Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (13 page)

He turned away,
tired of the game already—knowing the outcome—and went
back inside.

"Sun!"
he shouted impatiently. "Sun! Where are you?"

Sun Li Hua,
Master of the Inner Chamber, appeared in the doorway at once, his
head bent low. "Yes, Excellency?"

"Send the
maids. At once! I wish to dress."

Sun bowed and
made to back away, but Wang Sau-leyan called him back. "No . .
Send just the one. You know . . . Mi Feng."

"As you
wish, Excellency."

He sniffed
deeply, then crossed to the full-length dragon mirror and stood
there, looking at himself. So his brother was unwell. Good. He would
feel much worse before the day was out.

Wang Sau-leyan
smiled and combed his fingers through his hair, drawing it back from
his forehead. Then, almost whimsically, he turned his head, exposing
one ear to view. That mystery—the mystery of who had taken his
father's ears—remained unsolved. He had had Hung Mien-lo make a
thorough investigation of the matter, but it had been without result.
They had vanished, as if they had never been.

The thought
brought a smile to his lips. He turned, still smiling, and saw the
girl-Mi Feng was kneeling just inside the door, her head lowered
almost to her lap, awaiting his pleasure.

"Come
here," he said brusquely, turning from her, moving across toward
the great wardrobes that lined one side of the room. "I want you
to dress me, girl."

She was his
brother's maid, inherited from their father. In the wardrobe mirrors
he saw her hesitate and glance up at his back.

"Well,
girl? What are you waiting for? You heard me, didn't you?"

He noted her
confusion, saw the way her face clouded momentarily before she bowed
her head and began to move toward him.

He turned
abruptly, making her start nervously.

"How is
your sting, Little Bee? Did you serve my father well?"

Again he noted
the movements in her face, the uncertainty, maybe even the suggestion
of distaste. Well, who did she think she was? She was a servant,
there to do his bidding, not the daughter of a T'ang.

She moistened
her lips and spoke, her head kept low, her eyes averted. "What
do you wish to wear, my Lord?"

White,
he
almost answered her.
White for
mourning.

"What do
you suggest?" he asked, studying her more carefully, noting how
delightfully she was formed, how petite her figure. "What would
my father have worn to Council?"

She looked up at
him, then quickly away, clearly bewildered by what was happening.
"Forgive me, Prince Sau-leyan, but I am the T'ang's maid. Surely
. . ."

He shouted at
her, making her jump. "Be quiet, girl! You'll do as you're told
or you'll do nothing, understand me?"

She swallowed,
then nodded her head.

"Good. Then
answer me. What would my father have worn to Council?"

She bowed, then
moved past him, keeping her head lowered. A moment later she turned
back, a long robe held over one arm.

"Lay it out
on the bed so that I can see it."

He watched her
move across to do as she was told, then smiled. Yes, the old man had
chosen well with this one. He could imagine how the girl had wormed
her way into the old boy's affections. She had kept his bed warm many
a night, he was sure.

She had turned
away from him, laying out the heavy, formal robe. He moved closer,
coming up behind her, then bent down and lifted her gown up from the
hem, exposing her buttocks and her lower back. She froze.

"You didn't
answer me earlier," he said. "I asked you—"

"I heard
you, Excellency."

Her tone was
sharper than it should have been. Impertinent. He felt a sudden flush
of anger wash over him.

"Put your
hands out," he said, his voice suddenly cold. "Lean forward
and stretch them out in front of you." Slowly she did as she was
told. "Good," he said. "Now stay there."

He went outside
onto the balcony a moment, then returned, holding a cane he had
broken from the bamboo plant. It was as long as his arm and as thick
as his middle finger. He swished it through the air, once, then a
second time, satisfied with the sound it made; then he turned and
looked across at her.

"I am not
my father, Mi Feng. Nor my brother, come to that. They were weak men.
They held weak ideas. But I'm not like that. I'm stronger than them.
Much stronger. And I'll have no impertinence from those beneath me."

He moved closer,
measuring the distance between himself and the girl, then brought the
cane down hard across her buttocks.

