Forest of a Thousand Lanterns

by Julie C. Dao

  “Don’t listen to her evil words, Your Majesty. She is remorseless and wicked, and a time will come when her deeds turn against her.”

  “I’ve lost so many babies, born too soon. She knows it and hopes to turn the Emperor against me.” The Empress closed her eyes, and Xifeng wondered if Lady Sun was the only cause of her sickly pallor. “Will you sit with me a while? It is such a comfort to know you’re here.”

  Her words dissolved every thought of Kang and his warnings. There was only this moment, here and now, as Xifeng took the Empress’s icy hand in both of hers. “I won’t leave you,” she vowed, her heart singing inside her.

  “I should be thankful when the gods have given me so much,” the Empress said in a voice full of endless sadness. “I was my parents’ only child, and they did not deem me fit to rule, as few other women in my line have been. But they gave me a strong, good husband. It seems I lost myself when I lost him.” She closed her eyes in grief. “People only see what I wear, what I eat, and the servants that surround me. They don’t know I’d gladly trade places with a peasant, the only wife and mother to her husband and children. Do you think me ungrateful?”

  Xifeng squeezed her hand in mute pity, though she couldn’t help noting the irony. She had refused that life when Wei offered it to her—a life for which the Empress of Feng Lu longed. “We can’t choose what we are given,” she said gently. “But your child will be fortunate to have you for a mother.” She imagined a roly-poly baby, deeply loved and wanted, and felt a stab of jealousy that faded when the Empress patted her cheek.

  “Do you think so?”

  “I never knew my mother, but I imagine she might have been like you.”

  The Empress’s eyes shone. “And I imagine if I have a daughter, she might be like you.”

  Underneath the overwhelming rush of joy, Xifeng recoiled. She rose and began to fan the Empress to hide her shock as a mocking voice echoed from within her ribs.

  She wouldn’t say that if she knew what you truly are. She wouldn’t say that if she knew her end is your beginning.

  A maid reappeared with water and a cloth, and Xifeng rose, grateful for the distraction. She dabbed at the Empress’s forehead, trying to quell the knot of dread in her chest. Up close, Her Majesty’s ill health was even more apparent and pronounced; her skin, tinged with gray, was thin and fragile, like parchment. She noticed a constellation of white hairs at the woman’s temples, like a crown, and longed to stoop and kiss them and smooth the lines of worry from her face as a daughter would. Not once had she ever imagined doing so with Guma. Her end is your beginning. Guma had never told her how it might come to be, supplanting the Emperor’s wife.

  The knot above her rib cage throbbed again, painfully, and she gasped for breath.

  “Are you all right, Xifeng?”

  The Empress’s eyes stared up at her—eyes that had to close before her own could open to the throne of Feng Lu.

  “It’s a bit warm. Let me open a window for you.” Xifeng crossed the room and slid open a bamboo panel, gulping in the fresh air. Had Guma meant for her to be a killer? To end the life of this good, gentle woman, whose only crime was being born to the crown meant for Xifeng?

  Behind her, Empress Lihua rose. “I must rest for my journey. Tomorrow, I make my pilgrimage to my private shrine in the forest.”

  The image of the tengaru clearing came to Xifeng’s mind, unbidden, and she remembered the tapestry in the reception hall. “Will you be going far?”

  “To a quiet lake a day’s ride from here. I’m in need of time to pray and reflect, and receive guidance.” She turned to the miniature tree, lost in thought.

  Xifeng watched her with an odd, unsettled feeling, wondering if the Empress’s private shrine lay with the demon guardians. Surely the tengaru would not deny her entrance to the apple tree; surely she was worthy where Xifeng was not. But that, then, might make her the Fool—the woman whose fate could not coexist with Xifeng’s.

  Don’t be silly, she chided herself. The Empress had only ever been gentle and kind; she had raised Xifeng closer to her destiny, whereas Lady Sun sought to push her down.

  “Are you fit to travel, Your Majesty?” she asked, worried. “Won’t it be dangerous to go on horseback in your condition?”

