She accomplished her entry into the hall in which she had been so cruelly humiliated and sank into the ceremonial prostration as she had been drilled. A sigh went up at what the court seemed to regard as her grace. But her breath came rapidly, and she knew that she was trembling. Even the kingfisher feathers that adorned her glossy hair quivered.
She had wanted a good look at the Emperor, but now that she was but a glance away, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor, overcome by simultaneous feelings of awe and rage. This man, this thin, pale man with his scholar’s hands, was the Son of Heaven, the heir to Ch’in Shih Huang-di who had set a border to the Middle Kingdom and appointed laws for all things. He was practically a god on earth. Yet this man was the man who had humiliated her, banished her, outraged her father’s friend, and all but killed her father for his too-austere loyalty. She was afraid to look upon him; she was too angry to look upon him. Let the Ancestors look upon her with forgiveness: he was too weak for the role he played.
She turned her attention to the Hsiung-nu, the beardless barbarians among whom she must live or die. A child dressed so richly that his gear reminded her of a horse’s caparison stood surrounded by guards. The boy’s flattish face and bold stance made her sure that the child was the hostage that the Emperor had demanded that the Hsiung-nu produce in return for a treaty. Would he deal any better with the luxurious imprisonment of the Palace than had she?
He looked up at her, laughing as a child does when it sees a bright toy. Before Silver Snow thought, she greeted him in the tongue that her father and his men had taught her, and he all but jumped in amazement.
Nearby him, his face somewhat averted as if he participated in this ceremony only with the greatest reluctance, was a man of the Hsiung-nu, whose sable-trimmed robes marked him out as one of importance, perhaps even a prince. Hearing his own uncouth speech in the mouth of a Ch’in lady, he glanced up, jolted out of his rigid stance of attention. Then his eyes glazed the way they do when a man looks at a horse, but decides that he does not wish to buy it. Quickly he looked away and, once again, became like a statue, and not a breathing man.
So these were Hsiung-nu, she thought. They were hardly the brutes about which the ladies of the Inner Courts had terrified themselves into frenzies. Take away their ornaments and their furs, dress them in a soldier’s worn garb, and they would look remarkably like her father’s guardsmen.
But the Son of Heaven was speaking; it was not for the likes of her to fall into daydreams just at the moment for which she had waited. The very thought brought a blush to her face.
“What exquisite modesty,” mused the Emperor. “It is a woman’s greatest ornament. Look up, daughter.”
To disobey the express word of the Son of Heaven was treason or worse. Having no choice, Silver Snow looked up and, in the next instant, shrank back as the Emperor gasped.
“Again, it is my lady, my lost favorite!”
To Silver Snow’s amazement and the muttered horror of the court, the Son of Heaven did not use the “we” of propriety, and he spoke to her as if the two of them were the only people in the splendid, crowded room.
“Child, you have my dear lady’s look, her walk, her very aspect!” the Emperor told Silver Snow. In that instant, the distinctions between Emperor and woman fell; they were left facing one another, a grieving man and the woman whom he had grievously injured.
“Why did no one tell me?” demanded the Son of Heaven.
He had spoken to no one in particular; no one, therefore, would dare to take upon himself the responsibility of framing an answer: no one, save for Silver Snow.
“Most dreaded Son of Heaven,” said Silver Snow, “this one begs your forgiveness for the insolence, but she suggests rrjpst humbly that you ask Mao Yen-shou.”
As she spoke, her voice rose from the die-away murmur in which she had been drilled to a strong, echoing voice. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Hsiung-nu turn, drawn by the power in her voice. One of them, the most richly dressed except for the hostage, set his lips and glowered in what Silver Snow realized was approval.
“Rest assured: that we shall do,” said the Emperor. Once again, his words and voice were those of the Son of Heaven, not the scholar so ill-suited for the Dragon Throne. “But before we bring Mao Yen-shou before us, lady, I ask it again. I ask it. How was I not told that you are the image of my dear, lost lady?”
“Most Sacred Majesty,” began Silver Snow, but the Emperor held up a hand.
“No,” he said, his voice so soft and warm that Silver Snow knew that he spoke through her to a familiar, most beloved ghost. “Would she call me that? Speak, my dear child, and do not fear.”
Silver Snow sank once again on her knees, grateful for the cool solidity of the floor. She had come to the irrevocable choice now: lie to the Emperor, which was almost blasphemy; or denounce the very powerful master of the Inner Courts, which might be deadly. As much as any battlefield might be, this was death country, and she had no choice but to attack.
The knowledge restored her courage and her composure. “Mao Yen-shou did not wish for you to see me,” she spoke calmly, as if she discussed history with Li Ling. “When I came to court, Majesty . . .’’he held up a hand, but he was smiling.
“When I arrived, the Administrator . . . suggested that your favor might lie in his hands and brush, which could be inspired by a suitable gift. But I had no gifts . . . save one; and that gift was reserved for you.”
The Son of Heaven smiled at her, a smile that seemed to inquire where that gift was and to reassure her that she herself was the finest gift that he could ask.
“Most Sacred, I mean, my lord, my father’s lands are poor; we have lived desolate for years under the affliction of your disfavor. Even the dowry that I brought to Ch’ang-an was more than my father might easily spare, but he provided that with a willing, obedient heart. And he provided more besides.
“My lord, our house had one great, remaining treasure— two suits of jade armor worthy, despite our own unworthiness to possess such treasures, for an Emperor and his First Lady to be buried in. These he entrusted to me, and he commanded me that, should I win your favor, the ...” She was scarlet, as if she had dipped her hand in scalding water. “. . . first night . . .” Silver Snow shook her head, and finished quickly. “He told me to give them to you as a token of his obedience.”
A commotion, quickly stifled at the door, told her that Mao Yen-shou had sought to leave the hall and been restrained.
“The girl lies!” he cried, and his finely trained, high voice rang out to the rafters.
“Do I?” demanded Silver Snow, who turned so that she could see both him and the Emperor whose face had darkened with anger. Disheveled by his struggle for escape, he seemed fatter and less formidable than the man who had terrorized a tired girl from the North who had a father and a maidservant to protect. “Then call this a lie too: you took the jade armor and, when I protested, you showed me old teeth that you had dropped into the chest that held them. And you said that if I protested, you would accuse me of grave-robbing, and bring my father’s house to less than naught!”
She turned back to the Emperor. “I beg you,” she cried, “seek for that armor and then judge between us as we deserve. This one is wretched, weak, and would rather die than live longer in the icy shadow of your displeasure.”