by Julie C. Dao
• • •
That evening, Kang steered her to the banquet hall with gentle determination. “You must eat something. I haven’t seen you take a meal all day.”
“I’m not hungry,” she returned, when a loud, crashing sound silenced the entire hall.
It was the banging of every gong in the city of women, a joyful, rhythmic beat they could hear echoing from the main palace as well. The clamor repeated five times in a pattern of five, and then there was quiet. Everyone seemed to be waiting. But minutes later, there was still nothing but silence, and activity and conversation resumed.
“A princess has been born,” Kang murmured. “We would have heard fireworks if it had been a prince. Her Majesty must be beside herself with joy.”
Xifeng remained silent as emotions warred within her. Underneath her resentment, she felt an unreasonable joy for Empress Lihua, who had wanted this child so desperately, and also despair, knowing how little time mother and daughter might have together. Xifeng had not touched a drop of poison, but the choice she had made—and the darkness to which she had bound her soul—might as well have been lacing the Empress’s tonic herself.
A life for a life. The loss of Guma, for the loss of the Empress.
Mothers and their love, so easily gone.
One of the other ladies-in-waiting appeared at her elbow. “We’re being summoned to Her Majesty’s apartments, to pay respects to the Empress and her daughter.”
“So she lingers on,” Xifeng whispered. The Empress had not yet died of the poison or childbirth.
But when Xifeng saw her, she thought, She might as well have. The woman’s face was drained of any beauty she had possessed. Though it was stark white against her silk pillows, she wore an expression of pure bliss. She held a small, moving bundle that emitted a tiny wail. The covers on the bed were clean; servants moved quietly around with rumpled sheets in their arms.
Madam Hong lit sticks of clove incense and handed one to each lady kneeling before Her Majesty. She led the group in a brief prayer for the health and good fortune of the princess, and though the Empress smiled, her eyes never left the child in her arms.
“Blessings and congratulations upon Your Majesty and Her Highness,” they murmured.
Empress Lihua spoke in a fragile voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for your good wishes. I feel as though I’ve woken from a dream and found myself in the heavens.” She smiled again, and Xifeng realized she was wrong. Lihua’s beauty had not vanished. Her loveliness was still there, but in paler, quieter colors, a smoke-gray autumn in place of a summer long gone. “I am the mother of a daughter I have wished for endlessly. We’ve been apart for all my life, dearest one, but now you’ve made my existence complete. The gods are good.”
Gently, the Empress shifted so they could see the new princess of Feng Lu. Beyond the edge of the blanket, Xifeng saw a pale, round face with chubby cheeks and eyes pinched shut above tiny red lips. The tips of a few precious fingers emerged from the blanket, cunningly formed, and a shock of night-dark hair lay flat against her wrinkled forehead.
“This is Jade.” Empress Lihua beamed down at her daughter. “White Jade, because she is so perfect and precious to me. How her skin glows like the winter snow.”
“She is beautiful, Your Majesty,” Madam Hong said, and for the first time, Xifeng heard emotion in her hoarse, cross voice. “A princess royal in every way.”
The eunuch at the door announced Emperor Jun, who strode into the room. Though his handsome face was careworn, his eyes were bright as he bent over his wife and child. He spoke some quiet words to Lihua, running a finger over the baby’s feather-smooth cheek.
For a moment, Xifeng imagined herself in the Empress’s place, but instead holding a tiny son, a royal prince of her bloodline. She had never imagined being a mother before—babies seemed too helpless, too needy—and yet she could see herself in that bed with Jun grinning down at her, his wife, his Empress. Her child would be the trueborn, legitimate son of his blood that he longed for. He would insist on staying with them all day, no matter what pressing business he had at hand, and not lose interest as he did now. He had already turned away from Lihua and Jade after a final caress.
“Continue to bring me news of Her Majesty’s health,” he commanded a eunuch, who flung himself upon the ground, and left the room.
