Fury of the Phoenix (17 page)

They stopped at a stand where a short man with a bristling beard was cooking almonds in sugar. He stirred the nuts with a wooden stick, and the sugary scent was divine. Deen bought them each a portion, poured into a cone twisted from paper. She chomped on the almonds as she followed her nose toward the aroma of roasting meats.

They finally found the stand where two men and one woman were grilling sausages and roasting whole chickens and pigs. The woman, her wavy hair pulled back in a turquoise scarf, was slathering a dark sauce onto the
sizzling meats. Ai Ling could smell the spice and garlic, and her mouth watered.

“What would you like?” Chen Yong asked.

“Anything.” She gasped. “Everything.”

Chen Yong laughed and spoke to one of the men and pointed at the grill. The man wore a red scarf tied around his forehead, and his cheeks were smudged with ash. He threw slices of meat on a thick slab of bread and dolloped grilled onions and peppers over them before putting another slice of bread on top. He cut everything in half, then wrapped it in paper.

Chen Yong paid and juggled the various packages, already beginning to stain with grease. “I bought enough so you can try everything.” He grinned at Ai Ling, and she wanted to kiss him.

They wandered into a tent. A puppet show was taking place, with a white wooden horse and a maiden in a puffy pink dress bobbing across a small painted stage. Children, transfixed by the action, clustered near the front. They sat on benches at the back of the tent and ate their stacks, as Master Deen called them, and washed everything down with an iced drink of lemon and elderflower.

Ai Ling sighed contentedly after the meal, wiping her fingers on the paper the stacks had been wrapped in. They then strolled through the market for another hour
before Deen took them on a tour of the rest of the city. They stopped at two other temples that featured the Deen family’s magnificent stained glass. Deen explained that rich nobles also commissioned his work, but their estates were set back behind elaborate iron fences, hidden from public view.

“Your windows are so inspiring,” she said as they headed back into the countryside toward the Deen manor. “The color combinations are breathtaking.”

“It makes me think of brush painting,” Chen Yong said. “And how we utilize colors in our art.”

Master Deen’s face lit up. “You’re an artist?”

“I draw a little. But mainly paint,” Chen Yong replied.

“So you sketch and work with color?” Master Deen asked.

“Yes.”

“I would love to teach you my craft, son. To pass this skill on to you so that you can continue the family business.”

“Father…”

Deen reached across the carriage to grasp Chen Yong’s hand. Ai Ling’s throat tightened. Is this what Chen Yong wished for?

“I’ve never considered it,” Chen Yong said. “You’re offering me too much.”

Master Deen shook his head, his face thoughtful. He did not drop his son’s hand. “It’s your right, Chen Yong. It can all be yours if you want it.”

The rest of the carriage ride was a quiet one. Ai Ling glanced at Chen Yong several times, but he stared out the window, lost in thought.

She turned away and peered out her own window. The sun was slanting low in the horizon. A movement caught her eye: a lone crow spiraled in the distance. As the carriage thundered forward, the bird seemed to follow them, dropping lower and gliding on the wind. Its wing feathers were white. Her chest tightened, and she pressed her face against the window. Perhaps it was a reflection of the light. The crow swerved closer and flew parallel to the carriage. There was no mistaking it: a white-winged crow.

An omen of death.

Her skin prickled, tingling to her fingertips, and she turned to Chen Yong, but the words caught in her throat. She ached to know where his thoughts ran but held her spirit to herself. When she glanced back out her window, the crow was gone.

Ah Na greeted them at the door to say dinner was ready in the dining hall. She slid a curious look at Chen Yong. “How was your visit to Seta?” she asked, waiting
for Chen Yong to offer his arm. He did, and she sashayed down the marbled hallway, her full peach skirt swishing behind her.

Unable to shake her unease, Ai Ling followed.

Peng fell in step with her after dinner. “We haven’t had a chance to talk,” he said.

Ai Ling glanced behind her. Nik and Ah Na were walking together and speaking conspiratorially. Chen Yong had disappeared after the meal.

Peng paused when they arrived at her bedchamber. “I’ve been reading up on your plight as best as I can.” He shot a glance up and down the hallway and lowered his voice. “There isn’t much information in the books I have. And what there is, is rather cryptic. But I’m researching and hope to find a solution for you.”

