"Mistress, it is his Excellency, the Chancellor."
Pei K'ung was seated in her throne, the dignitaries of her household surrounding her, as if she'd been expecting him.
"Master Nan," she said, smiling. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Nan Ho knelt, bowing his head, then stood, returning her smile. "Forgive me, Mistress, but I have come from your husband. He wishes to see you at once."
She gave a nod, then turned, dismissing the dignitaries. As they went, Nan Ho frowned, noting the absence of Tsung Ye, surprised not to see the ever-present young secretary at her side.
He bowed again, letting her pass, then fell in two paces behind her as they went out into the corridor.
"Is my husband better?"
"Better, Mistress?"
She stopped and turned, facing him. "Forgive me for being so blunt, Master Nan—I mean no disrespect by it—but let me have no more of this bullshit from you. You know what I mean. Yesterday we returned from Astrakhan at a moment's notice, snubbing our cousin's wedding. Today a decree is issued banning all mention of the man's name. It takes no great intelligence to figure that something happened between my husband and his cousin, does it?"
Nan Ho nodded, conceding the point.
"Moreover, it was noticeable how pale my husband seemed, returning from our cousin's palace. So I ask you again, Master Nan. Is my husband feeling any better?"
He laughed. "That is something I think you had best judge for yourself." He put his hand out. "If you would . "
She smiled, then turned, walking on at a pace, leaving him to half walk, half run to try and keep up with her. |
LI yuan was halfway through a meeting when she came into his study. Without breaking sentence he motioned toward a chair, his eyes following her as she made her way across and sat.
Flicking out her fan, she waved it before her face, hiding a yawn, then clicked it shut, studying the senior official who stood stoop-backed before her husband's desk.
At once she sensed something different. It was not just the tension in the room, though that, of itself, was quite remarkable; nor was it the crowd of advisors and retainers who were gathered in the room; it was something in the words her husband used—in their curt significance and in the underlying menace she sensed in them. Even before he dismissed the man and turned to her she knew. He had decided upon war.
"Chieh Hsia," she said, addressing him formally, anticipating him. "Might we talk alone?"
He stared at her a moment, then nodded and waved the rest away. When they had gone he stood and came around the desk to her.
"So, Pei K'ung, what is it?"
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes squarely, almost as an equal. "Yesterday . . . that business with your cousin. I know you do not wish to talk about it, but ..."
"But what?" There was a hardness in him suddenly that told her she had been right. "Speak, then be silent."
She bowed her head. "When I was researching in the imperial library, I came upon something. Something to do with your cousin."
"Go on," he said, a note of curiosity entering his voice.
"It was to do with your first wife, Fei Yen."
She looked up, expecting to find him glaring at her, but to her surprise he was looking away, a muscle in his cheek jumping. Then a tear dropped from the corner of his eye and rolled swiftly down his cheek and into the folds of his silks. She blinked, astonished.
"Husband, I ..."
He turned to face her, then sniffed deeply and wiped away a second tear that had formed but not fallen. "You understand, then?"
She nodded, but at the core of her she was shocked. So it was true. It really was true. And because of it the two T'ang were not now speaking, and Li Yuan was preparing for war. She shivered and clicked open her fan again, moving it distractedly.
"I have had her put under house arrest," he said. "Her son is held separately. Without him she'll do no more mischief."
"Ah . . ." Again she felt a faint shock of surprise. "She tried to see you," she said quietly.
He stared at her.
"A few days ago," she said, putting the fan down and holding it stiffly in her lap, "I ... I saw her myself. Sent her away. I"—she looked up at him again—"I thought it best. I did not realize—"
"No. . . ." He sighed. "You were not to blame, Pei K'ung. The woman"—he shook his head and grimaced—"the woman was always unstable. I was wrong to marry her. It was infatuation . . . childish infatuation. I see that now."
She nodded. But whereas only three days ago, she would not have understood, now she saw it clear. When it came to love and sex the eyes were blind.
"Is it war?" she asked, changing the subject. "I mean, against Li Min?"
"Yes." Strangely, he offered her a smile. "I'm glad you know. I ... I was so lonely. So wrapped up in myself. But now . . . Well, now it's easier, neh?"
He stared at her a moment, as if seeing her for the first time, then frowned. "You're . . . different, Pei K'ung. Your hair. That dress. It ... it makes you seem much younger."
She bowed her head, a faint blush coming to her neck. "I ... I thought I would try to please you, husband. I"—she looked up again, noting that his eyes were still upon her—"I thought I could, perhaps, come to you tonight. After you had retired. To talk and . . . well, to help you relax."
He opened his mouth, as if, for the briefest moment, he was going to say no, then, with a curt little movement, he nodded.
Pei K'ung sat there, her heart pounding, her mouth suddenly dry. Then, realizing that the audience was at an end, she stood and, bowing, backed away.
MAY STOOD IN the doorway to the shower, watching while her father washed himself down, her four-year-old eyes taking in his every movement. Glancing at her, he smiled self-consciously, then turned, facing the stone wall, whistling softly to himself.
"Papa?"
He stopped and turned back. "Yes, little plum blossom?"
"Those marks . . ." She pointed to the tattoos on his chest and arms, her tiny face creased up with curiosity.
"These?" He laughed, then, cutting the flow, stepped out and grabbed a towel. "I had these done when I was twelve. Long ago, that was. Long, long ago. And far away, come to that."
She stared at him, waiting. Shrugging, he toweled his loins dry, pulled on some shorts, then crouched down next to her.
"These," he said, indicating the dragon tattoos on his left arm, "are the red dragon of summer and the green dragon of spring. And this"— he smiled, seeing how her eyes widened at the sight of it—"is the great eagle, symbolizing strength."
She shivered, then reached out to touch and trace the design.
"But why is it so cruel?" she asked, pointing to the terror-stricken horse the eagle clutched in each of its steellike talons.
"Because strength is cruel, perhaps." He watched her, seeing how she studied the design, and felt a tightening of his stomach muscles at the thought of what lay ahead.
What kind of world will you grow up in? he wondered. A world of eagles and dragons? Or will it be a kinder, safer place?
The thought disturbed him. He reached out and picked her up, cuddling her, then carried her through into the kitchen where Marie was preparing the breakfast.
"You want a hand?" he asked, setting May down.
She turned from the stove and smiled. "Are you ill, Gregor?"
He laughed. "No. It's just that I'm not used to being waited on. In Africa I would eat with the men, help prepare the meals. But that's not what I meant. This"—he looked about him—"I wonder if all this will be the same . . . afterward."
There was a flicker of uncertainty in her face and then she smiled again, reassuring him. "We'll come through, Gregor. We always do. Besides, you've more than us two to think of now,"