Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  I stopped myself from twirling a lock of hair. With an imperial plaque, representing the honor of the Emperor himself, there was no escaping this marriage.

  Seventeen

  Ulterior Motives

  The silence in the Hall of Supreme Harmony allowed me to hear the collective breaths and heartbeats of the assembled lords and ministers. None breathed more rapidly than me, and my pulse pattered faster than anyone else’s.

  After all, none of those men would be marrying a traitorous lord in the coming weeks. Perhaps days. And I’d volunteered myself for this fate. Hopefully, Lord Tong was not like other Northerners in their dislike of the arts.

  Father gave the slightest of nods, and all the men pressed their foreheads to the ground.

  Chief Minister Tan cleared his throat. “Distinguished lords, you may retire.”

  Around me, the lords stood, many of them discussing the implications of my impending marriage. Several approached and bowed their heads, offering their congratulations.

  As I rose, I looked to Father. Cousin Kai-Long—Lord Peng—stood before him, whispering, his voice too low for even my keen ears to pick out from the surrounding conversations. He turned toward me, and Father’s gaze followed. Father nodded.

  They were discussing me. Kai-Long opposed my wedding; maybe it had to do with that. I’d know soon enough, with the way Cousin Kai-Long approached me wearing a broad grin. He bowed his head. “Congratulations, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, Lord Peng.”

  He started to laugh, a breach of protocol in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, but contorted his face into a smile. “Come with me. I would like to introduce you to the wife of Ambassador Vikram of the Ayuri Confederation. She is in the guest pavilions. The Emperor has already approved.”

  Why bother with extending pleasantries, when now I was nothing more than a bride-to-be? I looked to the Jade Throne. Father, now barely sitting straight, nodded.

  Cousin Kai-Long gestured toward Secretary Hong, who hovered nearby. “Go find the princess’ handmaiden Meiling, and have her meet us in the central plaza with the princess’ lute.”

  Prince Hardeep’s lute, not mine. It was a cruel reminder of how much I was sacrificing. My belly felt hollow. But why would an ambassador’s wife care about a foreign instrument I couldn’t even play?

  Secretary Hong wetted his lips. “I am supposed to—”

  “Hurry.” Kai-Long leaned his head toward the doors. “I will take responsibility for the princess until you return.”

  The hapless secretary bowed his head. “As you command, Young Lord… I mean, my Lord.”

  Kai-Long beckoned two imperial guards, ones I recognized but who were never assigned to me. “Come.”

  We had started out of the hall when Appointments Minister Hu ventured into my path. His eyes narrowed like a snake. Perhaps he still bore resentment for my contradicting him the day before. “The princess has a dinner with the Crown Princess in two hours.”

  I suppressed a shudder. This sudden dinner, on the eve of my wedding announcement, could only mean one thing. That discussion. It was typically a mother’s responsibility to discuss the arrival of Heaven’s Dew with a daughter who was soon to blossom, but Mother’s passing meant that duty had fallen to my elder sister-in-law.

  Undoubtedly, a pillow book would be involved. My younger friend Lin Ziqiu had already shown me a collection of graphic woodblock prints before, and it had made me blush hotter and brighter than Tivar’s star during the Year of the Second Sun. Soon, I would be acting out those pictures, with a lord I’d only recently heard of. Now instead of blushing, my insides squeezed into a painful knot.

  Cousin Kai-Long stepped forward, at an angle which interposed himself between me and Minister Hu like the way an imperial guard would do. “The Emperor has approved Princess Kaiya’s meeting. Two hours is more than enough time.”

  Eyes shifting from Father to me to Kai-Long, Minister Hu smiled with about as much warmth as a burnt-out hearth at midwinter. He spun on his heel and went fawning over to another Tai-Ming Lord.

  Cousin Kai-Long grinned. “I think I could get used to this new position.”

