Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I spent the following weeks waiting for some punishment to fall upon me. I almost wished the king had gone ahead and punished me that very night, instead of leaving my imagination to torment me. It was like holding your neck out for an execution, not knowing exactly when the axe head would fall, only that it would. Yet all was eerily calm. He made no mention of the event again, and still came to visit my chambers whenever he could. He was not cruel or cold or even petty. He admired me when I danced, listened when I sang. He smiled and teased just as easily as before, and made sure I lived in extravagant comfort. Every now and then when we were together, I would catch some shadow flickering over his face, but it was always so subtle I didn't know if it was conjured by my own paranoia, a ghost of my own guilt.

Five days passed, and all was quiet.

Another five days passed, and still all was quiet.

Just when I was starting to hope he had really forgotten about the incident, the axe swung down.

I had been summoned to the court.

There was no explanation, no information for me to glean. I could only obey. When I entered through the bronze-arched doors, everyone inside was silent, their heads bowed. A cold feeling prickled down my spine like ice water. Something was amiss. Fuchai sat high on his throne, his eyes finding mine at once. "You're here. Good."

My throat tightened. Whatever came next, I doubted it could be good.

He smiled at me, though there was an oddness to it, a stiffness. Only his skin moved, while the flesh and muscle beneath it was still as stone. His long fingers trembled slightly on the armrests. If I didn't know any better, I would say he was… nervous. But why? "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Who is it, Your Majesty?" I asked. My voice sounded so small in those grand halls, swallowed by all that dark space. I had not felt this uncertain, this powerless, since the very first day I entered the Wu palace.

Fuchai merely patted the spot next to his throne, summoning me forth. As soon as I'd taken my position beside him, he flicked his sleeve. "Bring him in," he called.

I turned, and everything inside me froze.

He entered from the far side of the hall, the sunlight flooding in from behind him, so all I could see was shadow at first, an outline. But I recognized him immediately. Even in dreams, in mist, in darkness, across the Yellow Springs, he would be as familiar to me as my own memories. His smooth stride, his straight shoulders, the proud tilt of his chin. His footsteps were silent over the well-trodden stone, his movements controlled and sleek as a predator in its own territory. My heart pounded in my throat. He drew closer, close enough for me to see his face. In all the time since we were last together, his ink-black hair had grown longer, and the marble planes of his face seemed to have been chiseled by a ruthless knife, hollowing out what little softness there'd once been. His eyes were the pitch-black of the dead, utterly unfeeling. Yet for the briefest moment, as if against his will, they swung to me, and my breath caught.

Fanli.

Flesh of my heart, light of my sun. He was here, in the enemy kingdom.

A wild storm of emotions brewed in my stomach, one nearly indecipherable from the other. If you asked me if I was happy, seeing him, I would have said yes. I felt a joy so radiant it could have transformed even those cold palace halls into a heaven, and me into a god. But in the very same instant I felt a pain worse than anything I'd endured before, sharper and hotter than when the arrowhead had impaled my shoulder, blistering and wrenching and merciless. And of course there was the dread, that cold shiver crawling down the back of my neck, all the way to my toes.

It was then that I became aware of someone watching me. No, more than one person. As Fanli moved forward, both Fuchai and Wu Zixu were studying my expression, as if determining something…

To determine whether you feel anything for him. Whether your heart is true. The answer came like a thunderclap. I pressed my horror down, forced my expression to remain pleasant, neutral. To look down at Fanli as if he were only an old acquaintance, nothing more.

My suspicions were confirmed when Fuchai made another lazy, halfhearted motion with his sleeve, and all the maids and ministers who'd been lining the sides of the court left, closing the wide doors behind them. All except Wu Zixu, who remained at the foot of the throne like a hound sniffing for blood.

"Do you recognize him?" Fuchai asked. He was still peering over at me, his black eyes narrowed.

I made myself look completely away from Fanli; it was like stepping over a cliff edge, like swinging an axe down on your own hand. Curving my lips into a smile of mild recognition, I replied, "I think so. He is the military advisor of the Yue Kingdom." Yue Kingdom , I said in that detached tone, as if it were not my home, the place that had birthed me, the place that would one day hold my bones. Sometimes it seemed Fuchai forgot I had any roots to begin with, that I was also a fully fleshed person with my own family and worldly attachments. I had often resented him for it, but today, I prayed to every deity in the sky, every god of the clouds and spirit of the earth, that he would continue forgetting.

The crease between Fuchai's brows cleared ever so slightly, though his jaw remained tensed. Then he stood, a king raised to his full height and glory, his crown perched atop his head, and opened his arms out to Fanli in what could almost have passed for a brotherly gesture if one did not know the dark history that ran between the two. "Fanli, how good to see you again. It's been too long."

Fanli stopped three feet away, his cold eyes focused only on the Wu king. My heart strained toward him. "Likewise," he said, his voice light, emotionless. He did not even acknowledge my presence.

