Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

O ur chambers were located in the farthest corner of the palace.

I did not realize this until the third day, when it became clear something was amiss. No maids came to change our bedding or bring fresh water; no concubines came holding gifts or even to give their greetings. And the sound I had been waiting for—the sway of the king's carriage as he traveled down the lanes, looking for a partner to spend the night with—was absent. It was as if we did not exist, as if we had never entered the palace at all. A panicked part of me wondered if I had already failed, if the king had always meant it to be this way, to accept Goujian's gifts on the surface while really leaving us abandoned in some shadowy, remote corner, never to be seen or heard. But I had seen the way Fuchai looked at me. Even if he was not fond of me just yet, he ought to at least be interested.

"This is Zixu's doing," I complained to Zhengdan as I paced the length of my bedchambers. As my palace lady, her room was next to mine; it was much smaller, without any ponds or gardens or elaborate furnishings. "You heard him; he was the one who arranged our rooms."

She folded her arms across her chest, leaning back on the cushioned seat. "He doesn't trust us."

"No," I agreed. "And this is the easiest solution for him. I bet the king has hundreds of concubines to choose from. So long as he does not pass my chambers, and nobody else in court brings my name up, he'll soon forget my existence entirely."

"What a pain." Zhengdan huffed. "What do we do, then? Perhaps I can sneak out to find the other palace ladies? Ask them where the king is?"

I shook my head. "I'll bet Zixu already has guards planted around the palace to watch us, just in case. If we venture too far from our chambers, somebody will come to escort us back. We cannot seek out the king on our own. Besides, it will look too deliberate. Plenty of women go forgotten until their chambers are cold."

She caught my eye and raised a slender brow. The expression was endearingly familiar, reminiscent of our days in the village; she might have been asking me to hide out in the trees with her to escape her mother's fussing, or leave pebbles in the shoes of an auntie who'd insulted her. "So you think we should lure him to you?"

"Precisely."

She considered it. "But what event will be so significant the king must come himself?"

"It does have to be significant. Life-threatening, even," I said, my eyes going to the wound in my shoulder. The skin had just started to close, but it was still raw and tender, delicate.

Zhengdan followed my gaze, then blanched. "You don't mean… No, surely, you can't—"

"Can you think of anything more effective?"

She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, a resigned look on her face.

"We only have one chance," I said, already rifling through the drawers for something sharp. A mirror I could break into shards, perhaps, or a jar. "If we do not successfully draw the king's attention, we'll only alert Wu Zixu and the other ministers that we are planning something. They may look for an opportunity to imprison us, or worse, kill us. It is so simple, to make things appear as an accident when there are few others around as witness." At last I came across Fanli's sword. I had hidden it carefully at the very bottom of the drawer, concealed in crimson fabric so nobody could find it. Now I brushed the fabric aside and lifted the weapon. The blade rasped against the sheath as I pulled it out slowly, imagining Fanli's hands curled around the same bejeweled hilt, memories rising like ghosts before me. How many times had I seen him holding his sword at his side, ready to protect or to strike; training with it in the cottage gardens, plum blossom petals falling around him; slicing it through the air, blood spilling from the whetted tip. A pang filled my chest, as if someone were squeezing my heart inside their fist.

Stop. Focus.

The sword was heavy in my grip, yet I derived some strange solace from it. It was the closest thing I had to Fanli's presence, the sword a stand-in for the self.

"Xishi-jie." Zhengdan rose, then stopped. Her lips were set in a grim line, her eyes worried. "You shouldn't— It's too big a sacrifice. What if you just feigned illness? Said your stomach hurt, or you had come down with a fever?"

"Do you really think I could fool the royal physician? He will know I'm lying, and tell Wu Zixu."

Her chin jutted out, every bit as stubborn as I was. "There must be another option—"

I shook my head. "This is the best we can do. Don't worry, I'm already injured. The skin's ruined either way." My voice came out impressively steady. Only I could feel how fast my heart was beating. It was so childish, to be afraid of pain. But perhaps it was also biological, inbuilt, the body's natural means of self-defense. Even once my mind had been made, my fingers trembled over the sword. Another doubt snagged at my heart; I had scorned the Wu for cutting their hair, but now here I was ready to cut open skin. Surprisingly, it was Fanli's voice that drifted to me, as clear as if he were standing right there in the room: What is the bigger cause? To him, almost anything could be done, so long as the end result was more beneficial. And I knew exactly what he would do in my position.

