Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

T he kingdom sprawled before me was not the kingdom of my nightmares.

I had imagined a barren land, with a perpetually overcast sky and dirt pressed thick with the blood of my people. I had imagined empty, crooked streets squeezing in together like dungeons, and houses with jutting roofs like teeth, swords and skeletons lining the yards. Perhaps there would be bats flying low in the horizon, and snakes slithering through yellowed grass, and lions waiting to spring from the shadows. There would be no sweets, no silk, no clear water, no flowers.

Yet, with something almost like disappointment, I saw that the place we sailed into now could almost be mistaken for Yue. A series of wide green canals glittered in the late afternoon light, the clouds fat and heavy and brushed gold-pink at the edges. On each side of the banks stood neat clusters of houses, their smooth walls faded white from the steady erosion of wind and water, their roofs curved with slate-gray tiles, strings of round lanterns hung from their balconies, fringed with delicate silk tassels. We floated under little arched bridges, their reflections swimming over the canal surface so that from afar, they formed the perfect shape of a full moon. It was not a land of corpses and smoke as I'd thought, but one of ponds and gardens, water and earth, fishing boats and floating lights.

But even its beauty left my bones cold. I drew my cloak tighter around my body, steadied myself on the deck of the boat. The physician had advised that I come out here to breathe in fresh air, let my wound heal faster in the sunlight, but I wasn't sure if I felt better, or worse.

"Odd, isn't it?" Luyi asked from beside me. He was gazing out at the canal, too, his dark hair blown back in the breeze, his expression uncharacteristically serious, devoid of its usual mischief.

"What?"

"How… normal everything looks," he said, nodding at the civilians on the raised stone platforms around us: silver-haired old women carrying baskets of dried dates and herbs, giddy children racing one another across a bridge. "There goes this saying, that for somebody from Chu, they would not be able to tell a Wu and Yue man apart. You would think that after all our fighting—well, you'd think there would be some marker at the least. A good reason."

I cast him a curious look. He seldom spoke of such topics. "You never told me how you came to be in Fanli's service."

He shifted slightly, keeping his eyes ahead. "It's quite the boring story. My father died on the battlefield, and my mother was taken by a Wu soldier. I begged on the streets for a while before Fanli found me when I was fifteen and asked how good I was with a sword. He likes to say he saw potential in me as a fighter, but I believe he keeps me around for my charm." His gaze flickered back to me, and he smiled with what seemed like great effort. "Like I said, boring."

I swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. While Fanli may subject me to the most rigorous training any man in this world has ever endured, and could stand to laugh at my jokes every once in a while—I know they're funny—I'm lucky he took me in. He's… good, you know? Deep in the core of him." He breathed out, turned to me fully, his eyes dark with an understanding I didn't want to see. An echo. A likeness. My pulse skipped. It was as if he had sensed every forbidden feeling I'd tucked away, every desire I'd smothered like a candle flame. "If heroes are born from tumultuous times, then he must be one of them. Perhaps very little from our kingdom will survive through the tides of history, but Fanli—I believe he will. Even hundreds or thousands of years from now, I believe they will remember him a hero."

"But heroes always have tragic endings," I said softly, a lump in my throat.

"Yes, well. One cannot save the world and live in peace. That's not how these things work."

Something about his words reminded me of my own thoughts from when I was standing outside my house, scared, my decision weighing on my chest: a kingdom, or my happiness . We had both made our choices. Was it too late now to regret them?

"What will you do?" I asked. "When we are gone?"

He was quiet. The oars creaked and splashed the water in a rhythmic motion, and a gentle mist rose around us like white steam.

"I cannot be sure. But I will stay by his side." The planes of his face were smooth, certain, his shoulders squared. "Wherever he goes, I will follow, for as long as he lets me."

Perhaps a flicker of envy or longing showed in my eyes, because he took one look at me, then threw his head back and laughed, the sound half-bitter. "Trust me, it's not so much better a position, compared to you," he said. "I know he will be thinking of someone else."

Before I could reply, the boat lurched, the planks wobbling be neath my feet, and came to a stop on one side of the canal. Fanli emerged from behind the curtains, his sword gripped in one hand.

"Are we there already?" I asked, confused. I couldn't see the palace, only the emerald water flowing on and on ahead of us, and the crimson glow of the lanterns.

Fanli shook his head. "We're not, but I'm getting off here."

