She had it on her tongue to correct him, to ask him not to call her that again, but something in the way he said it touched her. It was like that moment when he had asked her to take over as his assistant. She could have said no. Indeed, the sensible thing would have been to say no. But there had been something in the way he'd asked her—some hint, perhaps, of that vulnerability she had witnessed in him—that had made her agree. And so now.
She smiled. "It's been my experience that one should trust least those who claim alliance purely on the basis of a shared hatred. There's always a falling out."
So it was. She had seen the Ping TiOo destroyed for that very reason, when Gesell had allied himself with the odious DeVore. But never again. When it came to making alliances, she would set her own terms in future.
Michael was looking at her strangely. "By the way, what are you doing tonight?"
She laughed, the question catching her totally off guard. "I'm sorry..."
He looked away, as if flustered—as if he had overstepped some mark, then sat back, laughing. "Look, if youVe something on, forget it, but I thought, if you hadn't. . . well, perhaps you'd like to accompany me to a ball."
"A ball? You mean, like on the trivees?"
He shook his head. "No. This is real. An old friend of mine. She's celebrating her twenty-fifth, her Coming-of-Age. Her parents died some years back and her estate's been in trust all this time, but now it's all hers and she's throwing a huge party at the family home. I just thought. . ."
She sat back, staring at him. "Why me?" she asked, after a moment. "I'm sure there must be a dozen beautiful women out there who'd be . . ."
"I thought it might be fun," he said, interrupting her. "YouVe worked hard for me and, well, I thought you might enjoy it. I was . . ." He laughed. "Well, I wasn't sure how you'd react. I thought you might mistake my motives. You know, a boss and his assistant. . ."
"Especially when the assistant's a woman..."
He narrowed his eyes, staring at her, then nodded, a faint smile of amusement on his lips. "Well? Would you like to see how the Supernal let their hair down?"
Did she? Did she really want to mix at this level? For a moment longer she hesitated, and then she smiled; a beautiful, radiant smile. "I'd like that, SMi Lever. I'd like that very much."
"Good. But it's Michael. . ." he said, returning her smile. "Tonight you must call me Michael."
"Is that it?"
Wei Chan Yin looked up from where he sat in Li Yuan's chair and met the young T'ang's eyes. There was nothing in his face to show what he was feeling, nor had he hesitated once in drafting the document. He had sat there, handwriting it to Li Yuan's dictation, not glancing up, nor aside to where his brother, Tseng-li, stood. More like a servant than an equal. Yet Li Yuan knew, better than anyone, the strengths, the qualities of this man. He had often talked with him when they had both been Princes and when, in the final period of his father's illness, Chan Yin had acted as his father's Regent on the Council.
"Sign it at the bottom," Li Yuan said. "Then have Tseng-li put his name to it as witness. I will sign last."
Chan Yin smiled and nodded. His hand moved across the thick parchment, signing his name with a flourish of the brush. That done, Tseng-li moved up beside him and, leaning over the desk, inked his brush and signed beside his brother's name.
Chan Yin looked up and, turning the paper about, offered it to Li Yuan. Tseng-li held out the brush. Li Yuan took the brush and signed, taking a deep breath as he straightened up.
"You understand why this must be?" he said, smiling sadly at Chan Yin.
Chan Yin paused, then shook his head. "Not yet, Yuan. Not ever, perhaps. But it was my father's dying wish." His mouth formed a faint smile. "You understand?"
Li Yuan laughed. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I am grateful, cousin."
Chan Yin gave a slight bow. Beside him, Tseng-li was looking down at his elder brother, that same restraint—product of the goodness that was in them all—shaping his features. Seeing the two men thus, Li Yuan felt deeply moved. To have such sons as these. A man might die satisfied, knowing he had bred so straight and true. He sighed, the determination forming in him that he would use this document only if he must.
"Tseng-li," he said softly. "There is something else I want from you."
The youngest looked up, his dark eyes looking out from his beautiful face with a directness and openness that Li Yuan had rarely met. "What is it, Chieh Hsia?"
Li Yuan smiled at the honorific. "I would like your service, Tseng-li." He paused, then, "I want you to replace Chang Shih-sen and be my secretary."
Chan Yin looked up at him, for the first time a look of surprise on his face. But Tseng-li merely nodded. "As you wish, Chieh Hsia."
"Good." Li Yuan smiled, more at ease now that it was all concluded. "Then we might set the day for your coronation, Wei Chan Yin. It is time you too were T'ang."
CHAPTER SIX
Into Emptiness
KIM stepped down from the hired sedan and looked about him, astonished. A red-painted wall ten ch'i in height enclosed the First Level mansion, a gateway, topped by an ancient bell tower, providing the only way into the grounds. The huge double doors were of burnished bronze, studded with iron, the whole thing flanked by massive dragon pillars, painted a vivid emerald green. It was brutal. Like something from the fifteenth century. A Ming frontier fort, complete with watchtowers. The last thing one expected to find here at the top of the City.
All around him sedans were setting down, their occupants climbing out and making their way across what seemed some kind of horse track to the gateway. The variety and richness of their costumes were fascinating. They had come dressed as gods and goddesses, emperors and concubines, notorious villains and revered sages. All of history had been pillaged for this one night. By comparison his own spider costume was somewhat dour and unimaginative. He had not realized how much time and effort these people would put into something so ... insignificant.
He went across, then stopped, staring up at the great stone lintel that supported the bell tower. At its center, a single Han pictogram had been carved into the stone: the character Chung, meaning "The Arbitrator"—the name of the family who owned this great Mansion.
He frowned, conscious that his expectations had once again been turned upsidedown. He had thought it would be like that evening at the Lever Mansion, when the Young Sons had been arrested. To be honest, he had not expected any Han to be present. He turned, looking about him, watching the people filing past him. They formed a queue beneath the bell tower, waiting to enter, their invitation cards held out for inspection by two huge, bare-chested Han, who stood before the open doors, barring the way.
Kim joined the queue, catching the air of excitement that was on every side. Reaching the front, he expected the guard to take his card and pass him through, as he had all those before, but the man blocked his way, putting a hand on his chest, restraining him.
"Wait there," the guard ordered gruffly, then turned his head. "Chang!" he called, summoning the second guard. "Get the Captain over. That missing invitation—I think we might have found it!"
Kim looked down, containing his anger. He had met this before. Not often, but enough to recognize it for what it was. To them he was not another human being, he was Clay, the lowest of the low. His large eyes and diminutive stature gave that away at a glance. And some—like the guard—hated the Clay and all those who came from there with a bitter and totally irrational hatred.