by Paul Krueger
“His Most August Personage revoked my sister’s powers of office this morning. I’m giving them back to her, but I don’t want her to know that they were given. I want it to come from you.”
Lee blinked, then picked up the badge. It wasn’t some cheap tin copy, nor a cleverly disguised bomb. She placed it back down, then met the Second Princess’s eyes. “Why?”
“Because you love her,” Ruomei said simply. “That tells me that, as well as anyone can, you know my sister’s heart. Would you say that’s true?”
Lee nodded.
“Then tell me honestly—”
“You’re asking a thief to be honest?”
“I’m asking the woman of my sister’s heart,” Ruomei said impatiently. “Do you believe Xiulan would be a good Crane Empress?”
Lee hesitated, but only for a moment.
Then she said, “Today? No. Probably not tomorrow, either. But someday, Xiulan’s going to be the kind of woman Shang’s always needed to sit the throne.” And to her own surprise, she added: “I’ll make sure of it myself.”
She’d thought it was a pretty impressive thing to say, but Ruomei just shrugged. “That’s nice, but the world doesn’t have time to wait for her to find herself.” She folded up another sangchu-ssam. “I want to make something clear: To my dear meimei, the world will always be a story, and she will always be its hero. Did she paint her crusade to you as a noble endeavor, meant to deny an unworthy, villainous heir the Snow-Feather Throne?”
Lee rolled up a sangchu-ssam of her own and took a big bite to give herself time to answer. “The way she said it, you’re a bloodthirsty nationalist who’d drag the whole world right back into a war if you thought Shang stood a chance of coming out on top.”
Ruomei rolled her eyes, then leaned back so she could be served some fresh bulgogi. “She sees what she wants to see. You saw our father in action last night. Do you think he would cede his throne to any other kind of person?”
Lee grinned. “Look at you, Your Majesty,” she said. “Playing a long game.”
“Yes, Lee Yeon-Ji. In the face of an obstacle between myself and what I want, I’ve opted to advance myself by playing the roles I need to play. I’m sure an upstanding citizen such as yourself is scandalized.”
Lee just grunted, taking a bite of her bulgogi next. She wanted to say something snide about its quality or authenticity, but there was no getting around it: The stuff was damn good. “So you give your sister her badge back. How’s that line up with being Daddy’s girl?”
“I’ll tell my father that Xiulan is far too clever to be left unoccupied and unsupervised, and that keeping her old job will be a good way to neutralize any threat she’d pose. And by making her think she’s doing it as a way to defy me, that means she’ll actually do it, instead of hurling it back in my face.” She seemed almost bored as she tapped away some ash from the end of her cigarette. “It’s a useful thing when my lies happen to be true.”
Lee had let her guard down once before, and had promised herself not to do it again. So she continued to dine on exquisite Jeongsonese food with a calm, even light demeanor, while on the inside she screamed because the dogs take her, Ruomei had her partner’s number down.
“What if she uses her badge against you?” Lee said eventually. “Even if she’s not going to be the heir, she’s still got decent juice as an agent of the Li-Quan.”
“If Xiulan’s really devoted to maintaining order in our country, then she can be against me all she wants,” Ruomei said. “If she roots out some actual wrongdoing, then she’ll be doing Shang a favor. And if she doesn’t…well.” She smirked. “She’s been against me her whole life, and she hasn’t won yet.”
* * *
—
It hurt her to lie to Xiulan again. That was an honor only the princess could claim: that in Lee’s book, she alone deserved the truth, triple-distilled of all its murk.
But Ruomei had poured her a glass of that same truth. Her princess was a stubborn one. Maybe someday, she’d be able to hear the truth Lee was hiding from her now. But forgiveness was a journey, not a choice. When it came to Lee, Xiulan’s journey had been quick. With Ruomei, it would be a long walk…if she ever decided to take the first step at all.
“You’re certain there are no details you wish to disclose?” Xiulan said carefully.