It was as though someone had flipped the boat over, yanked the world out from under me. I couldn't breathe. A sharp pain tore through my throat, even fiercer than where the arrowhead had pierced me. "You're—not coming with me?"

"No." His expression was impossible to read, his eyes unfathomably dark. "I've given it some thought, and there is no need for a dramatic farewell. You should arrive at the palace alone, without any attachments to the Yue Kingdom; Luyi will be there to ensure your safety. It is best."

It is best. Such simple words, so cold in their practicality, so unfeeling. I wanted to hit him then, to shake him, seize his wrist and squeeze. Would he not miss me at all? Did he not understand that this was his last chance to see me, our last moments together? Could he not be so rational, just for once?

He stepped forward and held out his sword to me on two opened hands. The same way I had given the sword to him, back on the riverbank.

"What is…"

"Take it," he said. "It is yours now, for protection."

I stared at him. "But—you always carry this—"

"You need it more than I do. Keep it. Please." There was something else behind his words, but he said no more, just extended the sword farther to me, concealed in its familiar sheath. I swallowed, taking it from him. As I did, our knuckles brushed; just the barest second, skin against skin, yet my whole body shivered from the awareness, my throat tightening.

The sword was heavier than I recalled. I pulled it out a fraction, enough to see the inscription in the polished metal: The mind destroys, the heart devours.

"Remember," he said quietly.

When I looked up, he was already stepping onto the stone-paved platform, his chin lifted, his hands clasped behind his back. Removed, detached. Only his fingers trembled. Without turning to me, he motioned for the boat to continue on. The oars picked up again, water misting the air. He remained standing. The distance between us spread, inch by irreconcilable inch.

"Wait!" I cried out, desperation rising inside me. I scrambled forward, as close to the edge of the boat as it would allow without my weight tipping everything over. Tears pressed against my eyes, burned in the back of my throat. My hands grabbed on to nothing. Civilians had started to stare from the overhead bridge, the other side of the canal, but I didn't care. "Wait—stop—I don't—" I whipped around to Luyi. His expression was bleak, his lips pressed into a tight, resigned line. "Help me," I said, half pleading. "Turn the boat back. Only for a few more seconds. I just want to tell him—I never got to tell him…"

But Luyi gave a small shake of his head and rested a hand on my good shoulder. It was meant to comfort, I knew, but in that moment I only wanted the familiarity of Fanli's touch, his presence, his scent. I only wanted him. "Can't you make this a little easier for him?" Luyi said, his tone laced with pity. Not for me, I realized, but for Fanli.

" Him? " My mind spun. The boat was drifting farther and farther away from the platform. "What—what do you mean?"

He sighed. Gave me a look that was almost exasperated. "Why do you think he's getting off early, Xishi? When he so rarely leaves anything before its completion?"

Because he's heartless , I wished to say out of spite, though I un derstood even then it wasn't true. Because he does not care as much as I do. Because he wishes to be rid of me sooner. Because he will always choose the kingdom before me.

"Can you not imagine," Luyi continued, "that it might be difficult for him to deliver you straight into the jaws of the enemy palace, and watch you marry another man? He is disciplined, Xishi," he said as his words buzzed in my head like a wild swarm of hornets, "but he is not made of stone. He suffers too. Privately."

I clutched at my throat, made a choked, anguished sound I'd never made before. I could not bear it. The realization was overpowering. There would be no more dinners with him by the warm, gentle candlelight of the hall. No more strolls in the hazy purple evening, no more coming across him by the pond, his reflection swimming under the lotuses. There would be no more stolen glances in the corridors, footsteps slowing in his shadow. No more suppressed smiles and almost-touches, slender fingers skimming over silk. No more finding him in his room, his silhouette outlined against the fire, opening the door a crack just to see him more clearly. No more spring flowers and autumn rain. No more sneaking onto the highest ledge, watching the mortal smoke and fire of the distant city with him beside me. No more words of advice or words of caution, no more stories coaxed from him when he was in a lighter mood. No more morning greetings. No more watching him secretly, with his head bowed, an ink brush in his hands. No more tenderness. No more solace. No more possibility.