She knew he was honest, earnest. “Thank you.”

“I do need your help,” he said. “Will you tell me everything that happened? On your wedding night?”

She shuddered, then forced herself still. “Would it be useful to you?”

“Tremendously,” he said.

She dropped her chin. Ai Ling did not want to remember that night, tried her best never to think of it. But it was like a seed deeply rooted within her mind;
it was always with her. “I’ll tell you everything I can.”

Peng followed her into the bedchamber, lit now by gilded lanterns.

Mei Gui had her baby in the tenth moon, a chubby boy with a healthy cry. The Emperor visited personally, after Zhong Ye brought him the good news. Mei Gui’s trysts with the Son of Heaven had stopped months before, but Zhong Ye had never let her or the baby slip from the Emperor’s mind. All this hard work and diligent attention had resulted in the perfect outcome, a baby boy who had a high chance of becoming Emperor one day.

The Emperor cradled the bundle swathed in imperial yellow to his chest and peered down at the babe, his face beaming with pride. “He has his beautiful mother’s eyes,” he said, smiling.

“But your nose and mouth, Your Majesty,” Mei Gui murmured from her bed.

The Emperor passed his son to the nursemaid and leaned over to kiss Mei Gui on the lips. “You’re to be promoted in rank, my rose. I’ll give you gifts the next time we meet. Alone.”

Zhong Ye looked at Silver Phoenix. They would
celebrate Mei Gui’s rise in stature as well. The Emperor waved for Zhong Ye to accompany him back to his private study.

“Congratulations on your son, Your Majesty,” he said, matching the Emperor’s stride. Eight guards trailed them, their footsteps beating in sync against the cobblestones.

“You did well to bring Mei Gui to me, Zhong. I like the girl.” He rubbed the short beard on his chin. “If I don’t have enough sons, I risk their dying young, leaving my kingdom without an heir. I have too many, and I risk their killing one another.” He barked a loud laugh. Zhong Ye kept his face expressionless and stepped ahead to open the door panel for the Emperor.

The guards remained outside as the Son of Heaven made himself comfortable in his study, which was filled with books and paintings by famous artists, living and gone. A handmaid of no more than fifteen years stepped from a hidden alcove and poured them rice wine. “Tell me, how is the research on immortality progressing with Yokan?” The Emperor leaned back in his chair and regarded Zhong Ye with heavy-lidded eyes.

“We’re making progress on the spell, Your Majesty.” His emperor was shrewd, when he wasn’t distracted and chose to be. Zhong Ye knew Yokan had been giving the Emperor a fake potion, laced with minimal amounts of
the empress root. It was powerful enough so he’d feel the effects, but it was nothing life-altering.

“He tells me you slew a horrible monster, a beast, to harvest this root?”

Taken aback, Zhong Ye paused before replying, “Yes, Your Majesty.” He didn’t know that Yokan and the Emperor had been talking about him or what had been said. Had the alchemist been truthful?

“Well done. And the next harvest?”

“Not until the eighth moon next year. According to the royal astrologer.”

The Emperor drummed his fingers against a gilded desk. “And you will be the one to retrieve them again?”

“I’m not certain, Your Majesty.”

“Will there be another beast protecting the roots?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

“You’ll go. And you’ll bring the entire batch back to me,” said the Emperor. “I don’t trust that foreigner. But I need to keep him content as he works on his spell.”

Zhong Ye nodded, trying to hide his thoughts with another sip of wine.

“Make it happen.” The Emperor pounded on his desk.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor stood, and Zhong Ye jumped to his feet. The Emperor came around to clasp Zhong Ye on the
shoulder with a firm hand, startling him. The Son of Heaven had never touched him before. “You’re also to be rewarded, Zhong, for your hard work.”

Zhong Ye bowed low. “I do have one request, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor crooked his fingers, indicating that Zhong Ye straighten. “Do you?” There was a mixture of curiosity and amusement in his narrow eyes.

“It is in regard to Silver Phoenix….”

Zhong Ye and Silver Phoenix had eaten the light meal quickly, feeding each other fresh slices of pineapple and giggling like children. They dipped their hands into the pond to rinse off the fruit’s sticky juice. A white swan, as regal as any empress, glided toward them. Silver Phoenix made a soft, clucking sound and extended her hand toward it. “This one’s female.”