  “The guards will carry me in a litter. The baby and I will be quite safe.” Her face shone like sunlight. “You needn’t worry about me, my dear. And I hope you’ll join me for the moon-viewing party. I’d like you to be part of my retinue for the carnival days as well.”

  “I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

  The Empress came close and touched her face. “It was lonely for me before you came,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re here to care for me.”

  Xifeng’s lips quivered as she left the royal apartments.

  If only she knew.

  • • •

  After three long days of worship, a charge of excitement filled the Empress’s apartments on the day of the moon-viewing party. The ladies washed in basins of rosewater and helped each other dress. Xifeng combed her hair until it shone like a moonlit river, sweeping it into a thick knot pinned with a white jasmine flower. When she donned the simple gold silk Her Majesty’s women would wear, the other ladies stopped what they were doing to admire her.

  “How beautiful you are,” one of them said grudgingly.

  Xifeng dipped her head, as though she wasn’t fully aware of the power she would always have over others. She had made every effort to ensure all eyes would be on her tonight, to show Lady Sun she was no shrinking flower. She would bloom where she was planted and let her roots close around the throats of her enemies.

  The ladies assembled in the royal bedchamber to dress the Empress.

  “You seem rested and refreshed, Your Majesty,” Madam Hong told her.

  Empress Lihua looked like she had spent the past three days sleeping. Her eyes were brighter, her skin appeared more vibrant, and she greeted her women with complete peace as they set about preparing her for the banquet.

  Madam Hong took the responsibility of brushing the Empress’s thin hair and wrapping it around an elaborate wooden headdress. Two ladies fussed over her hair ornaments while another dusted her face with a silken rice powder and painted her lips with vermilion paste.

  Because of her junior position, Xifeng stood to one side, approaching only to hand the ladies whatever they needed, but Empress Lihua caught her eye a few times and smiled.

  “Bring me the clothes,” Madam Hong told her brusquely.

  Xifeng handed her a tunic of deep blue-gray silk, which rippled like rainwater and had silver frog clasp buttons down the front. The collar was embedded with tiny pearls of jade, so priceless and delicate that Madam Hong hadn’t trusted anyone but herself to work on it. The skirt was of a darker gray like a winter sky, embroidered with clouds in azure thread. The ladies had been hard at work on the other pieces in the royal ensemble all week, expanding the clothing to fit the Empress’s growing, four-months-pregnant belly.

  The sky at last began to darken, and eunuchs filed into the royal apartments to light the lanterns. Empress Lihua led them through an entrance Xifeng had never seen, with the fourteen ladies following her in pairs and flanked by a guard of thirty eunuchs. The heavy oaken doors opened onto a splendid walkway, which led into the main palace itself.

  Xifeng felt as though her eyes didn’t have time to take it all in. They passed pillars of imported marble, crystalline fountains, corridors draped in red-and-gold silk, and basins spilling fragrant flowers from the palace gardens. After two months of seclusion with women, Xifeng found the sight of so many men startling and pleasing. They looked to be of every lofty rank: palace officials, ministers, scholars, foreign officers, and nobility.

  But the banquet hall was the most magnificent sight of all. It seemed large enough to fit the Imperial City within its gold-veined marble wa
lls. Artfully placed bronze mirrors reflected the lamplight and the masses of courtiers dressed in their finest silks and brocades. The savory-sweet aroma of steaming rice, herb-roasted meat, and exotic spices blanketed the whole room.

  “Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress of Feng Lu,” a eunuch announced at the door as Empress Lihua approached the dais where her husband awaited her.

  The Emperor wore dark blue-gray robes to match hers, the simplicity of his attire suiting his austere handsomeness. He led his wife to a high table they would share with the Crown Prince and a sickly-looking boy Xifeng supposed was the youngest prince.

  Xifeng noticed Lady Meng still had a place next to Lady Sun, as a favored concubine—though that might change any day now, what with the rumors swirling that His Majesty would soon tire of her indifference toward him. The girl stared at her plate with empty eyes while Lady Sun dandled a boy of about five in her lap. This, then, was the “prince” she had boasted about giving the Emperor. Xifeng noticed she hadn’t bothered to bring her daughters.