She cried out
involuntarily, her whole body tensing from the blow. "Well?"
he said, as if there were something she should say, some apology or
word of mitigation. But she was silent, her body tensed against him,
defiantly expectant. He shivered, angered by her silence, and lashed
out, again and again, bringing the cane down wildly, impatiently,
until, with a shudder, he threw it aside. "Get up," he
said, tonelessly. "Get up. I wish to be dressed."

* *
*

FEI yen lay
there, Yuan's head cradled between her breasts, her hands resting
lightly on his back, her fingertips barely touching his flesh. He was
sleeping, exhausted from their last bout of lovemaking, the soft
exhalation of his breath warm against her skin. It was almost noon
and the bedchamber was flooded with light from the garden. If she
turned her head she could see the maple, by the pathway where they
had walked, so long ago.

She sighed and
turned back, studying the neat shape of his head. It had been a sweet
night, far sweeter than she had ever imagined. She thought of what
they had done and her blood thrilled. She had fancied herself the
famous concubine, Yang Kuei Fei, lying in the arms of the great T'ang
emperor, Ming Huang, and at the moment of clouds and rain, had found
herself transported. A son, she had prayed to Heaven;
let his seed
grow in me and make a son!
And the joy of the possibility had
filled her, making her cry out beneath him with the pleasure of it.

A son! A future
T'ang! From these loins she would bring him forth. And he would be an
Emperor. A Son of Heaven.

She shivered,
thrilled by the thought of it, then felt him stir against her.

"What is
it?" he said sleepily.

Her hands
smoothed his back, caressed his neck. "I was thinking how hard
it was before last night. How difficult to be alone."

He lifted his
head slightly, then lay back again.

"Yes,"
he said, less drowsily than before. "I can see that."

He was silent
for a time, his body at ease against her own, then he lifted himself
up on his arms, looking down at her, his face serious. "How was
it? All those years before last night. How hard was that?"

She looked away.
"It was like death. As if not Han but I had died that day."
She looked up at him, fiercely, almost defiantly. "I am a woman,
Yuan, with a woman's appetites." She swallowed. "Oh, you
just don't know . . ."For a moment longer her face was hard with
past bitterness, then it softened and a smile settled on her lips and
in her eyes. "But now I am alive again. And it was you who
brought me back to the living. My Prince. My love . . ."

She made to draw
him down again, but he moved back, kneeling there between her legs,
his head bowed. "Forgive me, my love, but I am spent. Truly I
am." He laughed apologetically, then met her eyes again.
"Tonight, I promise you, I will be a tiger again. But now I must
dress. The Council . . ."

He turned to
look at the timer beside the bed, then sat bolt upright. "Gods!
And you let me sleep!" He backed away from her, then stood there
on the bare floor, naked, looking about him anxiously. "I shall
be late! Where is Nan Ho? Why did he not wake me?"

She laughed and
stretched, then reached down and pulled the sheets up to her neck.

"I sent him
away. They will excuse you this once if you are late. Besides, you
needed to sleep."

"But Fei
Yen . . ." Then he laughed, unable to be angry with her. She was
beautiful, and, yes, he had needed to sleep. What's more, they would
forgive him this once. Even so ...

He turned from
her. "All right. But now I must dress."

He was halfway
to the door when she called him back. "Li Yuan! Please! You
don't understand. I'll dress you."

He turned. She
had climbed from the bed and was coming toward him.

"You?"
He shook his head. "No, my love. Such a task is beneath you. Let
me call the maids."

She laughed,
then put her arms about his neck. "You will do no such thing, my
Prince. I want to dress you. I want to serve you as a wife
should
serve her master."

He felt a small
thrill go through him at the words. "But I ..." Her kiss
quieted him. He bowed his head slightly. "As you wish."

She smiled.
"Good. But first I must bathe you. After all, you cannot go to
Council smelling like a singsong house."

He laughed
uneasily, then seeing how she smiled at him, felt the unease fall
from him. It was impossible to be angry with her, even when her words
were ill-chosen, for that too was part of the charm—the sheer
delight—of her. Like porcelain she looked, yet in the darkness
she had been fire; black wings of fire, beating about him wildly.

