by Julie C. Dao
“Anyone would be content in her position. She’s fulfilled her duty by providing heirs, and now that her sons are grown, she could focus on herself and on making the Emperor happy. He would never have to turn to another woman.” She paused, realizing the irony in her words. She had hated Lady Sun, once, for turning the Emperor’s head and hurting Empress Lihua. And now Xifeng walked the same thin line. No, she told herself. Not quite the same.
“How is His Majesty? I see his gifts have only grown more expensive.”
Xifeng glanced sideways at him. “Yesterday, it was a barbarian’s fiddle, one of only two made from a pine tree that grows in the Mountains of Enlightenment. The day before, it was a tin of flower tea from the Summer Isles he thought I’d enjoy.”
Despite the chill air, the eunuch fluttered his fan in delight. “Don’t forget that beautiful silk robe and those glass flowers. And, of course, your freedom.” It had pleased him to no end that Xifeng, like the Empress and concubines, could now leave the city of women whenever she wished as long as she brought her eunuchs for protection. “But what about that friend of yours?”
“What about him?” Xifeng snapped.
She woke each morning with the reality of Wei, no matter how hard she tried to steel herself against the pain. She had loved him and she had forsaken him. He had fulfilled his usefulness to her and it was time to let him go. Jun was her future, not some childhood lover who could no more take her to her fate than he could to the stars. But as frequently as she reminded herself of this, it still hurt that she hadn’t heard from Wei in months. Her budding romance with the Emperor was common knowledge by now, and Wei had to know as everyone else did.
She took Kang’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak so sharply.”
“Never apologize to me. You are above that. I only mentioned him because a message arrived from him today.” He pulled a scroll from his sleeve and handed it to her.
Xifeng accepted it with mingled dread and relief and read the short message: Meet me in the gardens tonight. There were no words of love—only one terse sentence.
“How he must despise me,” she murmured, thinking of the last time they had been together in those gardens. “You don’t blame me like he does, do you?”
“For seeking a better future for yourself?” The eunuch shook his head. “It may be best not to go tonight or to see him anymore, Xifeng. You are too high above him now.”
“This was his greatest fear,” she said quietly. “He wanted to hide and protect me.”
“Then you know you’ve made the right choice. There is only opportunity, and those too afraid to grasp it for themselves. Don’t let them weigh down your wings.”
Hideki had once described the Imperial Court as a sand pit. Xifeng supposed it was still an apt description, but what he hadn’t known was that climbing the pit was simple. All one had to do was let the spikes emerge . . . allow long, lethal thorns to burst from the skin. One had to stab into others and climb over them, slick with blood, because the sun shone at the top, and that was all that mattered in this sick and lonely life.
Xifeng tucked the scroll into her own robes. Kang was right; she was out of Wei’s reach now. Still, she couldn’t help longing to see him, and she decided to go, to assure herself he was well and happy. It was what she owed to a childhood friend; that was all.
They walked past the half-frozen pond and Xifeng caught sight of her reflection warming the chilly waters with shades of black and ruby. She paused to admire herself.
“Not even you are immune to your own charms.”
Xifeng smiled archly at him. “If my beauty is my greatest weapon, vanity is the shield that protects me.”
Kang simpered and raised both hands, showing he passed no judgment, and she turned back to her reflection. Looking as she did, no man would resist her or choose another to love. She would not fail where Guma and Mingzhu had. They had let Long slip away with their self-pity and frail spirit, and even Empress Lihua had tolerated her husband having other “wives.”
“I will never tolerate a concubine,” she told her exquisite reflection. “My husband might please himself however he chooses, but I will be the only wife and consort, queen above all.”
She knew her own worth. She would seize her destiny with all the strength and spirit within her, and bend them all to her will: every man kneeling and every woman overshadowed.
Xifeng lifted her face to the sun, its warmth like a promise on her skin.
Xifeng wrapped her fur-lined, plum silk robe tightly around herself as she strode through the tunnels with Kang and three other eunuchs in tow. In the musty passage, she detected the heat of the hot springs and felt a tug of longing. Perhaps she ought to try conjuring Guma once more. Despite the harsh words they’d exchanged, Xifeng had tried to reach her several times since that night, longing for her advice. She had even sent money and a few of Jun’s gifts to the village at great expense. But no matter how much incense she used or how many presents she delivered, there was no response from Guma.
Later, she told herself.
First, she had to find out why Wei wanted to meet tonight.
The eunuchs waited by the entrance as she entered the palace gardens, sweeping her eyes from side to side for Wei’s familiar form. Although she understood why his message had been terse and simple, without words of love, the hurt lodged itself in her throat. She didn’t deserve him; she never had, and now he must know it, too.
“I’m here.”
She turned to see Wei regarding her from the shadows. He stepped out to meet her, but kept his arms behind his back instead of holding them out to her as he did before. They stood apart like performers in a tragic play.
“I’m glad to see you.” She moved closer and lifted her hand to his face, but he flinched and turned away. “What’s wrong? Why did you want to meet?”