Lee opted to play on the side of enigmatic. “There’s a reason I smell like a bonfire,” she said quietly. “I was sending a message, and your big sis got the point.” Eager to take control of the moment again, she pushed forward. “There’s a catch, though.” A mischievous quality crept into her face, one she didn’t have to fake. “I was able to get your badge back. But I wasn’t able to restore you just yet.”
Xiulan’s face fell. “But you just said—”
“You see,” Lee went on, “at this moment, there’s only one active agent of the Li-Quan in this room. Recently recruited, so she’s a bit behind on her paperwork, but still one with all the privileges that come with being a cop. Including,” she added with a sly smirk, “the power to deputize.”
Comprehension dawned in Xiulan’s eye. “Inspector Lee…”
“Should you kneel?” Lee said. “I feel like I should make you kneel…”
She’d only been joking, but to her surprise, Xiulan very deliberately sank to one knee. “What else would you like me to do…” She reached for the bottom hem of Lee’s dress and began to slide it up her bare leg. “…Inspector?”
A cool, electric thrill spread through Lee’s body when she heard Xiulan call her that word, in that tone, with that hungry look on her face. She had been on wanted posters before, but this was the first time in a long time she felt truly desired.
“I never thought I’d like being on the right side of the law this much,” Lee said.
Xiulan planted a kiss on her inner thigh, just above her knee.
Another shiver ran through Lee. She backed herself toward the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She plucked Xiulan’s hat off her head and casually tossed it onto the corner of a nearby chair. She reached down with a finger and angled Xiulan’s chin up, so her bang fell away. And then with a smile, she leaned in close and whispered, “What you’re doing right now isn’t in accordance with official Li-Quan hey!”
Xiulan shoved her back onto the bed where she collapsed, laughing. She looked up to see her partner frantically shedding one layer of white after another, until her last stitch of underclothes came away, leaving her bare before Lee at last.
“I could’ve helped you with that,” Lee said. “All those buttons…”
Xiulan crawled up her body, undoing. “Be quiet, Lee,” she said, then kissed her.
She shed her black dress, letting Xiulan’s fingers and tongue roam her bare skin. As she lay back and sighed up to the ceiling, she found words crystallizing in her head, growing more solid and heavy and real with each passing moment:
I love you, Princess.
She opened her mouth to finally give those words voice, but they were lost in a moan as Xiulan did something with her fingers that made Lee’s eyes go half-mast.
Her toes curled.
Her breaths grew short and sharp.
Her back arched off the mattress.
And in the throes of love, Lee Yeon-Ji thought: I’ll tell her later.
By the end of the second day, her arm was strong enough to use, if not particularly well. The regrown muscles were significantly weaker than they had been, so that even the effort of bringing a cup to her lips made them tremble and splash her. The Dahali healers told her she likely wouldn’t be able to shoot straight with that hand again, but as far as Tala was concerned, they’d gotten it wrong. She’d go to her grave an old woman who could shoot straight. But the desire to shoot at all had been carved out of her.
It wasn’t just shooting. Food, which she’d delight
ed in, tasted sour and sickly on her tongue, its flavors lingering seconds too long after each bite. The general had sent her a carafe of Sanbu’s finest coffee, but she’d only had half of one cup before the bitterness had made her sick to her empty stomach. She’d thought that at least sleep could be a refuge from everything else, but while she had no trouble falling asleep, deriving any rest from it was a different matter entirely.
She cried a lot. That was the only thing that seemed to help at all, but even that wasn’t enough.
The healers came every two hours to lay hands on her wounds and undo more of the damage. She’d wanted to just grit her teeth and get it all over with in a single sitting, but she’d been assured that tough as she was, even her system wouldn’t be able to withstand that kind of strain. She’d pressed for it nonetheless, only relenting when General Erega had specifically ordered her to take her rest. Her military career was over, but she would always be a soldier. When the general ordered, she obeyed.
