Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

J ust as promised, Fanli was waiting on the river banks, illuminated by the pale, ghostly light of the full moon.

He was not alone. Behind him stood a line of horses: three beautiful mares, each of their dark coats gleaming, muscles rippling as they pawed the ground, their bridles polished until they shone even in the darkness. Zhengdan was already mounted atop one of them, her spine as straight as a soldier's, one hand stroking her horse's withers. These majestic creatures were to the dull-eyed, half-lame animals of our village what silk is to ramie. As my footsteps crunched over the twigs, one of them tossed her great head and whickered softly.

Fanli looked up too, and met me halfway.

"You came." The moonlight rendered his features lovelier than ever, tracing out the slope of his jawbone and nose. If my beauty was of the destructive kind, his was a beauty that pressed exquisitely close to sorrow; something as cold and untouchable as the stars scattered overhead.

"I would like the finest quality rice," I said in response.

He tilted his head; a question.

"For my parents," I clarified, before I could lose my nerve. If he truly needed me as much as he claimed, he ought to agree, no matter how bold my demands. "You said you would compensate them. They must be cared for as one would care for their own blood. They are to receive fresh fish from the rivers, duck meat, and lamb every day. Especially duck meat. That is my mother's favorite. My father—he has a bad leg. He will need a proper cane, and warm bedding in the winter to prevent it from acting up. The window-paper also needs to be repaired, and there are holes in the roof, which always leak when it rains."

"Very well." If I did not know better, I would say he looked almost amused. "Is that all?"

My heart had started pounding as it had not since I snuck out of the house. I fought to maintain a fa?ade of calm. If I were leaving, I would do so with my hands steady by my sides and my chin held high. "For now. But I will let you know, should I think of anything later."

"So you are ready to depart?"

Of course I was not. "Yes."

To my shock, he bowed to me then, his head at such a low angle that it came down to my waist. "I do not take your choice tonight lightly," he said, his voice hushed. "All of Yue will remember you; I swear it." As he righted himself again, slowly, he gazed up at me from beneath the shadow of his lashes. There was a look in his eyes, one I did not have the vocabulary for yet. Then it vanished entirely, and in a brisk, businesslike manner, he guided me over to the mare in the middle.

She was the shortest of the steeds and had a white patch like a star on her noble forehead. Still, I could not quite reach the stirrups on my own. After Fanli helped me up with one arm, careful not to brush any skin, then strode forward to his mount, I looked out at the river and thought to myself: How fitting that the one who saved my life should now be the one to lead me away from it.

We traveled in darkness, guided only by the song of the river.

It was halfway that I realized this was a strategic choice on Fanli's part. There would be nobody around to witness us at night, to question this sight: a young man dressed in the finest robes, accompanied by two girls of marrying age. Nobody to make their own erroneous assumptions about what this meant.

My mare had been trained well. Even when we passed rock-strewn roads and barbed bushes rustling with nocturnal prey, she did not flinch, nor spook. The lightest touch of the stirrups against her belly, the flick of the reins, was sufficient to prompt a response from the creature. The sound of her steady gait was soothing, an echo to my own heartbeat. I tried not to think about everything I was leaving behind. Or about the dark waters I was wading into, the murky, outflung stretch of black. We were already too far from my village to turn back.

At dawn, with the air rising warm around us, we finally arrived.

I had not known what to expect—only that we were headed to someplace private, where we would live and be trained in secret. But perhaps that was for the best, for my imagination would have failed me anyway. The cottage was raised up on the slope of a mountain, high enough to have an open view of the city below, yet fringed by enough plum blossom trees and shrubbery to remain well concealed. Its green-painted roofs flared out like wings on both sides, and its vermilion walls shone with dew. Just above the front doors, the words RIVERSONG COTTAGE had been etched into the wood from right to left. When I inhaled, there was a new, foreign scent to my surroundings: something clear and sweet, like the first melting of ice in the spring.

A man was waiting at the entrance.

The sun had risen to cast his face in reddish hues. He was neither young nor old, yet he carried himself with the weary, hardened air of one who had already seen too much of the world. His features themselves were on the plainer side, broad-jawed and firm, albeit not fine enough to be handsome. The thing that caught my attention, though, was his gaze.

He watched us like a hawk as we dismounted and approached the gates on foot. A suspicion stirred under my skin. My throat tightened at the possibility. Could it really be that—

"You've found her?" he asked, speaking only to Fanli, even while his eyes remained on me.

"She is the best of the best, just as promised. A beauty like no other; you can see for yourself," Fanli returned. Then he clapped his hands together before him and lowered his head. "Your Majesty."

Your Majesty.

I exchanged a quick, startled look with Zhengdan before hastily lowering myself too, mimicking Fanli's position. From this angle, I could only see the bright emerald grass and the polish of King Goujian's boots. Above me, as if from a great distance, I heard him remark:

"Neither of them have an understanding of basic etiquette? Girls are meant to curtsy, not bow."