It was quick; at least there was that.

My skin parted easily under the blade, my wound reopening. Fat droplets of blood oozed out and trickled down my sides, dampening my robes. The blaze of pain came soon after, so acute I found myself stamping my feet, trying anything to distract myself from the agony in my shoulder. The sword clattered to the marble-veined tiles. I will be so angry , I thought half-hysterically, gasping, if the king does not end up coming, and I am left to just bleed all over the floor on my own.

I was still bleeding when Zhengdan ran to the doors, threw them open, and yelled out, with real distress: "Help! Someone help—please! Call the physician!"

King Fuchai swept through the room first, his robes swishing over the floors, his crown catching the light. An old physician trotted in after him, carrying a black lacquered box with countless little knobs and compartments.

"What happened?" Fuchai asked, eyes scanning the area. Then they fell on me, and he came over, two clean, wide strides, his boots clapping against the tiles.

I gritted my teeth against a cry. I was lying in bed, my hands gripping the blood-soaked fabric around my shoulder. Zhengdan had already cleaned the sword and hidden it back in its drawer, and a vase lay shattered on the floor. Despite the physician's uttered warnings, Fuchai skirted around the fragments with surprising ease and stopped beside me. His hair hung dark and tousled past his face, and two hectic spots of color had risen to his high cheekbones.

"Your Majesty," I croaked out, making my voice tremble with pain. The pain was real; everything else was not. "I did not mean to alarm you—"

He waved a hand, and the physician immediately scurried forward, his already-stooped back bent so low I thought it might break in two. "Tell me what happened." Fuchai's eyes flashed like lightning across a storm-black sky. "Nothing of mine should be injured within these palace walls."

Nothing of his. No wonder he was so worried. He took it as a personal insult to see a possession damaged, just as he would distress over the wounding of one of his best steeds, or his favorite coat.

"No, it's really nothing," I gasped. The physician bent closer, examining the cut in my flesh, careful not to touch me without the king's permission. "It's my own fault…"

I like to think that Zhengdan and I had developed a mutual understanding, a shared sensitivity by this point, for she picked this moment to speak over me. "It's my fault, Your Majesty. I was trying to dust the upper shelves, and she—she insisted on helping—and the vase slipped from the top and shattered. She didn't want to call you away from state affairs, but the cut was so deep… I was afraid…"

Fuchai's brows creased. "Why would you be dusting the upper shelves? That's work for servants, not palace ladies, and certainly not concubines."

We both went silent, letting him figure it out for himself. I supposed I was lucky then, that the king of Wu was not so dull-witted as our kingdom's rumors said, or else we might have remained like that forever, my shoulder bleeding and the physician crouched before me and him just standing there, waiting for an answer.

"Have no servants come to aid you?" He stared around the chambers, as if truly seeing it for the first time. The cobwebs sticking to the high beams and closets, the fine layer of yellow dust that covered the window ledge, the barrels left empty, the sheets unchanged. His eyes narrowed. "Have no servants been here at all ?"

The physician, who had started applying some herbal paste to my wound using a long swab, trembled violently at the change in his tone, as though he were the one who'd drawn the king's ire. Even I felt a prickling of fear. There was an alchemy to such things; even if I did not recognize Fuchai as my king, and even if I were plotting to bring an end to his kingdom, I was keenly attuned to what the crown on his head could do, the power it carried. Perhaps this was another survival instinct.

"Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, still looking around him. "And what chambers have you been assigned to? It is so far away from everything. No," he said decisively, "this kind of gross negligence will not do. I must speak to the maids."

Suddenly an image of ten young girls felled like stalks of grass sprang to my mind, their blood flowing to form a river over the golden halls. If the palace was a place of tigers and wolves, then the servants were rats, easy prey. My stomach clenched.