He rubbed a hand over his head, his eyes on the ground. “The General has ordered me to accompany the Emperor’s envoy in a week.”
She watched him pace, his shoulders taut with tension. His breath emerged on the air in puffs of angry smoke, and he looked anywhere, anywhere but at her. “I’m happy for you, Wei. He must value you a great deal to include you on such an important mission.”
“He said he’d make me a captain if I came back.”
Xifeng paused. “If you came back? Shiro told me you would all return in a month.”
“No.”
She gave a short laugh of frustration. “Then how long until you return?”
Wei looked at her at last, and she saw he had been crying. It made him seem smaller, younger, and the laughter died on her lips. “I’m not coming back.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “You can’t mean that.”
“They say the Empress is failing. She won’t make it through this birth. And with her gone, you can have him and these visits you’ve been paying to his bed will become respectable.”
His flat, defeated voice frightened her. This was not like the fight they’d had at Akira’s, when she had sensed him drifting away—this felt like he was already on the opposite shore, turning his back on her. She wanted him to rage and scream, drive his fist into a tree, threaten to rip Jun apart. That was the Wei she knew. That was the Wei who would fight the gods in the heavens if it meant he could have her.
Part of her felt grateful . . . relieved. At last, they both knew the truth. There was no lie left between them, no misunderstanding. They would set each other free. She would be Jun’s Empress, and Wei would lead some life far, far away, safe from her reach.
And yet another part of her clung to the memory of his love, to the knowledge that he had once been the only star in her dark sky. And if that light should go out . . . she would truly have nothing left of the person she had once been.
She spoke in a low, desperate voice. “I have never once gone to the Emperor’s bed.
What do you take me for, another one of his whores? You should know me better than that.”
He spun so quickly, they were face-to-face before she’d had a chance to inhale. “Do I?” he snarled. “Do I know you at all, Xifeng? Tell me where Lady Sun is. No one has seen her in the whole of the Imperial City, no monastery, no teahouse, no inn. Did she vanish into the Great Forest alone and on foot, late at night? After a life of pampering, she just decided to run headfirst into the wilderness without her precious son?”
“What exactly are you accusing me of?” she demanded, her face inches from his.
“All I know is you’re different. You’ve changed.”
Xifeng scoffed. “This again!”
“You’ve changed into her!” Wei roared. “She’s been inside you all this time, egging you on, taunting you to hurt others. You think I don’t know why you wouldn’t love me? Because that snake has been poisoning you this whole time. You have no creature inside you but Guma.”
In his eyes she saw agony, breathtaking in its hopelessness. It would always be there now, no matter what she said or did, and knowing that made her heart ache and ache. She wrapped her arms around him and he shook with emotion, but did not move away. “I do what I must to secure my position, so I can help you when you need it.” She almost believed it herself. “Whatever happens, wherever I go, do you doubt I wouldn’t use my influence to elevate you as well?”
“But where do we figure into your plans, you and I? Do you truly think of me at all, when that head of yours is plotting and scheming? Can you imagine a future in which we could be together? Because I can’t. Not anymore.”
“I love you, Wei. I love you as much as I can . . .”
He shook his head. “It’s not enough.”
She clutched the front of his tunic. “I love you as much as I will ever love anyone.”
“You can’t have everything, Xifeng. You can’t have him and still have me, too. He doesn’t share and neither do I.” For the first time, he pushed her away gently. “You were never mine, but you’ll be his. And I won’t stand by and watch you tie your life to another man. Not even if it’s the Emperor. Not even if it’s me you think it’ll help.”
She was in free fall, flailing through the air for something, anything, to keep from crashing to the ground. He meant what he said; he always did. He would ride away from her forever, after all they’d been through. She knew it was time to let him go, but now, faced with the reality of it, she thought it might be the death of her if she did.
Her whole body shuddered with panic. Perhaps Guma had been mistaken. Perhaps they had thought about this all wrong. Xifeng had been so intent on becoming Empress, she had forgotten the warrior card that promised Wei’s fate was tied to hers. How could he be the sacrifice, yet also inextricably linked to her forever? If he went away, if that part of her destiny changed . . . what else would? Would her fate still come to light?
Wei watched her struggle, shaking his head slowly at her silence. “What did you imagine, Xifeng? That you’d be safe and warm with him and I’d linger on, watching you from afar and writing you lovesick notes? How cruel and selfish you are. How vain.”
She put a hand on either side of his anguished face. “You know me better than anyone in this world,” she pleaded. “You know me better than even Guma and you still love me. I will never find anyone like you again in my whole life. I can’t let you go, Wei. You belong with me.”
“You say this to me,” he whispered, “but do you believe it? When the time comes, will you even remember? How long before you forget me?”
“I would never forget you.”
Tears slipped, one after the other, onto his unyielding face. “But you wouldn’t choose me, either. I’ve been a fool, setting my heart on something I could never have. I would have given you anything, done anything if only you had loved me.” Her hands were still on his face, and he placed his over them. “We’ve played this game long enough, my love. Let it end.” He removed her hands gently and walked away, his breath a ghost of fog on the air.
