TSU MA STOOD on the grassy slope, looking south, the ruined monastery above him, at his back. He could see her in the distance, a tiny figure beneath the huge, cloudless sky, spurring her horse on along the narrow track between the rocks. For a brief moment he lost sight of her behind the great tor at the valleys head; then she reappeared, closer now, her dark hair streaming behind her as she leaned forward in the saddle, climbing the long slope.
He looked down, sighing. They had met here several times these last few weeks, and every time they had ended by making love despite his resolve to cast her off and mend his ways. But this time it was different. This time he had to end it. To break off with her, before they were discovered.
He was still in love with her; there was no denying that. But love was not enough, he knew that now. For this love—a love that had begun in passion and bewilderment—had now become a torment, keeping him from sleep, distracting him at every moment, until he felt he had to halt it or go mad. He could not now meet with Li Yuan or his father without wanting to throw himself at their feet and beg forgiveness for the wrong he had done them both.
So now an end to it. While it was yet within his power to end it.
He watched her come on, now hearing her voice encouraging the horse, seeing how she sat up in the saddle looking for him, then raised a hand in greeting. He returned the gesture uncertainly, steeling himself against the thoughts that came. Last time they had climbed the hill together, hand in hand, then gone into the ruined temple, and Jain on his cloak for three hours, naked, their eyes, their hands and lips, feasting upon each other's bodies. The sweetness of the memory ate at him now, like sugar on a tooth. He groaned and clenched his fists against it. Even so, his sex stirred and his heart began to hammer in his chest.
He had never known how dreadful love could be, had never imagined how the heart could grieve and yet exult at the same time. But so his did.
She drew nearer, her horse laboring under her, snorting, straining to make the steep gradient. Seeing her thus reminded him of that first time, when she had ridden past him, ignoring his offer of help. Back then he had been thrilled by her defiance, for all he'd said to her of taking care; but now that recklessness in her seemed less attractive. Was the very thing, perhaps, that forged his determination to bring things to a head.
"Tsu Ma!"
She jumped down and ran to him, throwing her arms about him, her lips seeking his; but he held still against her, as if made of stone. She drew back, astonished, her eyes wide, looking up into his face.
"What is it, my love? What's happened?"
He looked down at her, his hands trembling now, her beauty, the warmth of her hands where they touched him, almost robbing him of his senses. Her perfume was intoxicating, her eyes like oceans in which a man could drown.
"I love you," he began, the full depth of what he felt for her concentrated in those few words.
"I know," she interrupted him, pressing closer, relief flooding her face. "And I've news—"
"Hear me out!" he said harshly, then relented, his hand brushing against her face, his voice softening. "Please, my love, hear me out. This is difficult enough. . ."
Her face changed again. She tried to smile, then frowned. "Difficult?"
"Yes. I..." He swallowed. Never had anything been so difficult as this. Not even the death of his father and the ritual killing of the "copy" had prepared him for the hardship of this moment. "I . . ."
He fell silent. Even now it was not said. Even now he could take her in his arms and carry her up into the temple rooms and lay her on his cloak. Even now he could have that sweetness one last time.
But no. If this once, then he would want her forever. And that could not be. Not while there were Seven. Chung Kuo itself would have to fall before he could have Fei Yen.
He looked down, the pain of what he felt almost overwhelming him.
"You want to end it? Is that it?"
Her voice was strangely soft, surprisingly sympathetic. He looked up and saw how she was looking at him, saw how his own hurt was reflected in her face. And even as he watched he saw the first tears begin to gather in the comer of her eyes and fall, slowly, ever so slowly, down the porcelain perfection of her cheek.
"Fei Yen . . ." he said, his voice a whisper. "You know I love you."
"And I you." She shuddered, then stepped back from him. "I had a dream. A dream that I was free to become your wife."
He shivered, horrified by the words. "It cannot be."
Her eyes were pleading with him now. "Why not? I was his brother's wife. You know our laws."
"And yet you married him. The Seven put their seals to the special edict. It was done. It cannot be undone."
"Why not? You willed the law changed once, now will it back."
He shook his head. It was as he said; it could not be undone. Though all the seven T'ang agreed the match was ill-chosen, they would not change this thing. Not now. For one day Li Yuan would be T'ang, and to do this would be to wound him deeply. Only catastrophe could come of that. Only the end of everything they were.
He spoke clearly now, articulating each word separately. "I would we both were free, Fei Yen. I would give up all I have for that. But only ill—great ill—would come of it. And this, this play between us—it too must end. We must not meet like this again. Not ever."
She winced at his finality. "Not ever?"
The sweetness of the words, their pain and pleading, seemed to tear his soul from him, and yet he stood firm against her, knowing that to soften now would undo everything. "Not ever. Understand me, Li Yuan's wife? From now we are but— acquaintances who meet at functions and the like. All other thoughts must now be put aside."
"Would you forget. . . ?" she began, then fell silent, dropping her head, for he was glaring at her.
"Enough, woman! Would you have me die before you've done with me?"
"Never . . ." she. answered, the word a mere breath, a whisper. )
"Then go. At once."
She bowed, obedient, for a moment so like a wife to him that he caught his breath, pained, beyond all curing pained by the sight of her, broken, defeated by his own determination not to have her.
And then she was gone and he was alone again. He sat down heavily, feeling suddenly empty, hollowed of everything but grief, and wept.
fei YEN jumped DOWN and, without waiting for her groom to come and take the horse, made toward the palace. As she ran through the stable yards, grooms and servants bowed low, then straightened up, watching her back, astonished. No one dared say a word, but their exchanged glances spoke eloquently. They had seen her ruined face and understood, for they, at least, knew what had been happening between the Princess and the handsome young T'ang.
And now, it seemed, it was over.
In the corridor Nan Ho made to greet her, but she ran past him as if he were not there. He turned, frowning, deciding not to pursue her but to go out to the stables and investigate the matter. It was his duty, after all, to serve his Prince. And how better than to understand and gauge the volatile moods of the woman closest to him? Fei Yen herself went into her rooms and slammed the doors behind her, locking them; then she threw herself down onto the bed, letting the enormity of what had happened wash over her at last, her tiny body shaken by great shuddering sobs. For a while she slept, then woke an hour later, all of the anger and hurt washed from her. She stood and looked about her, studying the hangings, the rich furnishings of her room, frowning at their strangeness, finding no connection between herself and these things. It was as if she had died and come to life again, for she felt nothing. Only an overpowering numbness where feeling ought to be.
She turned, catching her own reflection in the glass on the far side of the room. She took a step toward it, then stopped, looking down sharply. Her news . . . She had never had a chance to tell him her news. She stood there a moment, trembling, a single tear running down her cheek; then she lifted her head defiantly, taking control of herself again, knowing what she must do.