Now there was just me, standing on the prow of the boat, gazing at his lone figure on the opposite bank. He was already too far away for me to make out the lovely details of his face, only the lines of his shoulders, his knife-straight spine. The water rippled and glimmered between us, expanding, the tides pushing the boat onward, away from all I knew and toward the terrible palace. My fingers curled tight around the cool hilt of his sword, as if I could feel the ghost of his grip, the impressions his hands had made in the wood. I had been prepared for this, had taken everything with me except what I really wanted. I wished to weep, but my own tears felt insubstantial, a broken gesture. The feeling swelling within me like churning waves was greater, heavier, absolute.

I tore my gaze away from Fanli's fading silhouette, unable to look anymore, to see what I would miss. Yet as soon as I did, a fresh pain tore through my chest, a pain I had not felt since the day I first met him, as if my heart had been wrenched apart.

I arrived at the Wu palace a ghost.

I was dressed in crimson, the bright, joyous color of a bride, my lips pressed with carmine powder and my cheeks brushed with rouge. The jewels in my hair rattled and whispered softly as I made my way through the giant, bronze-studded gates, led by a line of maids, their faces blank as stones smoothed by waves. They were well trained. More goodbyes had been made: I bid farewell to Luyi, who squeezed my hand and promised to look after Fanli. If tradition had allowed it, I would have pulled him into a crushing hug, buried my head in his robes; but propriety reigned as it always did, and we merely nodded at each other, his face lined with understanding. I touched the worn wood of the boat, the cold of the water, until my fingers smelled faintly like river brine. Each of these small goodbyes was a hollowing; a hole had been punctured through my ribs, and there was my spirit, my essence, seeping out through it. But that did not matter. The worst goodbye was already behind me. My heart had already died.

And so I stepped into my new life.

My face was a mask. I hid behind a feigned look of admiration while I tracked my new surroundings. The palace buildings gleamed red, with sloping gold and emerald roofs and statues of one-legged cranes and tigers standing on top of them. Dusk had turned the sky pink, its light glittering off the diamond-lattice windows and gold-framed doors. I made note of where one gate opened to another as opportunities for invasion; where brilliant gardens bloomed behind fences, offering protection from sharp eyes; where crimson-lacquered pillars and marble balustrades might deflect incoming arrows; where guards had been positioned at five-foot intervals, silent as shadows. The lanes here were wide and swept spotless, the distance from one to another like that between the heavens and the earth, and all pointed toward a palace that rose above the magnificence on steep steps.

This, I realized, was where King Fuchai awaited.

My heart hammered in my chest. I glanced over at Zhengdan, who walked behind me, eyes cast down like any obedient palace lady. Only I could have noticed how tightly her hands were clasped and known the depth of her fear.

At last the maids left us, and we entered the palace alone. The air was darker inside, colder. Our steps echoed over the vast polished floors. The tapestry-covered walls were so high that I felt like an ant inside them, something primordial and insignificant, scuttling for shelter. I fought to keep my expression pleasant, to stop myself from shaking. An elaborate throne stood on a dais before us, gleaming like dark jade. And sprawled across it, in a posture so lazy he might have been about to fall asleep, was the enemy king.

He was young. That was the first thing I noticed, foolish and simple as it was. I had been picturing a graying man, with a wisp of a beard and skin so rough and withered it looked like bark, a chin that melted into the loose folds of his neck. But Fuchai appeared to be at the age more fitting for a prince than a king: a mere couple of years past twenty. He was also surprisingly, disturbingly handsome, with clear black brows and the sharp, assertive features of a wolf. And like the other men of Wu, he wore his hair cropped short, the dark, wavy strands ending just above his eyes and the nape of his neck. I wanted to recoil from the unnatural sight. It was a practice that defied the heavens. Our hair, our skin, our body; these were all gifts from our parents. They were not to be damaged.

Loathing bubbled inside me, black and rapid. This was the man who had ripped me away from my old life, from my family, from Fanli. This was the man who had tormented my people, who lounged on his throne while his soldiers picked our civilians off like vultures after hares. I should have unsheathed Fanli's sword and run it through his heart until he bled out on the cold stone floors. I wanted so badly to. My fingers itched with the impulse.

Instead, a few feet away from him, I dropped into a low curtsy as I had been instructed, my face held at the perfect angle to catch his eye.

"Come forward, come forward," he said. While Fanli's syllables were crisp and cool, his were smooth, almost a purr, flowing off the tongue like wine. "Let me see you properly."

I acquiesced, my steps nimble, silent on the palace floors. Women were not supposed to make a sound unless it was to sing. I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from screaming.

