“It was painful. But less than what she deserved. Now her spirit is mine.”
Ai Ling felt hatred for this man consume her. She did not need to cast her spirit toward Chen Yong to feel the rage within him. Their eyes met—his face did not betray his thoughts or emotions.
A line of women glided into the room, their heads bowed, their gossamer sleeves flowing like petals on a spring breeze. Zhong Ye took a few steps toward them and nodded with a satisfied smile.
“You arrived just in time, my pet,” he said over his shoulder. “The Emperor and his court are on progress at the Palace of Cerulean Sky. We are free to celebrate as the true rulers of this kingdom.”
Ai Ling felt a ghostly finger trace her throat, the scent of spiced cologne filling her nose, even as Zhong Ye stood apart from her. She struggled to suppress her panic and terror, struggled to suppress her desire to lash out with her own spirit. Could Zhong Ye sense her power? Ai Ling wound herself tight, tucked it far from this monstrosity. Surprise would be her best weapon.
“I expect a splendid banquet to celebrate this wedding. Don’t harm yourself this time, love. Or your father dies. And your mother. Even this half-breed mutt.” He cocked his head in Chen Yong’s direction. “Do we understand each other?”
She nodded, sucking on her lower lip, steadying herself with the taste of her own blood. She could not kill him now. Her opportunity would come when they were alone. She swallowed hard.
“The handmaids will prepare you. It won’t be as traditional as most Xian families would like,” he said, laughing, “but what it lacks in decorum will be made up for in extravagance.”
A handmaid dressed in a lavender silk sheath approached Ai Ling, placing a gentle hand on her arm. To her surprise, she could move now, and the servant guided her out of the hall and into the courtyard. She turned back. But Chen Yong and Zhong Ye had disappeared like apparitions. A line of handmaids dressed exactly alike, with their plaits coiled close to the tops of their heads, followed. The silver ornaments in their tresses made clinking sounds in the dusk air.
16
The handmaid’s light touch never changed as she guided Ai Ling across the vast Palace grounds. They wound their way through arched doorways, past lush gardens and dramatic courtyards empty except for giant bronze urns as tall as she was. At last she was led into a hall and quickly ushered from the public sitting room into a private bedchamber. A bed hidden behind red brocaded drapes dominated the room. The ceiling stretched high above them with bright red lanterns strung across it, suffusing everything in a festive glow—so opposite to the dark dread that threatened to smother her.
A lacquered vanity stood against one wall of the room, the top covered with countless jars of rouge, creams, powders, and perfumes. A round mirror set in rosewood hung above the vanity. Ai Ling caught a glimpse of a large tub in the bath chamber, and the subtle scent of jasmine drifted toward her.
The handmaid led her to the bed and drew back the heavy drapes. “May we undress you, majesty?”
For the first time since encountering Zhong Ye, Ai Ling let the shock show on her face. Majesty? She was mocking her.
“Zhong Ye is not an Emperor. And I am no Empress.”
The girl simply inclined.
“What’s your name?” Ai Ling asked.
“I am called Zhen Ni, mistress.”
Ai Ling was relieved that the girl had called her mistress. Even if that seemed odd as well, it wasn’t nearly as bad as majesty.
“Zhen Ni, why does Zhong Ye act as if he’s the Emperor?”
The girl raised a pale face, then quickly lowered her head again. “Master Zhong is the Emperor’s most trusted adviser.”
Ai Ling touched her spirit lightly.
He’s worse when the Emperor is gone. Fear surged through the girl. One mistake and I’ll never win back his favor. He could kill me and the Emperor would not care. . . .
Blinking, Ai Ling brought herself back.
“Please, mistress. If we could undress you.”
Ai Ling allowed the handmaids to remove her clothes. The bloodstain remained wet on her tunic but had begun to crust against her skin. Her wound had been right above her navel, yet the skin had healed without a mark. Fully naked, she shivered as cooling air curled from the high carved windows of the bedchamber. The handmaids surrounded her like a retinue, and she was led into the steaming bath chamber.
The tub was shaped like a half-gourd and hewn of dark wood. But as she stepped in, she saw that the inside was made of gold. The metal was warm and smooth beneath her feet.
White petals swirled on top of the steaming water. Ai Ling slipped under until her chin touched the top of it. She tried to cover her nakedness, grasped her jade pendant tight, as too many hands massaged her.
Her hair was lathered with soap that smelled of spring rain, citrus, and honey. One handmaid scrubbed the soles of her feet with a rough stone. Bumps prickled her skin. She wasn’t used to this. She didn’t like it. Two handmaids filed her nails. It was like a dance, and she the reluctant partner.
She was relieved when Zhen Ni stretched out her hand. Ai Ling took it. The stone floor felt cold against her pruned feet. She was patted dry with plush lavender towels. Then the four women rubbed a scented cream that smelled faintly of jasmine on her body.
“The bathwater was filled with jasmine flowers, too?” Ai Ling asked.
“It’s Master Zhong’s favorite scent on a woman.”
Ai Ling’s cheeks burned.
Zhen Ni threw a luxurious gold robe over her shoulders. She ran a carved wooden comb through her hair. Ai Ling watched the deft fingers of the handmaid as she twisted her tresses into loops, pinning jeweled flowers into them. Finally she placed a gold coronet on the top of her head, with a phoenix rising from the middle, clutching a ruby in one claw and a pearl in the other.
“We dust, then dress, her,” Zhen Ni said. “The makeup comes last.”
The other four handmaids nodded in unison, and Zhen Ni removed the gold robe from her shoulders, revealing her naked body again.
“Please stand, mistress, to be dusted.”
Ai Ling rose to her feet and raised her brows at Zhen Ni, not knowing what she meant.
“Mother-of-pearl, silver, and gold pounded into body powder, mistress. Also scented.” Zhen Ni nodded, and the four handmaids, each holding a porcelain bowl, proceeded to dust her entire body using large, soft brushes. Ai Ling shivered, sickened by the cloying scent of jasmine.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Her coloring was not the pale ivory coveted by so many women, but a warm sun-kissed pink instead. Her arms and face had darkened from the days of travel; the bath had brought a glow to her cheeks. They flushed again, red hot, as she stared at her bare breasts. How much of herself would she have to sacrifice—could sacrifice—to defeat Zhong Ye? Was she even strong enough to conquer him?
She cast herself into the nearest handmaid, hoping to gather information. But the girl only thought about the end of the day, when she could return to her own quarters, away from the dangerous politics and intrigue. Another handmaid daydreamed of her lover, praying they wouldn’t be found out.
When the handmaids had finished, a scented sheen covered her entire body. She unclasped her necklace and slipped it into her knapsack on the bed. She sensed it could not help her now, and she could not risk it catching Zhong Ye’s attention. Her hand grazed the cold bundle that was Li Rong’s heart.
Had they rifled through her belongings? Ai Ling touched Zhen Ni’s spirit. The handmaid calmed herself by sweeping the floor. My mistress must look perfect for Master Zhong. The breast binder needs to be scented. Where are the wedding slippers? Panic swept through Zhen Ni, and Ai Ling pulled herself back quickly.