Still, she tried not to stay confined to her bed. She’d get up and exercise as best she could. She’d walk in circles around the room, trying to remember the streets of Lisan City and pretending she was there instead. She’d open her window and watch Beaky take long flights over the palace, trying and failing to enjoy the feel of the summer breeze on her skin and the song of cicadas in her ears.
But despite all that, she couldn’t bring herself to cross the threshold and leave the room, no matter how badly she wanted to. Letting Beaky out was one thing, but if she stepped out into the world herself, it would mean her life was no longer on pause. It would mean she would have to go on without Mang, and she just wasn’t ready to face that yet.
Two days after the fact, her feelings still waged as furious a war on one another as she’d ever waged on the Tomodanese. Some part of her desperately tried to rationalize it: to remind her that what she and Mang had was untenable in the long run. That the release from pain had been a mercy. That his very existence had been an imbalance the man in the purple coat had arisen to correct, in a roundabout way. That someday, she might be able to live the sort of normal life that always would’ve been impossible as long as she was carrying him in the back of her head. But on the other side of things, there was the simple fact that her brother was gone, her brother whom she’d loved with everything and who had loved her back, and that alone outweighed everything else.
More than anything, she found herself regretting how little time she’d made for him. He’d always been there, and she’d always been grateful to have him so close at hand. But he’d always been there, which meant it was so easy to fall into the trap of thinking he always would be.
It’d never been a good time, of course. Military life didn’t lend itself to much privacy during peacetime. During war, all bets were off. But she thought of the times when she had managed to steal a minute to herself, and hadn’t summoned him. Should she have risked it, just to see him? If they’d been caught, would it have been worth whatever scrutiny or confinement came next? Right now, she wanted to say yes, if only because it would’ve meant more time with him, but how clearly was she really thinking?
The amount of things she knew was now vastly outweighed by the amount of things she didn’t. But she now feared the certainty she’d once craved. If she went out into the world, she was terrified that the facts she’d learn there would all point to a single conclusion: that this horrible dark feeling eating her alive from the inside out was nothing more than what she’d earned, and that it would gnaw and gnaw at her until there was nothing left.
She was standing at the window, letting some air in and Beaky out, when the door behind her slid open. She glanced at the clock. It was an off-hour, which meant this had to be one of the palace staff, trying to feed her. Without turning around, Tala waved the attendant off. “I’m not hungry today.”
There was no verbal response, nor the sound of shuffling feet or a sliding door. There was, however, the sharp, familiar aroma of fresh adobo on the air. Tala whirled around. “I don’t care what orders you’ve been given,” she snapped. “I’m still a lieutenant, so unless you’re a colonel in a waiter’s jacket, I—”
Jimuro stood there, clad in a simple blue kimono with a mountain pattern woven into its fabric. He had a book and a long, narrow copper box tucked beneath his arm. Just behind him, a servant wheeled in a steel cart with two bowls, a pot of rice, and a pot of adobo, bubbling and rich brown. But when she caught sight of Tala’s face, she froze in her tracks and averted her eyes.
Jimuro was a good deal more composed. “Lieutenant,” he said smoothly. Shades take her, he even sounded kingly. “It’s good to see you on your feet.”
Tala’s discipline took over. She bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Brilliance.”
Jimuro coughed. “…May I come in?”
“Of course, Your Brilliance,” Tala said, bowing again. It felt strange to be so stiff with him, but she felt like she had to keep a handle on things at least while there was someone else with them. “It’s your room.”
Jimuro chuckled. “Erega said that, too.” He nodded to his servant. “Thank you, Anji. You can just leave that here.” The woman squeaked out a grateful reply, then hurried from the room.