Fuchai's voice traveled over my head to one of the ministers waiting on the sides. "She is the concubine Goujian promised?" Goujian. Not even a title placed before the name. It was how you spoke of a servant, or an old friend.

"Yes, Your Majesty," came the minister's low reply. I snuck a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He was a tall, strongly built man, also younger than I'd imagined, somewhere in his late twenties, with a sharp jaw and dark set of brows which were currently furrowed in my direction.

"He has not underdelivered; she is lovely to look at. She has a slightly different… quality than our women, doesn't she?" I stiffened, but he went on, "A good thing, to have some variety around here. What is her name?"

This was my cue. I lifted my head a fraction. Four scantily clad girls lingered around his throne, silk sashes flowing from their sparrow-boned shoulders to their slender waists. Their perfume thickened the air, a cloying scent like wilted flowers and cinnabar powder. When Fuchai waved an impatient hand, they immediately curtsied and retreated into the background.

"I am Xishi," I greeted him, holding his gaze for three heartbeats. It was a bold move; most were afraid to look the king directly in the eye. But he gazed back down at me with increased fascination.

He descended the dais and stopped before me, so close I could count the glint of every jade button sewn into his robes. There was a black, wolfish gleam in his eyes; his lips were sculpted into a smile that looked more like a smirk. Without warning, he grabbed my face, his thumb and forefinger pressed to my cheeks, and lifted it up higher. His touch was not rough—in fact, I do not think he could have been any gentler. Yet my skin burned from it. Enemy. The dark word pulsed through me like another heart.

"Xishi," he murmured; I wanted to rip my name from his tongue, to stop him from corrupting it, from replacing the sound of how Fanli called me. I could not bear to forget anything. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

Did he know how numb I was to hearing such lines? But of course I reacted with necessary humility. "I'm only a peasant girl from a faraway village, Your Majesty," I said with sickly sweetness. "It is an honor to be here." In my head, I corrected bitterly: It is a torment. There are a million places I would rather be, including a pigsty.

"Don't be so polite. You're one of us now." He brandished his sleeve toward the high-ceilinged palace, the gilded chambers, the golden hangings, the dozens of ministers and concubines and servants waiting to do his bidding. "Welcome to the Wu Kingdom, Xishi. Welcome home."

I smiled so I would not cry.

"You must dine with me," he said abruptly, snapping his fingers with an almost childlike excitement. "Are you hungry? What is your favorite dish? I will see that it is prepared at once."

"I…" Fanli's lessons flashed through my mind. I steeled myself, remembering the other concubines who had surrounded his throne. Fuchai must have once treated them with such enthusiasm too, but now he did not even spare them a second look. Men like him liked challenges, and novelty, the thrill of the hunt. I had to pull away, to keep him intrigued. "I would love to, Your Majesty, truly… but I'm afraid I'm rather tired from the journey here. Perhaps another time?"

He looked, for a moment, stunned. He had not been prepared for a rejection; he had so little experience with it. I felt a sudden, spine-tingling rush of fear. What if I had played my cards too soon? What if instead of reeling him in, I had done the opposite, and insulted him so greatly he would never wish to see me again? My stomach churned.

After a long, terrible silence, he nodded. A trace of disbelief clung to his countenance. "Of course. You should go rest; there will be plenty of opportunities for us to spend time together in the future."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." I hoped he could not detect the relief in my voice.

He was already returning to his throne, throwing himself carelessly across it without even bothering to smooth out his robes. The gold crown on his head had slid askew, only further accentuating his wild, dark features, his unruly black waves. He flicked his wrist at the same minister from earlier, eyes heavy-lidded, almost falling shut. "Zixu, you have finished assigning their rooms, haven't you?"

Zixu. Wu Zixu. My pulse skipped. So this was the man Fanli had warned me about.

The minister stepped forward and dipped his head. Fuchai's eyes were nearly closed now, so he could not see what I did: the tension that ran through Zixu's frame, the charged look in his gaze. "All has been arranged."

"Good, good. Make sure they know where to go."

I heard the dismissal in his words, and was glad. I did not know how much longer my mask would hold. I could feel the wound in my shoulder starting to bleed again, my bandages sticking to my skin, drenched in warm liquid. They would have to be changed soon. Yet as I exited the palace and turned around slowly, my neck prickled with the dangerous, telltale sensation of being watched by multiple pairs of eyes.