Every muscle in Xifeng’s body was tensed to run after him, to fall at his feet, to beg. He had always been a constant in her life. However much she’d hurt him, Wei had always been there—he would always come back. So she resisted the urge to go to him. Any second now, he would turn around and take her in his arms again. Any second now, he would come back and tell her he hadn’t meant anything he’d said.
Any second now, she told herself as his back disappeared into the wintry night.
She waited in the frosted silence.
But he did not come back.
The morning of the envoy’s departure dawned bright. Xifeng blinked against the sunlight reflecting off the snow, watching the soldiers mount their horses. Empress Lihua was not present, having passed a difficult night, and neither was her husband, who was preoccupied with military matters. Xifeng was glad for it, so she could focus the whole of her attention on Wei.
He stood securing his belongings to his horse, his jaw set and his eyes determinedly averted from her. And though he was still there, she felt his loss as keenly as if she’d been scraped raw from the inside. While she had been flirting and sipping tea with Jun, Wei had been suffering, gathering the courage to say what he had to. The memory of the tears streaming down his face threatened to break her. Though it still angered her, she felt the truth of everything he had said—that she was cruel and selfish and vain—in her very blood and marrow.
Shiro approached, pulling his horse alongside the railing where she stood. “I’m off to the mountains,” he said with forced cheer. “Pray for our safe return.”
Xifeng tried to remember her manners. “How is Akira?”
“She’s going to have a child,” Shiro said with a half smile, and Xifeng felt another stab of pain. Love and life came so easily to everyone else. If she had married Wei, she might be expecting his child now, too, and he wouldn’t be leaving her. “Only a few months more, but it’s been hard for her. She hasn’t been well. I hate to go, but I have no choice in the matter.”
“His Majesty won’t let you stay with your pregnant wife?”
The dwarf gave her that half smile again. “We don’t all have your influence with him.”
Xifeng had the grace to blush. “I’ll send someone to visit Akira every week while you’re gone. She will be cared for, I promise.”
“And you?” he asked gently. “Will you be cared for?”
She blinked away tears. “Not in the way I’m used to. Not anymore.”
He waited, but Xifeng couldn’t go on. She knew if she kept talking, she would cry, and she couldn’t do that to Wei. What could she say, anyway? I loved him and I threw happiness away with both hands.
But in his quiet way, Shiro seemed to know what she couldn’t express. He touched her hand, and the comforting warmth of his fingers gave her some illusion of solace. “Goodbye, my dear,” he said kindly, and when he turned away, she met Wei’s eyes for one blinding moment. She thought she would collapse under the finality of that gaze.
The envoy turned and left the palace gates, and with them rode the man who had deserved her heart more than anyone. She imagined them returning with one fewer rider—imagined watching for Wei’s familiar form, but not seeing him. Never seeing him again.
She clenched a fist against her mouth, willing him to turn his head. My heart is yours, she would tell him with only her eyes, so he would see, so he would understand how difficult it had been for her, too. My heart has always been yours.
But he faced forward until they disappeared. And she knew the boy who had loved her, who had woven wildflowers in her long inky hair, had gone from her forever.
• • •
Lady Sun lived on.
She certainly looked like she did. Something in the water of the hot springs had ensured the preservation of her body, which was as fresh as the day Xifeng had p
ut it there three months ago. Her face was pale and peaceful in its halo of charred-wood hair, like she had simply fallen asleep in the water, her lips parted slightly as though awaiting a kiss.
Xifeng half expected her to open her eyes any moment. She found herself returning to the cavern again and again to see if the woman would finally awaken. She roused herself from sleep in a cold sweat most mornings, imagining it had happened overnight and Lady Sun’s body would be gone the next time she came, off to tell the truth of what had happened the night she vanished.
“I’m not surprised you’ve chosen to haunt me this way,” she told the concubine. “It’s a common theme in my life, you know.”
There was the pain of Wei’s desertion, always lurking in the back of her mind. There was her own elusive destiny, which seemed more tenuous every day instead of becoming clearer. Empress Lihua might be ill and weak, but she still lived. The one most likely to be Xifeng’s greatest threat—the queen favored by the tengaru, the Fool—still lived.
And there was Guma’s continued silence, despite how hard Xifeng tried to reach her. The dwindling supply of incense and growing pile of dead rats in the water were proof of that, but no amount of lifeblood seemed to push aside that veil between them again. She had allowed herself to contemplate, just once, the possibility of finding another human heart, but the risks were too great. Besides, Lady Sun had been a threat and had deserved her fate, but Xifeng couldn’t justify finding someone innocent to use.
What had happened to her mother? Had Guma died in that run-down house, alone with only Ning, the hired girl, to help her? Alone and forsaken, as Xifeng herself was.
Not alone, the whisper came. Never alone.
But she did not wish to speak to the Serpent God just now, with his knowing eyes, so she rose and left her sanctuary. She passed through the entrance into the city of women, tugging her fur cap around her ears. It had been another gift from Jun, who was too preoccupied these days to meet her more than once a week.