The Empress seemed blissfully unaware of his indifference or of the ladies-in-waiting flocking out of the room. Xifeng watched her with her daughter for a moment longer, drawn to the way they seemed to breathe together. Her heart tugged with the old ache, the longing for that kind of pure, wholehearted love that need not be hidden and asked for nothing in return. Princess Jade had done nothing—she had merely been born, and already she had a powerful father and a mother who would die for her. She had Lihua’s love and Lihua’s royal blood, and Xifeng would never have that, no matter how many hearts she took.
All the things I’ve had to do to get here, she thought, with a sudden maddening hatred. She had lied and lost, cheated and killed, and this tiny, helpless weakling had simply been born a princess.
Lihua lifted her head abruptly, seeming to hear her thoughts. Her serene face was jarringly different from that of the screaming woman who had accused her of poison. “Xifeng, I’d like to speak to you a moment. I was very ill last week. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
“Your Majesty does not need to apologize . . .”
“I am not apologizing,” the Empress said with a small smile. “I’ve felt for some time that you don’t regard me as you once did.” Her eyes ran over Xifeng’s face, then quickly returned to her baby, as though cleansing her gaze with the tiny form. “But I hope whatever you hold against me will not be transferred to my Jade. I’m aware His Majesty will likely choose you for his wife when I am dead.”
Xifeng started, shocked by her bluntness.
“You are surprised. You assume because I am gentle and delicate that I am also silly and spineless, and do not notice everything around me. My parents made the same mistake. Yes, Xifeng, I know the Emperor is serious about you. He would have tired of you long ago if you had merely wanted to go to his bed.”
Xifeng remained silent, watching her stroke the baby’s small, perfect fingers.
“It was a difficult birth,” Empress Lihua said. “I am not long for this world, nor do I ask for your promise to love my daughter. But I can hope you will be good to her.”
Yes, you can hope. What use would Xifeng have for a dead queen’s useless daughter once she gave birth to her own sons?
The Empress regarded her once more. For that brief moment, Xifeng saw that what she had mistaken for weakness might have been a quiet strength instead. “I will always be with Jade, watching over her,” Lihua said quietly. “If the gods see fit to grant it, I will know whose hearts hold good intentions and I will steer her from evil.”
It was a threat, and Xifeng took it as such. She did not bow as she swept from the room, but the Empress could hardly care now. Jun was too far gone, too enamored with Xifeng to ever look at his wife again—but Lihua had her daughter, and that was all that mattered to her. She had already turned back to Jade’s tiny face as though she could see the clouds of the heavens there.
“A long time ago, when dragons walked the earth,” Xifeng heard her say to the baby, “there lived a queen who loved her daughter more than all the jewels of her court . . .”
Outside, a magnificent dark blue sky had swept over the world.
The thousand stars that danced across its face glittered as though in celebration, but Xifeng kept her head down, so she wouldn’t have to see what she could not have.
Empress Lihua lingered on for two years.
Two years in which she became a ghost of a queen, living a faded life behind the closed doors of her bedchamber. She received only her daughter, the nursemaid, and Bohai, who never discovered how she had bee
n poisoned, but determined that the metal of her cup had leached out most of the toxin given to her. It bought her precious time with Jade, during which the baby grew into a healthy, happy-hearted girl who adored her mother and seemed to understand every word said to her. She spent each evening with the Empress, hearing the story of the princess and the lover who had hung one thousand lanterns in the forest to light her way to him.
Xifeng was too preoccupied to care much about either of them. She spent her days at Emperor Jun’s side, attending court functions as his unofficial consort. The youngest prince had died of his illness, and the Crown Prince had not been heard from in over a year. The need for Xifeng to provide a new heir grew more pressing with each day, but still the Emperor did not hasten their marriage. He was an unfeeling scoundrel whenever it suited him, but he insisted upon honoring Lihua as Empress for as long as she lived, and would take no other until her death. Perhaps he feared the Dragon Lords’ wrath.
