He shuddered, trying to control himself, to push back the memories, but they were too powerful for him. Unbidden, a tear trickled down his cheek and then another.
And his mother . . .
He gritted his teeth, but a low moan forced itself out from somewhere deep inside him.
Be brave, he heard the old man say. Whatever you have to face in life, be brave and face it squarely. But it was hard to be brave when no one came, when no one even knew where you were. Harder yet when the memories came crowding back to haunt you.
He ducked his head beneath the blanket and secretly wiped the moistness from his cheeks, then sat up and turned, placing his feet on the cold earthen floor, ignoring the cold.
Remember the song, he told himself, hearing Jelka's soft voice coaxing him in his head. And, lifting his head, he began, his pure, high voice sounding in the silent darkness, making the guards outside turn and listen.
"Still the sun was never shining,
Neither gleamed the golden moonlight,
Not in Vainola's dark dwellings,
Not on Kalevala's broad heathlands.
Frost upon the crops descended,
And the cattle suffered greatly,
And the birds of air felt strangely,
All mankind felt ever mournful,
For the sunlight shone no longer,
Neither did there shine the moonlight. . . ."
IT WAS AFTER ELEVEN when Tsu Ma finally left the Council Chamber. He had been loath to call such a meeting, despite what had happened earlier, but the news from his agents in Tongjiang could not be ignored. If their reports were true, Li Yuan was preparing for war, and that would mean trouble in his own City.
He stood in the tiny anteroom a moment, alone—for the first time since the dawn, alone—and tried to still his racing thoughts. Too much had happened too fast. That business with Fei Yen . . .
Tsu Ma let a sigh escape him, then sat down, raking his fingers through his hair distractedly. He had always thought Li Yuan had known; had known yet been too tactful, too much a "brother," to ever mention it. Since the day of Li Yuan's coronation, when he had approached him about the child, he had assumed the boy was his: that Li Yuan knew yet had forgiven him. If he had thought for a moment . . .
"Aiya . . ."he said softly. If he had known what harm the woman could do he would have killed her. Or was that true? Wasn't he still more than a little in love with her? Hadn't his anger at her today been tempered by some other, darker feeling?
He blew out a long breath, then leaned forward. If the truth were told, seeing her there in the cell, chained and defiant, he had felt that old, familiar fire burn up in him again—had remembered, for the briefest instant, how it had been to lie with her. No other woman had ever fired him so. No other had ever made him lie there sleepless with the memory.
Tsu Ma shuddered, then stood, realizing suddenly that someone was standing in the doorway, waiting. It was Hwa Kwei, his Master of the Inner Chambers.
"Chieh Hsia?"
"What is it, Master Hwa?"
"My Mistress, the Empress, has sent me to ask if you will be coming to her rooms tonight."
His wedding night ... He had forgotten. This was, after all, his wedding night.
He stared at Hwa, then waved a hand at him. "Tell her I shall come in a while. I need a moment's thought."
Hwa bobbed his head. "Chieh Hsia! Shall I bring something to eat? Some soup, perhaps? And something for the Empress?"
Tsu Ma was looking away, staring at the portrait of his father that hung over the fireplace. "That's kind, Master Hwa, but I have no appetite. Bring something for the Empress, however."
"Chieh Hsia."
Alone again, his thoughts returned to Li Yuan and his cast-off son. How could Li Yuan have done that? It made no sense. No sense at all. If he had wanted to deal with Fei Yen, he could have exiled her and married again. There had been no need to divorce her, not if her son was his.
Unless, that was, he'd wished to punish her. And what better way to punish a headstrong, ambitious woman like Fei Yen than by denying her son the right to be a T'ang?
The thought of it quite shocked him, for he had thought Li Yuan a less vindictive man. But who knew what passion—especially spurned passion—could do to a man?
He looked back up at his father's image. "What would you have done, Tsu Tiao?"
But the question, he knew, was idle. His father would never have got involved. His father would have cut off his own manhood before he would touch another man's wife. And as for that woman being the wife of a fellow T'ang . . .
"This is all my fault," he said quietly, bowing his head to the portrait, ashamed of himself. "And I must rectify it if I can."
Yes, he thought. But how? What in the gods' names can I do to make things up with him? His wife. I stole his wife. It does not matter that her beauty blinded me. What matters is the fact that I betrayed him. Him . . . whom I counted as a brother.
He shuddered, afraid, suddenly deeply afraid, of what he had done.
So the wheel turns. So fate catches up with us.
But it was not too late. If he could only speak to him. If he could only humble himself before his cousin.
He lifted his head, speaking to the camera overhead.
"Contact Li Yuan at Tongjiang. Tell him I wish to speak to him. I shall take the call in my study."
While his servants set up the link, he paced the corridor, trying to work out what he would say—rehearsing phrases, trying to find some formula of words that would explain why he had acted as he had.
I love you, Li Yuan. Can't you see that? As I loved my elder brother Chang. Just as you loved Han Ch'in. It was their deaths that brought us so close. Beside which, this is nothing.
He sighed, then pushed through the doors into his study. If only that were true. If only it were in the past. But he had seen Li Yuan's face and had known at once that the hurt he'd felt had never gone away— that deep inside the wound was still bleeding.
Tsu Ma went to his desk and sat, waiting, his fingers laced before him, his whole body trembling with a fearful anticipation. He had thought himself fearless, had thought himself beholden to no man; but 1 now he knew. Li Yuan. He needed Li Yuan. As a friend. As a brother and an intimate. Without him . . . Well, he could not bear the thought of it. To be severed from Li Yuan after all they had gone through together. It could not be. It simply could not be.
A minute passed and another. Then, with a suddenness that made him jump, there was a knock.
"Enter," he said, feeling his heart thump heavily in his chest.
His Secretary, Tu Fu-wei, took a step into the room, then bowed low.
"What is it, Tu?"
"It is Li Yuan, Chieh Hsia, he refuses to speak to you. He . . ." The young man looked bewildered. "It seems he has given orders for the borders to be closed between the Cities."
Tsu Ma stared at his servant, stunned by the news. The last time Li Yuan had closed the borders had been when he had had the plague in his City and had closed the gates to City Africa. Within months there had been war.
He sat back, robbed of words, then shook his head.
"Chieh Hsia?"
There was a blankness in his head. He could not think. For once he did not know what to do.
Tu Fu-wei came closer, looking at his Master with alarm now. "Chieh Hsia? Are you all right? Should I send for Surgeon T'ung?"
Tsu Ma shivered, then looked back at his Secretary. "No, I ..." He shook his head, waving the man away, then stood, needing for the briefest moment to support himself against the desk.
The borders. Li Yuan had closed the borders. . . .