  A gong sounded, and four court musicians began playing a soft melody on four different instruments: a flute, a barbarian’s fiddle, a pipe-harp, and a stringed, oblong object Xifeng learned was a zither. An army of servants appeared with enormous bowls and platters. The Imperial cook himself carved a massive wild boar before the Emperor while all around the hall, his attendants served fish, glazed duck, and quail to the eunuchs, ladies, and assembled guests.

  Xifeng sighed at the taste of the tender, juicy meat flavored with summer onions and garlic. The vegetables were equally delicious: crunchy, vibrant greens slathered in a ginger soy sauce and sweet potatoes roasted with sugar and chili powder.

  “It’s nice to see a lady with a healthy appetite,” one of the eunuchs said approvingly.

  “How could anyone resist such delicacies?” She peered around at the other ladies pecking at their meals like birds. Of the two concubines, only Lady Sun was eating her fill. For her part, Xifeng ate until every morsel had disappeared from her plate.

  She looked up to see Emperor Jun, of all people, smiling at her. His eyes held the spark of humor she recalled from their first meeting. She was struck again by his familiarity, like he was someone she had known a long time ago, and her heart gave an uneven beat. Beside her husband, Empress Lihua glanced at her.

  “Stand up and bow when His Majesty acknowledges you, girl,” Madam Hong hissed.

  Xifeng obeyed. When she looked up again, the Emperor nodded to someone: a small, handsome man with elegant features. The ambassador to Kamatsu approached, beaming at her.

  “Shiro, my dear friend.” She drank in the sight of him. “I told His Majesty you and I traveled together. How kind of him to remember.”

  Shiro surveyed her affectionately. “I was surprised when he mentioned you. You look lovely as ever and right at home. I always knew you’d do well at court despite Hideki’s ominous warnings.” He gestured across the room to the soldier, who lifted a cup of wine to them.

  “It seems more like home than my town ever did. But that’s not to say it has been easy.” She glanced at the Emperor, who was still watching them.

  “You’ve certainly won the Emperor’s approval. He insisted I come speak to you tonight.”

  “He seems a kind man,” Xifeng said, but he did not respond. “How have you fared? Do you miss home?”

  “Hideki would have a ship ready tomorrow if I desired it. But I’m happy to remain here for the full year, with good reason. Akira and I were married a week ago.”

  “Congratulations.” She blinked, feeling a pang of envy as he drew his shoulders back, his eyes bright. How simple it was for others to love and live life—how perfectly easy. “I wish you both much joy. Why isn’t she here with you?”

  “She was too busy to come, though I’m sure she would have liked to have seen you.”

  “I’ve spoken to her father,” Xifeng told him. “I wonder if they’ll ever meet.”

  “Not if my wife has anything to say about it.” She felt another twinge at the way he lingered proudly over my wife. “He chose not to have her in his life, so she’s happy to lead hers without him. Oh, I saw Wei the other day.”

  Her heart jumped. “How is he?”

  “Very well. He was practicing for the procession. Perhaps you’ll see him if you go.”

  She didn’t miss the pity in his eyes. Even Shiro thought they would never meet again. “His Majesty mentioned you’ll join the envoy to the mountains. How far is the journey?”

  “Two weeks there and two weeks back, but Hideki and I don’t mind. I couldn’t pass up this chance to go.” He toyed with the hem of his sleeve. “I haven’t had the easiest life, as you know. It was prayer that saved me, and I want to thank the gods for my good fortune.”

  “I’m happy for you,” she said softly, and meant it, though the old lingering resentment—that the gods never seemed to hear her—returned.

  “Did you enjoy the prayer days? I thought you might, since the readings are like poetry and tell the history of the gods.”

  “I did. But I’ve always wanted to know why we include the Lord of Surjalana in our prayers when he was the one who broke the alliance. I always assumed things might be contentious for him once they all returned to the heavens again.”

