Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

T he king's birthday was a truly joyous occasion to him alone. To everyone else in the palace, it was a source of great anxiety.

In the weeks leading up to the event, the servants could be seen scrambling up and down the interlinked halls with a frenetic energy, putting up banners and scrubbing every lacquered surface until they were clean enough to be licked. The cooks sent for men to climb the remote mountains in search of rare herbs, and brewed clay pots of chicken soup for seven nights and seven days. And within the sprawling estates and embroidered screen doors, the concubines wrote letters to calligraphy masters and jewelry suppliers, arranging the most elaborate gifts.

I had no wealth or connections in this kingdom, so I could rely only on my two hands. For weeks, I'd stayed up by the flickering flame of the candles, threading a rich embroidery of dragons and phoenixes. Each glossy scale and feather contained a myriad of colors, a collection of a hundred tiny, careful stitches.

When the day came, I folded the embroidery into a rosewood box for the maids to carry, then joined the others outside in the grand pavilion.

There, amid the overhanging lilac blossoms and wisteria, sheltered from the sun, the king sat on a raised throne of white stone. He wore layers of brocade robes so fine it was difficult to believe they had been spun from mortal fabric. The hems were lined with soft fur, the sleeves decorated with silver flames. He looked terribly beautiful, the way wolves might look beautiful in blood-splattered snow.

I would have him today, I decided. I would sink my nails into his heart and force him to remember me.

For a moment, he seemed to glance my way, though it was hard to be certain. I had joined a line of twenty concubines, each dressed in their very best, their palace ladies positioned beside them. The air was thick with the unnatural fragrance of a dozen different perfumes. It made my nose itch, but I kept my expression pleasant.

One by one, the concubines stepped up and gave their blessings. The content was painfully derivative, some variation of May His Majesty live ten thousand years or May His Majesty be blessed with peace, good health, and prosperity.

"You may now present your gift," Fuchai said in a bored tone, waving them forward as though they were doing him a favor.

Precious boxes and scrolls were passed down and opened. A goose egg made from pure gold. A ship carved from ivory. A nightingale that had been trained to recite a poem praising the king—which was rather impressive the first time around, but quickly grew maddening.

"Put it somewhere far from my chambers," Fuchai said, handing the bamboo cage to one of the servants. The bird had started its tenth recitation of the poem. "Who's next?"

Lady Yu went. She had brought a mahogany statue of a leaping lion. The knife work was immaculate, the details so finely rendered it looked almost alive.

"Pretty," Fuchai said absently. That was all.

By now my palms were sweating, my throat tight with pressure. The world's greatest riches were on display before him, and he would barely give them a second glance. As Lady Yu curtsied and moved to the side, I motioned for the maid to bring my gift.

"I hope you will surprise me," Fuchai said, tilting his head to the side.

Though we were outdoors, the space felt too small, too suffocating, the pillars of the pavilion looming tall. Everyone was silent, watching me. Yet I knew even before I opened the box that something was amiss. The lock was loose. I glanced up, and I saw Wu Zixu standing in the shadows beside the king, his expression carefully blank, save for the slight curl of his lip.

Dread sliced through me.

"What is the matter?" a concubine asked aloud. "Don't take too long now."

Fuchai leaned forward too.

"Nothing," I said, keeping my tone airy. On my left, Zhengdan had stiffened, worry flashing through her eyes. She must have also sensed something was wrong. "It is a surprise, after all. Some suspense is necessary." I lifted the lid slowly, fearing the worst, and still my stomach plummeted. The embroidery had been torn into unrecognizable pieces, the threads mangled as if run through by a hasty knife. To present this to the king was not an option. But then I would be without a gift, and even if I was not punished by the whip for disrespecting the throne, I could be sure I would never win his affections.

I stood, frozen, holding that cursed box, my mind working so fast I felt dizzy. What to do? It was an impossible task, like being asked to part the seas or conjure the moon. I wanted to scream with frustration, to march up to Wu Zixu and tackle him to the ground. He was always there, always ruining everything. This was meant to be my one opportunity.

Do not react. Think , I willed myself, my blood pulsing. Find a way out of this.

"Lady Xishi?" a servant prompted, not hiding his impatience. "We do not have time to wait about—"

"Look!" Zhengdan's voice rang out from beside me.

I snapped my head up. Everyone turned to stare in the direction Zhengdan was pointing, but there was only the clear azure sky, the distant impression of the mountains.

"What?" someone asked.

"A bird," Zhengdan said, with such conviction nobody could guess that she was trying to buy me time. Gratitude swelled in my chest. "It was a giant bird with iridescent feathers and a red beak—I've read about it. It only appears in the presence of a divine being…"

Never one to miss out on an opening for flattery, a servant cried, "The divine being must be His Majesty! What an auspicious sign."

As the others murmured among themselves and craned their necks in search of a nonexistent bird, I stared around me. I had but a few seconds. My eyes fell on the pebbles near my feet, and a most ridiculous idea hit me. Ridiculous—yet I was desperate. In one quick motion, I bent down and seized a smooth pebble, wiping it clean with my sleeves before dropping it into the box.

When everyone had lost interest in the bird sighting, I was already standing upright and smiling, as though nothing had happened.

"Here is my gift," I said, my mouth dry, and held out the single pebble.

There was a long, significant pause.

My heart thudded like a startled hare. The expression on Fuchai's face was inscrutable, his dark brows just slightly raised, his eyes on me.

"This?" he said. "It's a pebble."

Even with their training, the servants standing on both sides of him dissolved into snickers. Others looked on in horror, as if they could already foresee the whip cutting open my skin. As if I were already dead.

But retreat was no longer an option. Steeling myself, I pushed ahead, my voice steady as I wove out my lie. "There are plenty who will wish for your glory and success, but such things tend to come at the expense of your personal happiness and sanity. For your birthday, Your Majesty, and every day after, I hope only that you have more time to yourself. That you may indulge in life's quiet pleasures, like skipping pebbles over water, or hand-picking a ripe fruit from a tree, or strolling through the gardens at dusk—"

"How presumptuous," a servant cut in, glaring at me. "How could someone like His Majesty lower himself to do such—such common activities?"

From the uneasy glances shared between the other attendants, they all seemed to think the same thing.

A fresh wave of fear crashed against my ribs. Would the king take offense? Would he assume I was mocking him? Would he see straight through me?

Then Fuchai smiled. He had not done so all morning, and the entire atmosphere shifted in response, the air lightening at once.

"Bring it here, Xishi," he said.

My knees were so weak from both fear and relief that I had to focus on walking in a straight line, the small pebble gripped tight in my fingers. When I reached his throne, he held out his palm, and waited, still smiling. His gaze was disarmingly gentle, like the breeze that had risen around us.

I placed the pebble into his hand, and he stared down at the coarse, rudimentary thing as if it were a treasured prize, better than all the gold and jade and porcelain the others had showered him with, unlike anything he had ever seen.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I will remember you."