Silver Phoenix (52 page)
Authors: Cindy. Pon
For a mere breath, the world hung motionless between them.
Then she heard Zhong Ye speak in his own mind.
Why?
“Because I loved you,” Ai Ling replied, in a voice not her own.
She felt herself lifted into the air from the force of hundreds of spirits passing. They slashed across her bare flesh in a thunderous roar before she fell back onto the bed.
Small lights danced across her vision, and the room came back to her in a slow blur. Zhong Ye was sprawled beneath her, emaciated, barely human, unrecognizable. She twisted away from him, her hand pressed to her mouth. His sunken eyes were open, staring up at the red-and-gold wedding lanterns. But no life fl ickered within them.
A soft sob fell from her bruised lips. She tottered and reeled before darkness smothered her consciousness.
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Ai Ling dreamed of Li Rong. They sat in the gardens of the Golden Palace, by the banks of the Scarlet River. He showed her a coin trick, and she laughed. The gold coin then turned into an emerald duck and waddled into the shallow water. She clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “Do another!”
“But I need my heart back,” he replied.
A gaping hole bloomed across his chest. Ai Ling shivered in the sunlight.
“Without it, I cannot be reincarnated.” There was the same mischievous glint in his dark eyes, the same smile on the corners of his mouth. She ached to see him again. Of 300
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course he was right; she had been led so far astray. By her own pride, her stubbornness—her anger against the gods.
“Besides, you always had my heart. I just never had yours.”
Li Rong extended his hand and she reached out her own, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
“I know, it’s an awful jest, even for me,” he said, his fingers brushing hers like a kiss.
Ai Ling woke with a start, her throat parched, the salt of tears on her lips. She turned her head. Zhong Ye’s skeletal hand grazed her cheek, and she jerked away, choking back a cry. She felt no triumph. Her teeth clacked violently, and she hugged a cushion to her nakedness. Were Father and Chen Yong all right? She tore her eyes away from the corpse to glance up at the lattice panels. The sun had not yet risen.
She stepped from the bed, bent, like an old woman. She took several deep breaths, her hands pressed against her trembling thighs, before she was able to straighten. She searched the bedchamber and found her knapsack in the red wedding cabinet. Zhen Ni had not failed her.
She pulled on a pale green tunic and trousers, then retrieved the cloth bundle containing Li Rong’s heart, still ice cold to the touch. She placed it with care on the bed. Ai Ling reached for a lantern and poured the lamp oil on the coverlet, lowered the burning wick to its braided edge.
“Forgive me, Li Rong. I only wanted to make things right.”
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She murmured a prayer to the Goddess. The material caught fi re, fed on the silks and satins of the bed.
She stumbled backward, clutching her knapsack. The fire’s heat burned her throat, seared her skin. She turned and ran.
Her last glimpse was of the golden drapes of the bed burst-ing into fl ames.
The night air revived her. The courtyard was empty. She sat underneath a plum tree, pulled her knees to her chest, and watched as the fire grew. The blaze from within the bedchamber cast menacing shadows through the high lattice windows.
It was Zhen Ni who discovered her, teeth clattering, despite the heat from the inferno. “Mistress!” The alarm in the handmaid’s voice was clear.
Ai Ling rose to her feet, only just realizing they were cold and bare. “Bring my father, Master Wen, to me. And Chen Yong.” It was a command, as regal as any empress could make.
Uncertainty fl ickered across the girl’s delicate features. Ai Ling lifted her chin. “Master Zhong is dead. You need not fear him.” Zhen Ni’s mouth grew as round as a goose egg.
She half bowed before rushing out of the courtyard.
Several eunuchs charged in from another entrance, shouting over one another. Huge urns of water were wheeled by servants who suddenly swarmed the courtyard. Alarm bells clanged. More eunuchs emerged, pushing water-filled vats, the wooden wheels thudding against the cobblestones.
As if in response to their pleas to heaven, a light rain began 302
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to fall. At first, it only misted her cheeks, until it pattered, plastering Ai Ling’s hair onto her neck. The handmaids who had scurried into the courtyard when the alarm sounded fell to their knees in supplication. Heavy rain doused the raging fl ames, aided by the eunuchs throwing pails of water.
Ai Ling crouched beneath the plum tree, rocking back and forth, the acrid smell of smoke and rain filling her senses. She felt a light touch on her back—Father. Chen Yong stood a short distance behind him. She rose and collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing onto his shoulder as he smoothed her damp hair, unbound for her wedding night.
“Come. Let’s take refuge from the rain,” her father said.
Zhen Ni had stayed close, and Ai Ling asked, “Can you show us to empty quarters?”
“I can take you to where we prepared you for the wedding . . . only”—Zhen Ni bowed her head lower—“men are not allowed there, mistress.”
Ai Ling could not suppress a wry smile. “I hardly think decorum matters now. Please lead the way.”
The handmaid turned, and they followed her. Her father walked with his hand clasped protectively around her shoulder, and Ai Ling leaned into his thin frame. Chen Yong strode on her other side. She couldn’t look at him. How could she ever speak to him again?
They followed Zhen Ni’s bright lantern in silence. When they reached the steps of the bridal dressing quarters, Chen 303
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Yong touched her arm with a light hand. Ai Ling glanced up in surprise.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said.
More tears gathered in her eyes, and she was grateful for the rain.
“Me too.” It wasn’t what she meant to say, but it didn’t matter.
The handmaid led them into the darkness of the dressing chamber. She began lighting the lanterns on the tables and in the corners of the room.
“Can you bring food and tea?” Chen Yong asked.
The handmaid retreated. Ai Ling shivered in her wet tunic, which clung to her skin like rice paste. Her entire being felt numb, from each fingertip to her fogged mind, which turned with random thoughts and images.
“You should change.” Her father crouched beside her, concern etched in every line of his face.
“I have no more clean travel clothes.”
Chen Yong handed her the luxurious robe she had worn after her bath so long ago. “This will keep you warm.” He carried a small peony-etched lantern into the bath chamber.
“You can change in here.”
Ai Ling smiled, even though her face felt too numb to do so. Chen Yong, ever chivalrous. “What about dry clothes for you? And Father?”
“Do not worry for us, Ai Ling.” Father stroked her damp hair. “I must take leave now to find Master Cao. He was an 304
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old friend and remains adviser to the Emperor. He may be able to help us.” He turned to Chen Yong and clasped his shoulder. “Can you keep my daughter safe?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Chen Yong said.
Ai Ling emerged from the bath chamber after combing her wet hair and braiding it. The plush robe warmed her, and she pulled it tighter. Chen Yong sat at the enameled table, a tray laden with small dishes of food and a large pot of tea before him. A grin spread across her face.
“That’s what I hoped to see,” Chen Yong said. He poured tea into two celadon cups.
She slid onto the stool across from him and examined the tray’s offerings: a small bowl of thick beef stew with white radish and carrots, sticky rice and chicken wrapped in lotus leaves, young bamboo shoots with mushroom and tender greens cooked with sliced garlic. Ai Ling breathed in the delicious aroma wafting from the dishes. She took a sip of hot tea, delighting in the warmth that wound from her throat to her core.
“Thank you, but I’m not sure I have the appetite. . . .”
Chen Yong raised a hand to stop her. “Eat a little, you need the strength. I’ll worry if you refuse good food laid in front of you!”
