She stepped from the bed, bent, like an old woman. She took several deep breaths, her hands pressed against her trembling thighs, before she was able to straighten. She searched the bedchamber and found her knapsack in the red wedding cabinet. Zhen Ni had not failed her.
She pulled on a pale green tunic and trousers, then retrieved the cloth bundle containing Li Rong’s heart, still ice cold to the touch. She placed it with care on the bed. Ai Ling reached for a lantern and poured the lamp oil on the coverlet, lowered the burning wick to its braided edge.
“Forgive me, Li Rong. I only wanted to make things right.”
She murmured a prayer to the Goddess. The material caught fire, fed on the silks and satins of the bed.
She stumbled backward, clutching her knapsack. The fire’s heat burned her throat, seared her skin. She turned and ran. Her last glimpse was of the golden drapes of the bed bursting into flames.
The night air revived her. The courtyard was empty. She sat underneath a plum tree, pulled her knees to her chest, and watched as the fire grew. The blaze from within the bedchamber cast menacing shadows through the high lattice windows.
It was Zhen Ni who discovered her, teeth clattering, despite the heat from the inferno. “Mistress!” The alarm in the handmaid’s voice was clear.
Ai Ling rose to her feet, only just realizing they were cold and bare. “Bring my father, Master Wen, to me. And Chen Yong.” It was a command, as regal as any empress could make.
Uncertainty flickered across the girl’s delicate features. Ai Ling lifted her chin. “Master Zhong is dead. You need not fear him.” Zhen Ni’s mouth grew as round as a goose egg. She half bowed before rushing out of the courtyard.
Several eunuchs charged in from another entrance, shouting over one another. Huge urns of water were wheeled by servants who suddenly swarmed the courtyard. Alarm bells clanged. More eunuchs emerged, pushing water-filled vats, the wooden wheels thudding against the cobblestones.
As if in response to their pleas to heaven, a light rain began to fall. At first, it only misted her cheeks, until it pattered, plastering Ai Ling’s hair onto her neck. The handmaids who had scurried into the courtyard when the alarm sounded fell to their knees in supplication. Heavy rain doused the raging flames, aided by the eunuchs throwing pails of water.
Ai Ling crouched beneath the plum tree, rocking back and forth, the acrid smell of smoke and rain filling her senses. She felt a light touch on her back—Father. Chen Yong stood a short distance behind him. She rose and collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing onto his shoulder as he smoothed her damp hair, unbound for her wedding night. “Come. Let’s take refuge from the rain,” her father said.
Zhen Ni had stayed close, and Ai Ling asked, “Can you show us to empty quarters?”
“I can take you to where we prepared you for the wedding . . . only”—Zhen Ni bowed her head lower—“men are not allowed there, mistress.”
Ai Ling could not suppress a wry smile. “I hardly think decorum matters now. Please lead the way.”
The handmaid turned, and they followed her. Her father walked with his hand clasped protectively around her shoulder, and Ai Ling leaned into his thin frame. Chen Yong strode on her other side. She couldn’t look at him. How could she ever speak to him again?
They followed Zhen Ni’s bright lantern in silence. When they reached the steps of the bridal dressing quarters, Chen Yong touched her arm with a light hand. Ai Ling glanced up in surprise.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said.
More tears gathered in her eyes, and she was grateful for the rain.
“Me too.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but it didn’t matter.
The handmaid led them into the darkness of the dressing chamber. She began lighting the lanterns on the tables and in the corners of the room.
“Can you bring food and tea?” Chen Yong asked.
The handmaid retreated. Ai Ling shivered in her wet tunic, which clung to her skin like rice paste. Her entire being felt numb, from each fingertip to her fogged mind, which turned with random thoughts and images.
“You should change.” Her father crouched beside her, concern etched in every line of his face.
“I have no more clean travel clothes.”
Chen Yong handed her the luxurious robe she had worn after her bath so long ago. “This will keep you warm.” He carried a small peony-etched lantern into the bath chamber. “You can change in here.”
Ai Ling smiled, even though her face felt too numb to do so. Chen Yong, ever chivalrous. “What about dry clothes for you? And Father?”
“Do not worry for us, Ai Ling.” Father stroked her damp hair. “I must take leave now to find Master Cao. He was an old friend and remains adviser to the Emperor. He may be able to help us.” He turned to Chen Yong and clasped his shoulder. “Can you keep my daughter safe?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Chen Yong said. Ai Ling emerged from the bath chamber after combing her wet hair and braiding it. The plush robe warmed her, and she pulled it tighter. Chen Yong sat at the enameled table, a tray laden with small dishes of food and a large pot of tea before him. A grin spread across her face.
“That’s what I hoped to see,” Chen Yong said. He poured tea into two celadon cups.
She slid onto the stool across from him and examined the tray’s offerings: a small bowl of thick beef stew with white radish and carrots, sticky rice and chicken wrapped in lotus leaves, young bamboo shoots with mushroom and tender greens cooked with sliced garlic. Ai Ling breathed in the delicious aroma wafting from the dishes. She took a sip of hot tea, delighting in the warmth that wound from her throat to her core.
“Thank you, but I’m not sure I have the appetite. . . .”
Chen Yong raised a hand to stop her. “Eat a little, you need the strength. I’ll worry if you refuse good food laid in front of you!”
Ai Ling smiled and picked up her eating sticks. “Only if you eat with me.”
“Agreed.”
They ate in silence. She sneaked glances at Chen Yong from under lowered lashes. He appeared puzzled, his dark brows drawn together.
“Were you treated well?” she finally asked.
He poured more tea for her. “I was housed in very opulent quarters and locked in.” He clenched his fist. “Zhong Ye threatened to kill you if I tried to escape, tried to aid you. I’m so sorry, Ai Ling.”
“It’s not your fault. It didn’t happen like I thought it would.” She prodded at her food with the eating sticks. “I don’t know what I expected.”
He too had stopped eating and straightened his back. “I know what happened to my mother now.”
She saw again in her mind the beautiful woman with the haunting eyes.
“What was it like?” he asked, after a moment of silence.
Ai Ling averted her face, feigned interest in selecting more morsels for her plate.
“I thought I heard her speak through me,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Who?”
“Silver Phoenix.” She rubbed her brow. “I wish I knew her story—her whole story.”
“It’s enough for me to know yours.” Chen Yong smiled.
She was suddenly limp with exhaustion.
“It’s a few hours before morning. You should sleep,” he said.
“And what will you do?”
“I’ll stay by your side.”
Ai Ling rose and climbed into the sumptuous bed. She burrowed under the thick blanket. Chen Yong would keep watch over her. She gave herself to slumber before another thought could form. Ai Ling awoke to find sunshine filtering through the lattice windows. Chen Yong sat on a chair beside the bed, his head bent over a well-worn book bound in dark leather.