"I do not believe the maids were aware of where we stayed, Your Majesty," I said as softly as I could. The paste had started to sting, its bitter herbal smell burning my nostrils. "Perhaps—perhaps there was a miscommunication."

His expression softened. He lowered himself on the side of the bed, shaking his head. "You are so considerate of them. Know that if the positions were reversed, they would not hesitate to throw your life away, so long as it diverted the blame from their own necks."

I knew. Of course I knew.

"It's all right," I insisted. "The wound looks worse than it is. I'm embarrassed you even had to come in person for such a matter."

Fuchai made an impatient, batting motion at the physician. "Leave the medicine with me," he ordered, taking over the herbal paste. "I'll handle it."

"B-but—but Your Majesty." The physician's voice quavered, his body shaking like a leaf. "Your Majesty, I thought you had a court session scheduled for this afternoon…"

Fuchai hesitated.

Sensing an opportunity, I let out a pitiful gasp, and pretended to double over, clutching at my shoulder. The medicine was surprisingly effective; in truth, the pain had already began to numb. But he could not know that.

"No," Fuchai said firmly, waving his sleeve again, his gaze on me. "Tell them I have other matters to attend to."

The physician didn't dare say anything else. To speak up the first time could be interpreted as offering a kind reminder; to speak up again would be to defy the king's orders. He quickly bowed and left the building. Zhengdan excused herself shortly afterward too, but not before turning slightly at the front doors and catching my eye with the subtlest nod. A look that said be careful , and good luck. Then it was just me and the king. I felt as if I had been left alone with a wolf.

"Now that everyone's gone," Fuchai said, a small smile playing at his lips, "we can speak to each other casually. It's so tedious, isn't it? Court speech ." He rolled his eyes, as if he were speaking of some dull play. "All those ministers as stiff as wood."

It could have been a trap. But it could also be a chance to draw him closer, to do what few other concubines dared, leave a mark on his mind. Before I made him love me, I needed to make him remember me. "Then… may I call you by your name?" I ventured. "Or do you prefer Your Majesty ?"

He did not reply at first, he was so focused on applying the medicine. His hands were surprisingly gentle, and after each light dab of the swab, he leaned forward and blew on the wound. And every now and then, when I flinched sharply for dramatic effect, he would apologize and slow his movements. I'll admit: I would never have expected such tenderness from a wolf.

But still, some part of me kept waiting for him to bare his fangs. Who knew when he might change his mind, whether he would grow bored of playing the healer and seek out a more pleasurable activity? We were already sitting on my bed, the doors shut, the windows locked. And this was the king who had a reputation for his visits to the brothels, his love of pretty women.

"You can," he said, jolting me from my thoughts.

It took me a moment to remember what he was referring to. "All right," I said slowly, testing the waters. "Fuchai."

His mouth split into a wide grin, and he gazed at me with sudden charm. "I like how it sounds. Say it again."

"Fuchai."

He leaned back a moment, eyes closed, content, like a cat lapping up the sun. "God, it's been so long since anybody has called me that."

In my kingdom, even the king did not refer to himself by his real name. But I acted surprised. "Nobody?"

"They seem under the impression that I'm tricking them," he said dryly, eyes fluttering open to look at me sidelong, his grin settling back into its usual smirk. "That they'll speak my name once and"—he made an abrupt slashing motion with his free hand—"they'll lose their heads. Of course, they're not totally without reason. It may be because I killed that soldier once for doing just that, but in my defense, he was being very annoying."

Little darts of fear pulsed through me. How casually he spoke of a man's death. But beneath my fear boiled an old, familiar rage. It did not matter how gently he treated and wrapped up my wounds now; he had inflicted far greater injuries upon my family, my people, my land. My love.

All of this, I swept clean from my face.

"Zixu is always saying that I cannot kill people just because I find them especially irritating. His issue, of course, is less with the killing itself than how I go about it. Imagine if your wise, perfect, never-wrong father were here ," Fuchai mimicked in a voice so like the minister's stern rasp I half expected him to appear in my room. " He would know which strings to pull to achieve the same results without appearing like a drunken tyrant. But why should I have to figure out a complicated series of thirty-something steps just to dispose of one man? What fun is it, being king, if I cannot do even this? Of course," he added, with a conspiratorial look, "don't go repeating my words to Zixu. God knows the lengthy speeches I must endure, and all supposedly for my own good."