All this time, I had missed him, missed him so potently my chest ached. But somehow I missed him more now that he stood here in the flesh, as if those few feet of distance burning between us stretched into miles. I could have bolted from the king's side, run to him, thrown my arms around him, damn all the consequences. I could have kissed him as if history did not exist, as if war was only myth. I could have grazed my fingertips over the line of his cheek bones, taken his slender hand in my own. Could, could, could. All those possibilities opening up again, blooming in his presence. But instead we remained in our respective positions, like two perfect strangers.

"Have you met my newest concubine?" Fuchai gestured toward me, as one would a grand prize. I dipped my head, hoping this would be the end of it. But he beckoned me closer, sliding me onto his lap, his arm draping over my bare shoulder. Just that morning, he'd asked me to wear the robes he'd had tailored for me, a set made of pink silk as thin and delicate as cobwebs, with lustrous pearls that glinted when I moved, the fabric all but falling down at the top and rising too high at the legs, revealing moon-bright skin and flesh. It was an impractical piece, made for the pleasure of the viewer rather than the wearer. Now I saw that this was by design too.

Quiet rage simmered in my veins, joined by some raw, bitter feeling like betrayal. How long had he been planning this? Since Fanli's name slipped my tongue, or perhaps even before that? How many nights had I lain beside him, all while he devised ways to test my feelings toward another man? I felt sick thinking about it.

But I was giving the king too much credit. Fuchai was my greatest enemy, but he was not a naturally suspicious person; it would have been Wu Zixu who'd conceived of the plan to begin with.

I would not allow him the satisfaction of succeeding.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Fuchai gloated, lifting my chin up on two sharp fingertips, another hand reaching over to stroke the side of my cheek. I made myself lean in, gaze up from under my lashes as though my eyes held only him.

Yet in my peripheral vision, I sensed Fanli's keen attention on the two of us. All his thoughts and emotions were wiped clean from his face. Only his left hand curled inward, forming a fist by his side.

His voice was impressively steady when he replied, "Of course she is, Your Majesty. We chose the best from our kingdom to pay tribute to you."

"Oh, I almost forgot." Fuchai laughed, the sound rolling through the vast chambers. "You played a role in picking her for me, didn't you? What excellent taste. I must admit I'd underestimated you, Fanli—from everything I'd heard about your reputation, I thought you had no opinions of women. Do you remember when you served me here in the Wu? All those pretty girls I sent your way—yet you refused to see a single one of them."

I stiffened. Though the king's voice was casual, there were little knives concealed behind those words, ready to cut upon the first glimpse of flesh.

"It is hardly a matter of taste, but objectivity," Fanli returned, as unflinching as ever. "I daresay anyone who sees her would be unable to deny her beauty."

"You're right, indeed." Fuchai drew me closer to him, so all I could breathe in was his scent, those dark, sweet notes of ink and sword polish and earth at midnight. When I had first entered the palace, I could always smell the fragrance of other girls' perfumes lingering on his clothes. But now his scent was entirely his, and whatever perfume marked him was mine. It ought to please me, to serve as proof of my power, my influence, but it was difficult to rejoice with Fanli standing before the throne, gazing up at the two of us. "Now that I think of it, I should thank you," Fuchai added, one corner of his lips lifting into a crooked, wolfish smile. "Truly. I don't believe I've slept so well ever since she came to my palace."

Fanli's expression remained inscrutable, carved from the purest jade, but I saw a faint muscle jump in his jaw. The color in his eyes deepened.

Stop talking , I willed Fuchai silently. Please. Just let him go.

He did stop talking—but it was only to lift his mouth to the shell of my ear. His warm breath tingled over my skin, as if nobody else was in the room. His pulse beat thick and hot next to mine, and I fantasized—a million terrible things. Most of all to run a blade through his neck, so his blood would flow and he would crumple on his own throne.

Before us Fanli stood still as a statue, his lips pale and set into an unyielding line. I saw the way Fuchai raised a brow at him, their gazes meeting as the king's arm tightened around my waist, everything in his eyes storm-dark and goading. If the two of them had been placed in battle, it would take the space of a breath for Fanli to triumph over Fuchai. But a battlefield was a battlefield, and a court was a court. They were separate spheres, and here, Fuchai held all the power.

A long moment passed. Silence. Only I could hear the violent rushing of blood in my ears, like the sound of ten thousand rivers flowing at once.

At last Fuchai reclined in his throne, his embrace loosening. Fanli had scarcely reacted, and I had forced my features to remain blank the entire time. Surely, by now we had passed whatever perverse test he and Wu Zixu had come up with? Fuchai nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, and relief shuddered through me. It was over. It had to be—

A flash of silver.

Then red.

I choked on a silent scream. Zixu had darted forth and drawn his sword, moving too quick for the eye to track. Now his blade had pierced Fanli's chest. Already blood was blooming from the wound, darkening his pale blue robes, slicking Zixu's outstretched hand. Fanli's features were strained with pain, a tendon standing in his neck, but he made no sound. No movement.

This can't be real. This can't be. I felt sick, delirious, like the world was spinning away from me. My skin flashed cold. I wanted to scream until my throat bled, to wrench the sword from Zixu's grip, to kill him. I wanted to kill everyone in this room except Fanli.