* *
*

WHEN HE WAS GONE
she looked around the room.

It was a
strangely feminine room, unlike the rooms of her brothers. There were
no saddles, no weapons of war on display. In their place were
beautiful ceramic pots filled with the most exquisite miniature trees
and shrubs. And in place of heavy masculine colors were softer
shades, delicately chosen to complement the colors of the garden
outside. She looked about her, pleased by what she saw, then went
across to the desk and sat there.

She placed her
left hand on the desk's broad surface, then lifted it, surprised. She
licked at the tiny grains that had adhered to her palm, then
understood. Of course.

He had been
writing.

She stood, then
went back to the bed and picked up his sleeping robe. From whim, she
tried it on, putting her arms into its sleeves and tying the slender
sash about her waist. It was far too big for her, yet it felt somehow
right to be wearing it. She laughed, then sat down on the bed,
reaching into the pocket to take out the folded piece of paper.

She read it.
Twice, and then a third time.

A poem. For her?
It must have been. She shivered, then touched the tip of her tongue
against her top teeth thoughtfully.

Yes. She could
see it now: she would be everything to him. Indispensable. His wife.
In all things his wife.

It was true what
she had said. Or almost true. He
had
brought her back from
death. From the death of all her hopes and dreams. Had given her back
what she had always wanted.

And in return?

She smiled and
drew his gown tighter about her. In return she would be his woman.
That before all else. His helpmate and advisor. His champion and
chief advocate. His lover and when he needed it, a mother to him.

Yes, and that
was the clue to Li Yuan. She had known it earlier, when he had rested
his head between her breasts, had known then that it was a mother he
wanted. Or at least, someone to be the mother he had never had. Well,
she would be that to him, among other things. And in time . . .

She shivered and
slipped the poem back into the pocket of the gown.

In time she
would have sons of her own. Seven sons. Each one of them a T'ang. She
laughed and stood, letting the gown fall from her until she stood
there, naked, lifting her arms defiantly. There! That was her dream.
A dream she had shared with no one.

It seemed an
impossibility, and yet she saw it clearly. It
would
be so.
Yes, but first she must be practical. First she must become all
things to him. She would ask him this evening, after they had made
love. She would bathe him and wash his hair, and then, when he was at
his sweetest, she would go down on her knees before him, pleading to
be allowed always to serve him so.

He would agree.
Of course he would. And then she would ask again. The maids, she
would say, you must send them away. And he would do so. And then he
would be hers. Completely, irrevocably hers.

* *
*

tender WILLOW
and Sweet Rain were talking, laughing between them as they came into
the room, but seeing Little Bee stretched out face down on her bed,
they fell silent.

"What is
it?" Sweet Rain asked, moving closer. "What happened?"

Mi Feng looked
up, her eyes red, her cheeks wet with tears, and shook her head.

"What did
he do?" Tender Willow asked, coming alongside her sister.

Mi Feng
swallowed, then let her head fall again, a great sob racking her
body.

The two girls
sat on the bed, on either side of her, their arms about her,
comforting her. But when Tender Willow leaned back, accidentally
brushing against her buttocks, Mi Feng winced and gave a small moan.

The two girls
exchanged looks, then nodded. Carefully, they lifted Mi Feng's robe,
conscious of how she tensed.

"Kuan Yin .
. ." Sweet Rain said softly, her voice pained. "What did he
do this with?"

"A cane,"
came the whisper. "A bamboo cane."

Tender Willow
stared at the cuts a moment longer, horrified, then she shuddered.
"How
dare
he?" she said, outraged. "Who does he
think he is? You are the T'ang's maid, not his. He cannot be allowed
to act like this."

Mi Feng shook
her head. A great shuddering sigh passed through her; then she spoke
again, more calmly and clearly than before. "You are wrong,
sister. He may do as he wishes. He is a Prince, after all. And what
am I? Only a maid. A thing to be used or discarded. I learned that
today, Tender Willow. I had it beaten into me. And the T'ang . . ."
She laughed coldly, then swallowed, another shiver passing through
her, ". . . the T'ang will do nothing."