Her nurse seized upon Silver Snow, with hands that had the texture of a chicken’s feet and the strength that apprehension lends old age, to tug her toward the innermost room where a fire, steaming water, and robes, which might be shabby but were, most assuredly, warm and scrupulously clean, awaited.
However, when the old woman would have undressed her, Silver Snow forestalled that. “Old mother, this service ”—and this speed, she thought—“is too much for you. Where is my maid Willow?”
“She is out there. ” The woman pointed toward the courtyard. Despite a careful arrangement of faded screens, the opened door admitted a chilling draft and a glimpse of an evening sky that had turned as violet as a first concubine’s spring robes.
The nurse made a sign against ill-luck. Had the old woman not been ancient, almost a grandmother to Silver Snow, she might have slapped her.
“Your mistrust is foolishness,” she did contrive a faint re-
proof. “For ten years, ever since my father bought her, Willow has given me devoted loyalty and perfect service.”
The old woman bowed—her hands laden with Silver Snow’s heavy, padded, and befurred coat—and muttered something, undoubtedly the usual rumor, about Willow.
“More foolishness,” said Silver Snow. “Old women’s tales. Why should the girl turn against the house that saved her life?” She tested the bath with a finger. “That water looks too cold. Fetch a kettle more of hot, then leave me alone.”
Unused to her nurseling’s recent adoption of the manners of a grand lady, the woman bowed and fled. Her numbed fingers prickling as blood and warmth returned to them, Silver Snow fumbled with the fastenings of her robes as she padded toward her maidservant. Just outside the screen, Willow knelt, oblivious, as it seemed, to the cold. Even the meager light from the fire and the one or two lamps that burned, thriftily distant from the windy courtyard, struck ruddy splendor from Willow’s long hair, the same color as the vixen with which she now seemed to chatter at in little whines and sliarp barks, much as stablemen communicated with horses and children with pets of all types. A scrap of meat saved from Willow’s dinner lay on the ground.
Trained as a huntress, Silver Snow knew how to stalk silently in her heavy felt boots. Fox and maidservant alike heard her though, and froze as might hunted beasts. Willow turned to face her, and fear flashed across her face, gleamed in the eerie green eyes that, as much as her reddish hair, caused the dark-haired, dark-eyed Han to condemn her as supernaturally ugly, the very semblance of one of the dreaded fox-spirits—a prejudice that Silver Snow, usually the most indulgent of mistresses, had always condemned severely.
“Younger sister, gain what news you may, but finish quickly. I have need of you.” Silver Snow spoke softly and with a smile, but her voice was firm.
As if they actually could understand one another, Willow and the fox traded whines. Then the vixen barked once, sniffed the air, snapped up the meat, and ran off. Slowly, clumsily, Willow rose, her green eyes never leaving the spot where the fox vanished into the darkness. Then she limped over to attend her mistress.
“Had you not been born with a clubbed foot,” Silver Snow murmured more to herself than to the girl, “would you have stayed with me, or would you have wished, just as the rumors whisper, to change your own skin and run away with your sister-in-fur?”
She thought that she had spoken too softly for anyone to hear her, but she had not reckoned on the night wind’s betrayal or the preternatural keenness of Willow’s hearing. The maid gently loosened Silver Snow’s fingers from the fastenings of her robes. Her own hands were warm, hot even; another fault that the other servants held against her, for all knew that the blood of foxes—and of fox-spirits—is kindled to a higher degree than that of ordinary women. Such nonsense, coupled with Willow’s red hair and her skill with small, wild creatures, had almost gotten her killed before Silver Snow’s father purchased her. Since then, she had served the house devotedly; and, as always, Silver Snow relaxed beneath the deft, warm touch of her maid’s hands.
Tears spotted the fur of Silver Snow’s outer robe.
“When your father bought me to be your maid, he saved me from being killed out of hand as a fox or, later, as a slaver’s cull. How shall I ever leave you—even were I unblemished and able to run with the sisters-in-fur—when I owe you my very life?” Willow asked. “Though,” she added, her eyes glinting with some unspoken emotion, “it may be you who leaves me.”
As quickly as her tears had flowed, they dried. Limping, Willow urged her mistress across the room. They might well have been heartbound sisters rather than mistress and maid. Willow, Silver Snow thought as she always did, simply could not be a fox-spirit, since, as all knew, fox-spirits could not love, teasing spitefully behind pretenses of caring.
“I leave you?” Silver Snow asked. She breathed deeply to subdue an awakening excitement. One must, she knew, summon li and chih —the attributes of propriety and wisdom that Master Confucius decreed were necessary if one were to attain chung yung, the serene and undeviating behavior that every decent person surely must wish for her own—though those proper thoughts were now difficult to heed. She must hasten to obey her father’s summons, that was true; yet she could not hurry into his presence as if one were improperly lessoned in the august way of li.
“You might,” Willow said, long lashes veiling those green eyes that seemed ever to be alive with a shadow of mischief. Were she indeed a usual inhabitant of inner courts, she should be uncomfortable at Willow’s presence. Yet, from the instant that they had seen one another, they had been as sisters.
“Your most honorable father received messengers from Ch’ang-an today.” Willow unfastened the heavy, divided riding skirt from around her mistress’ thin body.
Silver Snow nodded, then stepped into the herb-strewn water of the bath. At least, their hunt had provided the best part of a proper feast. She must bathe and dress quickly, quickly, then hasten to the kitchens and the banqueting room to see that all was prepared with the propriety worthy of a marquis—even a degraded one.
“They brought a proclamation,” Willow was continuing.
“That much I guessed,” said Silver Snow. She patted the hot water on her wind-dried face as Willow proffered fragrant oils. This must indeed be a most special occasion if Willow and her old nurse had agreed to use some of the carefully hoarded perfumes from her mother’s day. Refreshed and relaxed, she asked, “How do you know more?”
“From my sister,” whispered Willow. Her smile betrayed white teeth, and she gave a quick motion of head and neck. For an instant, she looked very much like the beast with whom, earlier, she had entertained herself outside the chamber door. Silver Snow stood, and Willow wrapped her in a warm robe. There was no need to fear Willow, not ever. If the girl could turn rumor into a pleasantry to make her mistress smile, that but increased her merit. If she were unusually clever at making friends with animals, what of it? Such a talent was a gift.