I flushed and straightened at once. Both King Goujian and Fanli were looking toward me; Goujian, with sharp appraisal; and Fanli, without any visible emotion at all.

"I discovered them in a remote village," Fanli said. "You cannot expect them to be as well versed in etiquette as those of the court. There's no need for concern though—such things can be taught."

Goujian's brows rose. "Oh, I forget: You were once like them too, weren't you, Fanli?"

Surprise flickered through me. What exactly did he mean by that? Fanli's expression remained impassive, yet his spine stiffened. Before he could reply, Goujian had already moved on—to me.

"Could they really be taught within ten weeks? You know we do not have much time left, and I have waited too long for this." The gleam in his eyes was almost crazed. "We'd promised the Wu the tributes would arrive before midwinter—if we fail to deliver, the little trust we've built up will go to waste. We cannot afford that."

"It is enough time, I guarantee it," Fanli said.

"Well, you are certainly right about her," Goujian said, examining me closely, as one would a well-forged sword. I resisted the urge to jerk away. This was the king, after all. And I would have to endure far more in the Wu Kingdom. "She is quite captivating. With proper training… Fuchai won't stand a chance." The soft vehemence with which he spoke Fuchai's name startled me.

Goujian saw, and smiled again. "What is your name?"

"Xishi," I said, even though it was not actually my real name, but the one everyone in my village had given me. Somehow, it felt most fitting. Then, remembering too late: "Your Majesty."

"Xishi," he repeated. "A pretty name. Tell me, Xishi, what is your opinion of the Wu?"

I might not yet have received any official training, but I saw the answer ablaze in those dark, hawklike eyes. Besides, I did not have to think up a lie; I needed only to remember the blood gurgling in my sister's throat, her tiny hands reaching for me as the soldier drove the sword deeper into her flesh. When Susu died, it'd felt as though the whole universe had been tipped off-balance. Here was the chance to restore it. "I hate them," I said quietly. "They are monsters, raised on violence and trickery. I wish only to bring the kingdom to its knees."

King Goujian nodded, satisfied, and said to Fanli, "She is perfect."

The cottage was empty, save for the quiet, shadowlike presence of a maidservant, who retreated into the kitchens upon our arrival, and the far noisier presence of a guard our age. He had told me his name, though I had forgotten it just as quickly, too distracted by everything else that was happening. If I was to become a spy, I would have to learn to pay better attention. The guard kept up a rapid stream of chatter as he led us to our rooms in the eastern wing.

"I take it you've met the king already?" he asked.

My straw sandals padded over the smooth floors after him, which were made of a wood so dark I could see my reflection blurred in it, like the surface of water. The halls here were much wider, and there was not a single crack or leak to be found in the walls.

"We have," I said.

He glanced back over his shoulder, a sly, conspiratorial look on his face. He reminded me a little of a fox, with his arched brows and crooked grin. "What do you think?"

I hesitated. I had watched the king leave moments earlier, yet I couldn't be sure where this guard's loyalties lay, how these relationships worked. He seemed to serve Fanli, who served Goujian; surely that meant he was working for King Goujian, too?

Yet while all this raced through my mind, along with all the vague replies I could give, Zhengdan had already responded.

"In complete honesty? Rather disappointing."

My next step faltered, but she went on:

"I expected him to be more… well, kingly."

To both my shock and relief, the guard did not immediately execute her on the spot. Instead, he laughed, the sound muffled by his hand, as if he were sharing a secret with the both of us. "Interesting. What would you define as kingly ? A carriage of gold? A crown on his head? A line of servants waiting at his disposal?"

Zhengdan shrugged. As much as I admired her brazen courage, sometimes it was also a great source of my concern. "To me, he does not look so different from a common man."

"But haven't you heard?" The guard's smile tugged higher on one side, and he made a dramatic show of looking around us—though we were the only people in these halls—before continuing in a whisper, "He insists on living like a common man too. It's said that he sleeps on brushwood, and hangs a piece of gallbladder in his room, from which he drinks every night. He also refuses to indulge in any form of luxury, even when they are offered to him on opened hands. All this, so he will not forget Kuaiji."

" Gallbladder? " Zhengdan repeated, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Kuaiji?" I said with shallow recognition. It was the fallen city where Goujian had been forced to surrender to the Wu soldiers. Still, the way the guard spoke of it suggested at another story there, something even more shameful than a military defeat.

The guard merely winked. "If you two would prefer not to lose your head to a very sharp and expensive sword, I'd advise that you don't mention Kuaiji in Goujian's presence, should you see him again."

"But what happened there?" I asked.

"Oh, that's not for me to say." The guard paused outside a wide doorway, seeming to enjoy the suspense, or just the attention. "Perhaps Fanli will be so generous as to tell you the details, when he is in an agreeable mood."

"And when will that be?"

"Most likely never," the guard said, laughing. "I've known him since I was fifteen, and the advisor is many things: noble, strategic, judicious, too intelligent for his own good. But agreeable is unfortunately not one of them."