Xifeng told herself to be content, knowing it would not be long. The Empress was no longer a threat to her, and Jun barely cared about his daughter. She was happy to let them rot away together in that chamber of death. She had not been in Lihua’s heart all these long years, so she didn’t bother keeping Lihua in hers.
So it was that in the spring of Jade’s third year, when the Empress slipped quietly away to join her forefathers in the Dragon Lords’ heavenly palace, she and Xifeng had not exchanged a word since the princess’s birth. Xifeng had been at a banquet and unable to say goodbye, though she almost wished she’d had the chance. There was something unfinished about not saying farewell, like a door left open in the chill night.
She abandoned her bed late that evening, unable to sleep. She passed chrysanthemums, lanterns, and flowing cloths on every surface, pearl-white to mourn Lihua’s passing. Sticks of incense lay against each door, emitting strands of smoke that smelled of anise, cloves, and cinnamon to help bid her spirit farewell on her journey to the skies. White jasmine perfumed the air, too, for they had been Lihua’s favorite flowers. Their scent made Xifeng almost believe she might turn around and see the Empress as she had once been, gentle and elegant. The rightful queen.
No, she corrected herself, for there was only one rightful queen now.
In the shrine, she lit a candle in Lihua’s honor and placed it on the altar, bowing her head.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, “for once I was like a daughter to you.” She imagined the Empress’s spirit watching and listening on its ascent to the heavens.
On her way back, she paused by the railing over the gardens. In the afternoons, it was common now to see Ama, the old nursemaid, hobbling there after a little girl with eyes like the stars themselves. Jade, a princess. Motherless, as Xifeng was, and now the Emperor’s only living child at court.
That will change, Xifeng vowed.
The girl and her nursemaid would be sent away at the first opportunity. A poor village somewhere, to teach her humility, or perhaps a monastery. It didn’t matter, as long as the memory of her faded in both Xifeng and Jun’s minds. The Emperor would agree with whatever Xifeng decided for the girl. Jade belonged to the past, and she would be forgotten as soon as Xifeng gave Jun his legitimate sons. Princes of the blood, robust and healthy boys a thousand times more valuable than one worthless princess.
In one year’s time, when the period of mourning was fully over, the enthroning ceremony would be held in the heart of the palace.
In one year’s time, Xifeng would be crowned Empress of Feng Lu.
• • •
Xifeng found the Emperor already dressed and waiting for her when she came to his chamber. He looked magnificent in robes of red and gold, the Imperial headdress adorning his proud head. The servants respectfully stepped back ten paces to allow him and Xifeng privacy.
She had dressed tonight with greater care than usual, which meant she had been preparing for the banquet since the early morning hours. It was the Festival of the Summer Moon, the first celebration at which she was not a lady-in-waiting, but the Empress-to-be. She had chosen a silk as red as fire, with exquisite gold embroidery at the wrapped collar, hem, and sleeves.
His eyes caressed her face. “You are the image of a true queen.”
“Your Majesty.” Xifeng bowed, fully aware of how her silks caught the light, giving the impression of flames curling around her body. Her women had agreed it was a stunning effect, especially with the Empress’s emblem worked in metallic gold thread on her back: a phoenix rising to the heavens, its tail burning a trail of brushed satin flames down the train of her skirt.
Jun touched the gold-and-ivory pin she wore in her hair. “I remember this. It was one of my first gifts to you. It suits you, but then a beauty like yours can wear anything.”
She beamed at him. She knew how striking she was, with frost-white flowers blossoming in her hair, their simplicity suiting the gold dust dotted on her eyes and on the center of her blood-red lips. There was no need to pretend modesty, and Jun knew it well. He too was full of youth, beauty, and vitality—they were two sides of the same coin.
The Emperor lifted her chin. “I am proud to have you by my side.”
“I am proud to be here,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “I am yours to command. Your happiness is the chief pursuit of my life.”