Jimuro’s gaze lingered on the newly shut door. “I still haven’t gotten used to how they treat me now,” he said. “Some of them have known me since I was in diapers, but the way they’ve looked at me since I took up the throne…” He shook his head. “I didn’t come here to talk about me. Sorry. And I’m sorry for not coming sooner. I had…matters of state to attend to.”
Tala nodded. “Of course, Your Brilliance.” She’d heard the opposite: that he’d been camped outside her room for two days now, save for the meals he was required to take with the other heads of state.
Right, she thought. A head of state is talking to me. But he didn’t feel as if he were on some elevated plane above her, the way General Erega did. He was just…Jimuro.
A stiff silence fell between them.
“…So, how are you?” Jimuro said eventually.
Tala snapped back into the moment. “Right,” she said. “I mean, all right. I mean…” She nodded down to her bandaged, emaciated arm dangling from her shoulder. “I’m on the mend, Your Brill—Jimuro.”
He smiled softly when she dispensed with the honorifics. “I’m glad to hear it. And I trust your accommodations have been suitable?”
She glanced around at her low-slung furniture. At her futon, lying flat on the planks. No matter how much she puzzled it out, she still didn’t really understand Tomoda’s fascination with its own floors. But that wasn’t something a gracious guest said, so instead she merely bowed and said again: “Of course.”
“Good,” said Jimuro. “Good, good, good.”
Another stiff silence fell over them, like rust on iron.
Gamely, she supposed it was her turn to try breaking it. “How have you—?”
“I’m sorry,” Jimuro said.
She blinked. “What?”
“I know I just said that, but it bears repeating: I’m sorry,” Jimuro said again. “For not visiting sooner, for leaving you behind in Shinku, for not being able to save—” He stopped himself and hung his head. “I’ve done a lot of terrible things to you, Tala, and I want to spend the rest of my life making them up to you.”
She was prepared to laugh him off: to tell him that he was worrying over nothing, that this was nothing she couldn’t handle, that it would just take time for her soul to heal up, same as her body.
Then she realized that sometime before he’d stopped talking, she’d begun to cry again.
Jimuro’s eyes widened, so they looked even bigger than his glasses. “Oh no,” he said, carefully setting his things down next to the adobo and crossing to her. He was blinking fast, and she saw tears forming on his long lashes. Shades take her, she’d grown contagious.
She made no effort to wipe her tears away. “It’s not just you,” she said. “I’ve been holding on to him for so long. He was the only thing keeping me together. Do you know what that’s even like, to lose that?”
But even as the question left her lips, she knew the answer.
“I do,” he said quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Tala said. “I didn’t think that through.”
Jimuro shook his head. “For your entire life, my family was the enemy. That’s not lost on me, Tala. To me, my mother was everything I wanted to be someday, and she was everything you hated and feared…not without good reason, I might add. We took everything from you.”
He gave her a furtive look. She took it in. Saw the way his hands were awkwardly frozen at his sides, half risen.
She nodded, and with visible relief he put a hand on her good shoulder.
“I don’t know what it’s like to carry around that kind of hurt as long as you have,” Jimuro said quietly, “or for it to lodge itself so deeply in your soul. And I don’t believe I quite know how to move on from it, not yet. But I do know how to live with it. And…” He hesitated, then said: “I’ve found that the ones you lose have a way of coming back to you.” He pointed his finger at the ceiling. “Fumiko.” In a flash of emerald light, his cicada-shade appeared, hanging upside down from a wooden beam.
Tala stared in wonder at the creature. A son of Tomoda, shadepacting. Even a week ago, the thought would have been impossible to consider.
Said the metalpacting Sanbuna, she thought.
“She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” Jimuro said. “Do you know what she asked of me, when we made our pact?” He thought a moment. “Right, dumb question. What I meant was, would you like to know?”
“Your Brilliance, you don’t have to—”
“She asked me to survive, Tala.” He smiled fondly up at Fumiko. “My second guardian in green.”
Tala sat with this for a long moment. “Fumiko saved my life, too,” she said eventually.