"Zixu," I repeated, schooling my features into mild wonderment. "The name is familiar… Is that the minister who assigned us our rooms?"

He frowned. I could almost see the threads connecting in his mind; sometimes a little nudge was all it took to steer someone in the direction you wanted. "And so it is. I'll have to ask him why he had to choose the least convenient of places for you to live. Really, he always claims to have his reasons, but sometimes…" He trailed off with an irritable sigh, then laid a hand over mine. His skin was unbearably warm, unbearably foreign, smooth and devoid of calluses. I forced myself to stay still. "Don't worry, I'll make sure a new accommodation is prepared for you. What kind of place do you prefer? Somewhere with a nice view of the ponds, or perhaps more room for dancing—"

"Whatever place is close to yours," I said sweetly, resisting the urge to gag, "so you may come visit me when you please." And so it is easier for me to track the movements of your generals and ministers.

His face brightened like a young boy's. "Consider it done," he said.

The king's word really was law.

We were moved into another set of chambers that very night, one where the windows were vast and open and allowed rhombus patches of light to filter in, and where great rockeries and pink-flowering trees sat in the yard outside, lanterns strung across the branches like stars. Now we were so close to the heart of the palace that the sounds of footsteps often reached our ears, along with a wavering call and chime that I soon learned signaled the arrival of the king.

Yet even though we were closer, I still did not have the chance to see him—and it was not for lack of trying.

In the first week, I sought to use my injuries to my advantage, calling out for frequent visits from the physician, complaining of a sudden stabbing pain or of bleeding through my robes. But the physician who appeared was different, and Fuchai did not accompany him.

"Where is the one who treated me before?" I asked him.

He sniffed, then poured alcohol directly onto my wound without any care or gentleness. It burned like liquid flames. I had to bite back a yelp, dig my nails into my skin. "That is the royal physician, the highest ranked in the palace. He should serve only His Majesty."

"Then who do you serve?" I asked, shaking from the pain. He did not reply, but I could guess. Wu Zixu. He must have sent the physician before anyone else could.

In the second week, when my shoulder was mostly healed, I fashioned a kite out of old fabric and twigs and thread. Zhengdan and I made these often in our village, but I understood it to be a novelty for those raised in the lavish confines of the palace. When the chimes sounded, and Fuchai drew near, I ran down the lanes with the kite soaring high above my head, willing him to come. Yet, I had flown the kite for only a few seconds when a mysterious black dart pierced through it, and it tumbled back down to the ground like an injured sparrow. I clenched the dart in my fist while the tinkling of chimes faded away.

In the third week, I wrapped little golden bells around my ankles and wrists and ventured out to the palace gardens. When he passed by on his high carriage, I began to dance, the bells jingling sweetly with my movements, the music rising through the air. Just when I heard his carriage slow, and felt the hope lift in my chest, it was Wu Zixu's dreaded voice that drifted toward me over the trees. "We mustn't delay our next meeting, Your Majesty," he said. "It is of the utmost importance."

In the fourth week, after Zhengdan had found out that Fuchai was to arrive soon, I drew a warm bath for myself and sank into the jasmine-infused waters, the steam swirling hot and thick around me. I had shooed away all the maids, and left the door just slightly ajar, designed for him to walk straight in and see me. But when footsteps finally drew near, they were the wrong ones, too light and nimble.

Water splashed to the floor as I twisted around.

One of the maids had returned. "Minister Wu Zixu has called His Majesty away for the afternoon to approve his birthday preparations. The minister asked that I inform you, so you are not kept waiting for nothing."

"I understand," I said tightly, and I did. I saw what Zixu was doing. It did not matter how charming I was, how well I'd been trained, if he would not even allow me the opportunity to see the king.

But he had unwittingly reminded me of something else. The king's birthday, just one moon away. Everyone would be expected to attend, from the most esteemed ministers to the lowliest servants. And even Wu Zixu could not prevent me from being there.