“And yours, mine.” His thumb stroked her fingers, light as a nightingale’s wing, and she felt a tingle at the base of her spine. She still kept up the guise of a virtuous maiden, but she knew he would be a skilled lover when the time came. His fingers tightened around hers and his face sobered as he added, “Before we go, I’d like to speak to you about my daughter.”
Xifeng blinked. It had been almost a year since the girl and her nursemaid had left court and Jun had never brought her up in Xifeng’s presence before. “Of course. What would you like to discuss?”
He perched on the edge of the table, still holding her hand. “Ama, the nursemaid, has sent word to say the princess is happy and thriving in the monastery, though she misses being in the forest. She is her mother’s daughter, after all.”
“Naturally.”
He cleared his throat. “She is her mother’s daughter and I must honor Lihua’s dying wish for her. She was adamant that Jade be added to the line of succession. I saw no reason to argue.”
Something seized up inside Xifeng like a clenched fist.
“There have been female regents in the past,” Jun continued. “My ministers tell me royal daughters have never been pronounced heirs before the age of twenty. This gave their parents time to determine their ability to rule. So this is a special case, as Jade is not yet three.”
It was a bold, daring request, and for a moment Xifeng was rendered speechless by Lihua’s audacity. In weakness, you find your strength, the former Empress had once said. Even on her deathbed, slowly withering away from the effects of Kang’s poison, she had rallied her spirits to secure the throne for her beloved child—the last of the line of trueborn Dragon Kings.
“I know this displeases you, my love, but let me remind and assure you that our own children will take precedence. They will be the sons of my living Empress, after all,” Jun said, his eyes searching her face anxiously. “We are young and healthy, and I’ve no doubt you will give me many heirs of my blood. This little wish of Lihua’s will have no bearing on us at all.”
He spoke as though the death of the Crown Prince was already a certainty. Xifeng supposed it might seem callous to anyone else, but she brought his fingers to her lips, touched by his confidence. He, too, had every certainty she would secure her position immediately, and she knew the worship in his eyes would grow stronger once she did.
Emperor Jun was like other men, after all, so sure of his superiority he didn’t realize how easy it would be for her to control him. To plant her son on the throne and make use of the Serpent God’s power, ensuring her bloodline would contr
ol the kingdom forever.
“Well, then,” she said, glancing at him through her lashes, “I look forward to the day I may present you with a prince.”
She held her head high as they strode to the banquet hall, hand in hand. The court rose and bowed as one. A young eunuch dropped to his knees with elaborate flourishes of his hands.
“Their Majesties, the Emperor and Empress of Feng Lu!” he announced.
Xifeng heard a few gasps and murmurs, for the mourning period for Lihua was still ongoing. But Jun did not seem bothered by the young eunuch’s error as he led her to their table.
The Empress of Feng Lu. The words seemed to echo as she walked, making sure to meet courtiers in the eye with her shoulders held back. She tipped her head as though it already wore a heavy crown, enjoying the flurry of admiration as she strode beside the Emperor, her ladies trailing after her like geese around an imperious swan. Her hair like night, her skin like dawn. One glance from her eyes made gazes drop instantly in respect.
Servants swarmed out in a great rush to serve the meal, and after that, there was music and dancing from some of the ladies-in-waiting.
A familiar form approached their table: Shiro, handsome as ever, though his hair held a few touches of gray and his face was more careworn than Xifeng remembered it. He held the hand of a little boy about Jade’s age, with a bright, intelligent look to him. The child’s eyes clearly came from his mother, Akira, but he had inherited his father’s diminutive height and short limbs. He would be handsome like Shiro, and also a dwarf.
The former ambassador to Kamatsu bowed to Jun and Xifeng. “Your Majesty, Madam Xifeng. May I present my son, Koichi.” He whispered to the child, who fixed his appealing eyes on the Emperor and bent formally at the waist.