Fanli, who couldn't die. Fanli, who was bleeding.

Pain pulsed through me, as acute as if the blade were caught in my own chest, pushing past my ribs. It hurt to breathe.

"What—" There was a horrible gurgling sound when Fanli spoke, yet his tone was that of someone asking an innocuous, unrelated question, one they were only half-interested in. "What exactly—is the point of this?"

"Sorry," Fuchai said with a small, sheepish smile. I was still stuck on his lap, forced to watch from a distance. Zixu's grip on the sword hilt didn't waver. How close was it to Fanli's heart? "I was speaking with someone the other day, and I recalled that you'd killed a good deal of my men in war. Obviously not enough for you to win , but, well, a loss is still a loss. And I know, I know," he continued without any haste, his voice almost a purr, as if Fanli were not close to death, "these are old grudges. But wouldn't you rather me take whatever resentment I have out on you now, and call it even, then for me to remember at some later point, when I'm in a much fouler mood, and decide to raze all your villages? You are a person of intellect. You must agree with me."

Fanli did not answer. His face was draining of color by the second, his eyes two black stones. His blood dripped steadily, pooling beneath his feet.

I couldn't bear it any longer. I opened my mouth to yell, to demand that someone save him, but his eyes suddenly cut to me, a warning burning in them. Though the palace chambers were all but quiet, save for his ragged breathing, I heard his voice as clearly as if he'd spoken out loud: It's a trap. Don't fall for it, Xishi. You're smarter than that.

I clenched my jaw. Beneath the buzz of my panic, the thunderous beat of my heart, I understood that this was the ultimate test. If I proved overly concerned for him, if I gave Wu Zixu and Fuchai any reason to suspect our relationship was anything beyond what was normal, then all our plans would be ruined. All that time I'd spent training with him, all my days wasted away from home, all my nights curled up alone in the cold, empty chambers, dreaming of him. All our scheming and strategizing, all our kingdom's hopes and dreams.

"What do you think, Xishi?" Fuchai asked, turning to me, his movements slow and leisurely, another hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears. Before, I had thought that I couldn't possibly hate him more than I already did; I was horribly mistaken. "This man has wronged me in the past. How should I punish him?"

My throat ached as I made myself laugh, a bright, tinkling sound, as if the person suffering meant nothing to me, instead of everything. I had to convince the king. That was the only way he would release Fanli alive. "However you like, Your Majesty," I said, smiling slyly. I trailed a finger down his robe sleeves, over the place where a tiger was embroidered in silver thread. "Whatever makes you satisfied."

And there was that dog of a man, Wu Zixu, staring up at me. He twisted the sword in deeper, and a harsh breath escaped Fanli's clenched teeth, the first noise of pain. He swayed for a moment, his feet unsteady.

My head was on fire, my heart disintegrating. I wanted only to sob, but I just watched. I could not be the one to call for this to end. It had to be Fuchai, or Zixu.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Fuchai drawled, casting him a smile that revealed two pointed teeth. "Does it hurt as much as those scars on your back?"

Fanli merely looked back at the Wu king, his gaze steady and sharp as sword points, his back held deliberately straight. I had learned this about him long ago: he would never give anyone the pleasure of seeing him struggle. He hid all his pain, his doubts, his fears, and was so successful at it that the rumors had immortalized him as someone who felt nothing, who had no weaknesses, no soft spots from which to draw blood. But I knew him. I'd felt the stuttering beat of his heart, listened to the hitch in his breath. At the end of the day he was only a boy, too stubborn and disciplined for his own good.

I clenched my fingers inside my sleeves so tight I thought my knuckles might crack. Enough , I willed. Please. Enough. Stop this. I will do anything, so long as you stop this.

Another hiss. Another cold inch of the blade, pressing into flesh. I bit down on my tongue to stop from sobbing. One more move, and—

"This is getting rather tedious," Fuchai said, rolling his eyes. He leaned back in his throne. "What is the point of tormenting someone if they won't even react? He really is made of stone. Zixu, you can stop now."

The minister looked unsatisfied, but nodded and tore his sword free with a terrible ripping noise. Blood splashed onto the palace floor. Fanli reeled back, his hand clutching at his wound, and steadied himself against the nearest pillar. I watched the sharp, staggered rise and fall of his shoulders. A dark strand of hair had slipped free from his neat topknot, hanging past his jaw. Sweat beaded above his brows. After a strained moment, he asked, his voice low and forcibly controlled, "Was there anything else you wanted, Your Majesty?"

Fuchai considered it for a beat. "No, nothing I can think of. Oh—do pass along my warm greetings to Goujian, won't you? You've been so wonderfully generous to me."

"Of course."

Fanli began to turn with the stiff, wooden movements of one in silent agony. But as he did, he caught my eye. Just for a second, shorter than an exhaled breath. His complexion was pale and drenched in sweat, his mouth stained with his own blood. Yet I could've sworn his lips tugged up, the look on his face something like pride.