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“She’s smaller.” The swan made an elegant arc in the water and swam back to her partner.

“They mate for life,” Silver Phoenix said, her head tilting a little as she watched the pair swim side by side.

“So do people.”

She laughed. “People! People are as fickle as the cravings of a woman with child. As changing as the tide
in—” She stopped in mid-sentence when she caught the expression on his face.

“I’m not fickle or ever-changing,” he said in a quiet voice.

“My love.” She wound her arms around his waist. “I never had a reason to believe in anything otherwise until I met you.”

His heart seemed to expand within him until it was difficult to breathe. “I’ve spoken with the Emperor; he’s given his blessing for our betrothal.”

She stepped back and stared at him, her lips parted. “You jest.”

Zhong Ye laughed and caught her hand. “I wouldn’t. Not about this. You know it’s what I’ve wanted all along.” Too afraid to look at her, he cleared his throat. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

She squeezed his fingers and smiled. “Of course not.”

Two kingfishers with emerald throats chased each other across the pond before disappearing. Silver Phoenix and Zhong Ye meandered through the tall grasses and vivid wildflowers. She stopped to pick some, humming as she made a fragrant bouquet, then tucked a purple blossom behind her ear and fixed one of deep green behind his. He laughed, indulging her. She rewarded him with a kiss.

They entered the Lovers’ Garden, named for the secret alcoves tucked throughout for romantic trysts. He drew her into one. The heart’s blossom was in bloom, winding its way up an arch above them, and he pulled a flower down, admiring the periwinkle petals. Silver Phoenix would look beautiful in a tunic of this color, he thought. She wore a flowing dress of pale blue today, and her hair was braided and coiled close to her head. She pushed him playfully onto the bench and sat beside him.

“I need to speak with you on an important matter,” he said.

Her expression grew serious, and she brushed his silk sleeve. “What could be more important than our betrothal?” she asked.

It was hard for him to meet her eyes. “I believe I’ve discovered a way to extend my life. To extend yours.”

She stiffened and leaned away. “It’s that alchemist. He’s put strange ideas in your head.”

“Not strange, love. Think of the possibilities. The Emperor is a drunkard, a slave to his libido. He couldn’t make the right choice for a banquet menu if he had to.”

Silver Phoenix didn’t speak, would not look at him.

Zhong Ye smelled the subtle jasmine of her hair and skin and the sweet scent of the heart’s blossom. “I can
help guide the Emperor in his mandates, as I rise higher in rank. I can become his most trusted adviser.”

She lifted her face then to meet his eyes, and his heart dropped, to see her love and worry. He reached for her hand, but she brushed it aside.

“I know you’ll be able to accomplish all these things. You have a lifetime before you.” She swept her arm in a grand gesture, as if anything were possible. “They’ll dedicate poems to you, sing of all your good deeds, your wisdom. Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t. Not after what he had seen, had experienced.

“But we could have more. Don’t you want the chance to live forever?” he asked. “We’ve discovered the spell for immortality. It works.”

She shifted farther away from him on the bench. “You’ve tried it?”

Five times already. It had become a need, a compulsion. And he had learned not to think of the prisoners as people, but rather as another component of the spell. He lied. “Only once. To know that it works.” His scalp tingled as he wrenched his gaze away from her. She’d never understand,
couldn’t
understand until she tried it herself.

“Please don’t do it again, Zhong,” she whispered. “It’s wrong, unnatural.”

He suddenly felt defensive, angry. What did she know? He was the scholar, the one to solve the riddle, the one to kill the Poison Eagle and harvest the precious empress root. She didn’t understand enough to appreciate fully what he offered, all that he had risked to share this gift with her.

Her body was tense, although she tried to hide it. He could tell by the stiff arch of her neck, the way her hands lay rigid in her lap. They were silent for a long time, sitting side by side, barely touching.

Zhong Ye wondered what he could do to change her mind.

Returning to him late that evening, she slipped into his bedchamber ethereal as a goddess, her green gown luminous in the moonlight. She climbed onto the tall platform bed, and he said nothing as she pulled each comb and hairpin from her head, until her black hair fell down her back.