We entered a vast chamber that smelled faintly of rosewood and something else, something new. Its furnishings were simple yet elegant, with two canopy beds and a cabinet so large I doubted all my possessions could fill even a single drawer. There were mirrors, too, laid out on the table, their golden-bronze sheen like the light of small suns. The entire room was brightly lit. Across from where we stood was a window; through its lattice frame, I could glimpse the lotus pond in the courtyard and the old greens of a camphor tree.

This, I realized, was where we would be staying for the next ten weeks.

A sudden wave of homesickness crashed over me. I tightened my grip on my satchel, which contained within it only a few rough-spun tunics and a hairpin Father had carved for me himself from wood. I had not known what else to bring. The skin above my sternum felt empty without the familiar weight of my jade pendant.

Would my parents have woken by now? Did they know I was gone?

Someone touched my wrist. I looked up, blinked the ache from my eyes. It was Zhengdan. There was a knowing in her expression; even though she did not appear so sad to have left the village behind, she understood.

"You can just set your things down here," the guard told us. "Fanli is expecting you in the dining hall."

I quickly collected myself and tucked the satchel away. I would not think about my parents anymore. I would grow into a different person here, with a new room and new clothes and new wants. Someone who could cast spells on the most powerful of men and deceive without any softening of the heart.

The dining hall was not difficult to find. The scent of roasted meat wafted out to greet us yards before we had even stepped into the room. My stomach grumbled, a sharp pang of hollowness striking me with full force. On the ride here, I had not even entertained the thought of food. But now, it was all I could think about. Not the coarse millet buns from our village, the mung bean porridge that was too often diluted down to mildly flavored water, but real meat.

My footsteps quickened.

Inside, a feast was already laid out on a low table. Fanli sat alone on one side, his bowl of rice untouched, his chopsticks set down, hardly even interested in what had been spread out right under his nose: plates of crisp bamboo shoots; a whole fish slathered in a golden-brown sauce, the white meat so tender it sprung apart on its own; slices of chicken cooked with fresh chestnuts and chilies. I could imagine the taste just from the scent—the give of the bamboo between my teeth, the notes of sweetness mixed with the richer tang of dark soy sauce and oil—

"Hungry?" Fanli asked, catching my eye. "Sit down. This is for the two of you."

We needed no further invitation. I grabbed the pair of chopsticks to my left and pushed as much food into my bowl as it could physically contain. It was so hot still that I could see the steam rising from the fish.

Fanli waited until we had both eaten a few bites of everything before speaking. "In the palace, that is not how you take your meals."

I paused, my chopsticks hovering in midair. "What do you mean?"

Zhengdan did not even stop chewing. Through a mouthful of food, she said, "Don't tell me we are meant to learn etiquette for eating too."

"You must." Fanli rose from the table, his eyes cold. "First, you are supposed to wait outside the door until you are called in. You must then curtsy—with your hands like this." He clasped his own hands together, then shifted them to one side while bending the knee ever so slightly. "Do not make eye contact with him. Do not tilt your head. Wait for him to excuse you before approaching the table from the side." He gestured to our left. "When you sit, your feet must remain like so."

Zhengdan stared at him. "We must do all of that? Every time?"

"Not only that." He lowered himself back down in his seat. "Nobody is allowed to touch their chopsticks—much less eat—until the king has eaten first. If he raises a goblet of wine in toast, then you must ensure your goblet is placed lower than his. And when you do lift your chopsticks, you must take care to arrange your robes." He made a series of elaborate movements with his broad sleeves, fanning them out almost like a dance before slowly lifting them up to cover his mouth.

Catching my eye, Zhengdan muttered to me, "By the time we finish, all the dishes will have gone cold."

I bit back a smile. It did seem somewhat absurd, all these unnecessary flourishes of movement, all the subtle rules and expectations. And what was their purpose, exactly? To make the king feel more important? In our village, there was barely enough time to eat as it was. Nobody would waste it on such hollow gestures as these. I couldn't even count the number of times I had seen a villager crouching in one corner, shoving chunks of millet bun into their mouth as though in fear somebody would snatch it away.

"You may find it laughable now," Fanli said evenly. "But only the other lunar month, a court official was beheaded for lifting his wine higher than the king's. They found it a blatant sign of disrespect."

All my mirth withered, and my stomach clenched. The images that flashed through my mind were enough to dissolve my appetite: the young official who had forgotten himself for only a second, who raised his goblet with perhaps too much enthusiasm, so eager was he to please—and the wine dropped from his trembling hands, the dark red spill of it like blood against the smooth palace floors. A sick feeling frothed inside me. I paid closer attention when Fanli showed us the eating rituals once more, and managed to emulate him on the fifth try. Zhengdan succeeded on the eighth.

"Now you understand the basics," Fanli said, "it is important to perform them in such a way that is pleasing to the eye. Remember, you will be watched the whole time."

And so our lessons began.