  The dwarf gave a conspiratorial smile and lowered his voice. “Some court scholars say he never returned to the heavens, but remained here on Earth. They say he hid himself so well, no one could ever find him again.” He glanced at the others, but they were all busy talking and eating. “That’s a revolutionary theory even among the scholars, so keep it to yourself. I know Empress Lihua is extremely devout and would take a dim view of it.”

  Chills snaked down Xifeng’s spine. “But why would he remain here?”

  Shiro shrugged. “Some say he was beyond saving after mankind poisoned him with jealousy against the Dragon King. I’ve heard some speculate he burrowed underground, lured by the human concept of ultimate power.”

  “Underground? Why?”

  “To build himself a hellish army with which to overtake the continent one day, kingdom by kingdom.” He rolled his eyes, to show her what he thought of that idea. “It seems a bit outlandish, but the theorists argue that is the reasoning behind our wars and conflicts. They say his continued presence here has spoiled any hope for peace and unity.”

  “It sounds like something Hideki would come up with.” They laughed at his expense.

  “He is rather dramatic,” Shiro agreed, grinning. “I should go back and save those around him from his company. It was a delight, my dear. Perhaps I’ll see you during the carnival.”

  They bowed to each other, and she watched him go with a bone-deep sadness for the simpler time when they had all traveled together. But her melancholy did not last long, for the gong sounded again to signal the end of the banquet.

  A smile crossed Xifeng’s face. She had a feeling another spectacle was about to begin.

  The Emperor and Empress led the way outside, followed by the princes, concubines, and court. The terrace faced the western edge of the Great Forest, where a calm, wide river ran from beneath the palace into the trees. The sun had long since set, but the air was still warm, and streaks of peach lingered in the sky between the dark blue fingers of night. Servants wove in and out of the crowd, serving sweet rice wine in delicate bone cups.

  Xifeng lifted her face to the full moon, which stood out clear and bright in the heavens. Someone moved beside her in a rustle of heavy brocade, smelling of fir and sandalwood, and she knew who it was before he had even spoken.

  “Last year,” said the Emperor of Feng Lu, “it was so cloudy we couldn’t see the stars.”

  She bowed low, murmuring, “Your Majesty.”

  Though every face around them was turned to the skies, she sensed their acute awareness of the Emperor . . . and on her, trailing in his wake lik
e a toy boat on the sea. He was not much taller than Xifeng, but he had the grandest presence of anyone she’d ever met. He seemed to fill the terrace merely by being, another moon on the earth itself.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect evening. It’s a very good sign.”

  “A good sign, Your Majesty?”

  “Of a new beginning.” He gave her a boyish smile, and she could see the stars reflected in his eyes. It was his close-cut beard that made him seem older, she decided; he was youthful in all other aspects. Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the only person who dared to blatantly watch them: Lady Sun, with her little boy in her arms. Xifeng noticed with satisfaction that the Crown Prince stood close by, his sharp gaze on the concubine.

  She gave His Majesty her brightest smile. “The ladies told me the fable of the moon tree.”

  “There it is. That movement you see is the greedy man chopping away at the trunk.” He pretended to point at a spot on the moon, and they both laughed. They watched a dozen eunuchs cross over to the riverbank, holding tiny boats of rice paper and bamboo. “Each of those boats holds a drop of beeswax,” Emperor Jun explained. “The eunuchs will light them on fire and send them down the river in the moonlight’s path to honor this auspicious phase.”

  “A pretty tradition.” She turned her eyes from the boats, which sparkled like fireflies, to him. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for allowing Ambassador Shiro to speak to me at the banquet.”

  “Shiro’s a good man.” The Emperor folded his arms, and the shining lengths of blue-gray silk caught the light. “I don’t need to see eye to eye with him to realize that. He’s an advocate of peace in every circumstance, even when force is required.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  He was silent for a long moment. “A king and a diplomat both care about their people. The difference is the king has to make the hard decisions, even when lives are at risk.” A steely glint surfaced in his eyes. “Peace often comes at the cost of war.”