Silver Phoenix (49 page)

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“Who?” Ai Ling whispered, the hairs on her neck rising.

“Silver Phoenix, mistress. These are her wedding gown and shoes.”

Ai Ling wanted to retch.

“Bring the veil,” Zhen Ni said. Pearls were sewn along the hem, which helped to weigh down the gossamer red silk. She could see through the material, but her vision was shrouded in a red haze. The edge of it brushed just past her collar.

The loud bang of firecrackers from the courtyard startled her. Drums thumped and cymbals crashed outside, followed by the sound of many women in song. “The bridal sedan is here, mistress. Let us help you to your feet,” Zhen Ni said.

Ai Ling felt a gentle hand on each elbow. She rose from the stool, then tottered on pinched toes. “I’m not sure if I can walk in these,” she said through clenched teeth.

“We’ll help you to the sedan, mistress. You’ll not have to walk far.”

This was true, Ai Ling thought wryly to herself. Being a new bride required much sitting, kneeling, and lying on one’s back. Firecrackers popped again. The acrid smell of the smoke infiltrated the chamber as Ai Ling took slow steps forward.

They finally emerged into the open courtyard, where a red sedan with a sloping gilded roof awaited her. Men dressed in red with golden dragons embroidered on their tunics surrounded it. The entire courtyard was lit by giant red and 281

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pearl white lanterns, strung on the end of long wooden poles held by servant boys.

The singers wore sky blue gowns with sheer embroidered sleeves fl owing to the ground. The air swirled with color as their arms circled in unison.

Ai Ling bit her lip as she was helped into the sedan. The taste of the berry rouge prompted her to lick her teeth. The gold bangles on her wrists tinkled as the attendants lifted the sedan and the procession made its way, she assumed, to the banquet hall. Both sides of the sedan were heavily curtained, and sounds came to her muffl ed.

Ai Ling wished for more time, even if it were in this stuffy dark box, with the scent of her creams and body powder overpowering her senses. She uncorked the vial and placed it to her lips.

The tiny crystal tears hit her tongue and melted into bitterness, grief, and anger in her mouth. The same feelings she felt the day they were collected—when Li Rong was slain.

Her heart thudded against the breast binder. She clutched at the magnificent wedding gown and willed the attendants to move faster. To carry her with speed toward a fate she did not choose, but one she would accept in exchange for her father’s life. In exchange for Chen Yong’s.

She would make Zhong Ye pay. Ai Ling welcomed the grief and rage that coursed through her; hot, fresh, potent.

She would kill him—or die herself.

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The drummers beat a slow rhythm that filled her senses until her heart, the pulse in her throat, her breathing, seemed to mimic it—be captured by it. She gripped the empty vial in her hand. The attendants slowed and halted.

The banquet master helped her onto a carpet of gold cloth that shot a path to the wedding hall. Her feet would never touch the ground. She focused on the red dragons and phoenixes embroidered on the cloth as she took one small, painful step after another.

She heard the song girls, leading the way. Their song was now accompanied by flute and strings while the drummers thumped quietly. The hall hushed when she stepped inside.

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She frantically searched the crowd for her father, for Chen Yong. She twisted this way and that until the banquet master gripped her hard by the elbow, pulling her forward so abruptly that she stumbled. The crowd was ten deep, and the curious faces of strangers blurred together.

A slight breeze shifted her veil as Zhong Ye stepped forward. She smelled his cologne. Fury swelled within her. She wound it tight around her spirit, steeled herself against him.

He tied a golden sash into the double same-heart knot, then bent over her, fastening the other end to her hand. The moments of silence pounded against her ears.

“The bride and groom are one. The groom may examine his bride’s features,” the banquet master announced.

Zhong Ye lifted the veil, and Ai Ling saw her father and Chen Yong among the guests behind him. Their faces were pale, taut with worry. Tears rushed to her eyes. He raised her chin with two fingers, causing a stir among the crowd.

Forced to look up, she tucked her spirit even deeper, using her anger as a shield. Would he kiss her? Bind her with sorcery? A trickle of sweat rolled down her back.

“Proceed to the altar and pay your respects to all those who have gone before.” The banquet master’s warm, strong voice resonated through the long hall.

Ai Ling felt a tug at her hand as Zhong Ye walked backward to the altar, leading her by the short sash as if she were on a leash. She followed him, stumbling once, the ornate wedding gown too heavy. He helped her kneel on 284

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the ivory step before the altar and knelt down beside her.

“Bow thrice to heaven,” the banquet master said.

She bowed three times, the breath crushed from her each time she bent forward in the stiff gown.

“Bow thrice to earth,” the banquet master intoned. Ai Ling bowed again.

“And bow three times to your ancestors, your father and your mother.” Her throat tightened. Mother did not even know her only child was about to wed. She wished that her father didn’t know either.

“Rise now, and drink from one cup as husband and wife,”

the banquet master said.

A song girl approached with the nuptial cup—as big and deep as a noodle bowl, made of red enamel and inlaid with jewels. Ai Ling had never seen anything so elaborate, so gaudy. The song girl offered the cup to Zhong Ye, and he took it in both hands, forcing Ai Ling to stumble closer, pulled by the sash. He raised the ceremonial cup to his lips and sipped.

He offered the cup to her, and their fingers touched. Ai Ling took a deep breath, tried to steady her hand. She made sure her lips did not drink from the same place he had. The wine tasted thick and sweet, made her thirst for fresh water.

The song girl took the ornate cup away. Zhong Ye reached for her knotted hand, and she clenched her teeth. His hand was as smooth as a child’s and cool against her own hot skin.

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“They are wed! We celebrate now at the banquet. May no one go thirsty or hungry this night, as your happiness will only augment that of the bride and groom.”

The throng shouted congratulations three times in unison, the cheers thundering around the hall. Festive music and singing erupted again as Zhong Ye walked the gold-clothed path and pulled Ai Ling, tripping, behind him. Ai Ling craned her neck, desperately searching the crowd for her father and Chen Yong. But hundreds of people swarmed around her, and she could not see them.

Zhong Ye led her to a massive banquet hall. The ceiling was higher than any Ai Ling had seen in the Palace. Red-and-gold lanterns cast bright light on a banquet table that stretched the entire length of the room. It was so long she could not make out the faces at the opposite end. Guards fl anked the walls, still and silent.

Just as she approached her own carved seat, she saw that her father and Chen Yong had been seated to her immediate left. She rushed toward them, but Zhong Ye held her back. Her father looked so much older; the lines near his eyes, the creases on his brow. The tall table and elaborate chair seemed to swallow him. Their eyes met, and she nearly burst into tears. He half rose to his feet, but Chen Yong restrained him with one hand.

Chen Yong’s handsome face was dark with fury—so unlike him that it shocked her. Ai Ling gave a slight shake of her head. He saw and looked down. Please don’t 286

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do anything foolish, she thought. Please don’t.

The moment she and Zhong Ye were seated, the drums thundered to a crescendo, then ceased as servants presented each guest with the first dish of the wedding feast. Magnificent entrees presented in lacquered trays arrived one after the other. Fish, prawns, pheasant, and boar. Succulent roots, rare fruits, nuts, and tender vegetables. Ai Ling forced herself to eat. She lost count of how many dishes were brought.