan didn’t live by such codes. She knelt. “Dian-xia, my skills are compromised. I must be released from your service.”
“Jie, I—” Princess Kaiya tumbled to the ground. Her hand slipped, revealing a splotch of red, blooming out from the wound on her right flank.
Chapter 6:
Up In Smoke
With his brother Shu at his side, Ming peered through the darkness. Luckily, the dense clouds obscured the white and blue moons. The black of night, combined with the rustling of the river, covered his men’s retreat. As he suspected, the Teleri would not launch a night attack, despite the expiration of their ultimatum.
A drop of cold rain plopped on his cheek, followed by another. He brought his hand up, feeling the wetness between his fingers.
A chorus of crossbows clicked and twanged, barely audible over the patter of rain in the moat.
“Take cover!” Ming threw himself into the dirt, dragging Shu down with him.
A few grunt
s and screams emanated from the embankment where the rear guard remained.
“Fire!” yelled an overzealous imperial officer.
“Hold your fire!” Ming barely heard his own voice over the disjointed roar of muskets. The sound would give away their dwindling numbers.
The second volley of muskets rang out, and then a third, each answered by shouts of pain in the moat.
Beside him, Shu struggled to his feet, pulling his dao from its sheath. All signs of his earlier nervousness disappeared.
Ming grabbed him. “Wait. Wait for the fourth volley.”
That fourth volley, to be fired by the first line once they reloaded, never came. Only the clicks of triggers and hammers.
Ming strained his eyes through the darkness and rain to get his best view of the embankment. Nothing but dark shapes. Imperial musketmen shouted in frustration. Metal clashed on metal where his provincial spearmen stood.
He turned to Shu. “Fall back to the rendezvous point. At the first sign of Teleri on the bridge, blow it.” Shu might not be much of an archer, but surely he could hit the firepowder kegs.
From among the spearmen, his other brother Lun yelled, “Fall back, fall—” A choke interrupted his command.
Ming strode forward, unslung his bow, and fit an arrow. Squinting, he tried to locate Lun in the fray. It was so hard to differentiate the dark shapes, even if the Bovyans were that much larger. Instead, he took aim at the figures slogging through the moat and loosed arrow after arrow into the Teleri surge.
The imperial gunnery officer nearly backed into Ming. “Dajiang, we can’t hold the embankment much longer. We must sound the general retreat.”
Ming clenched his jaw. This was becoming into a disaster. With a nod, he yelled, “Fall back to the bridge!”
A horn blared out, sounding the retreat.
As his own men ran past him, Ming worked his way backward, shooting arrows at Bovyan soldiers as they appeared at the top of the embankment. When he could no longer make out any of his own men in front of him, he spun and ran.