  I would have at least faked a laugh if not for the reality of my situation. I was getting married to a stern man who might not even let me play music. I would never see Hardeep again. Not only that, it had been my choice. My lips tightened into a straight line. Thankfully, Cousin Kai-Long spared me embarrassment by turning around and leading me out of the hall.

  Secretary Hong and Han Meiling met us on the far end of the central plaza, the handmaiden bowing with the lute in her hands, then joining the retinue two steps behind. My belly writhed, like the twists and turns we took through the alleys between buildings. Somewhere up ahead, musical notes danced on the winds, plucked from…a lute?

  The sound grew louder, taunting me as a reminder of what I would be losing. We rounded a corner into the Nine Courtyard. Carefully manicured by imperial gardeners, the open space featured a central pond bordered by soon-to-blossom flowers. Plum trees already bloomed, their white and pink petals drifting on a light breeze like snow. It might have been a metaphor for my own impending blossoming and deflowering.

  I froze in place. One of the banners above the pavilion door was emblazoned with a golden scorpion, the symbol of Madura. The ones Prince Hardeep suspected of trying to kill us last night. Heart seizing, I clutched Kai-Long’s sleeve. “How could the Foreign Ministry house the Madurans here?”

  “It was my doing.”

  “Yours?” My heartbeat resumed, only to roar in my ears. If the lute still played, I couldn’t hear it through my shock.

  Kai-Long squeezed my hand. “As the Founder wrote, keep your friends close, your enemies closer. In any case, their crown prince refused to come, so the pavilion is empty. Come along.” He gestured toward a banner with a twenty-one-pointed star.

  Thoughts clearing, I listened. The lute’s melody came from inside the Ayuri Confederation’s guest pavilion. The Ayuri South had many musical instruments, though the lute belonged to the Arkothi North. What a coincidence that Meiling now carried one as well.

  No, it couldn’t be just a coincidence, but rather a sign from the Heavens. I resumed my walk, stride lengthening.

  The sound intensified when the bowing servants slid open the doors. I stepped over the high threshold and into a central room that vaulted two stories high. Standing along the walls, six Ayuri men in white kurta shirts with gold embroidered collars all turned and met my gaze, then pressed their hands together and bowed their heads.

  A man lounged on the wool carpet in a copper-colored kurta, and a woman in an orange sari knelt beside him. Both rose and pressed their palms together. White wisps streaked through his black hair, which framed a deep brown face so dignified, he could only be Ambassador Vikram. His lighter-skinned wife looked old enough to be my mother, yet maintained a lustrous beauty all the same.

  However, neither drew my eye more than the blindfolded man sitting cross-legged at the head of the room. Several musical instruments, both from the Ayuri South and Arkothi North, surrounded him. He paused with his hands above a lute and bowed his head.

  “Good evening, Lord Peng,” Ambassador Vikram said.

  Cousin Kai-Long bowed his head. “Good evening, Ambassador. Princess Kaiya, may I introduce you to Ashook Vikram and his wife Shariya.”

  Pressing my palms together, I bowed my head in Ayuri fashion. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  With a smile, Lady Shariya gestured to a cushion. “Please, Your Highness, sit.”

  “Thank you.” After my adventure with Prince Hardeep, the Ayuri words came out smoothly, almost as perfect as Kai-Long’s. I brushed my skirts to my shins and knelt on the cushion, and the ambassador and his wife followed.

  Head bobbling, reminiscent of Hardeep, Ambassador Vikram bowed toward Kai-Long. “Ambassador Peng, I cannot thank you enough for introducing us to the Blind Musician.”

  I studied the lute player, who wore Cathayi-styl
e robes, yet whose dark skin tone marked him as Ayuri or Levanthi. The wide blindfold covered most of his forehead and nose.

  Still standing, Kai-Long grinned. “Did you test him?”

  Lady Shariya placed a hand over her chest. “Yes. I felt cruel at first, but then amazed. Your Highness, you must see this. Musician, please play.”

  With a bow of his head, the Blind Musician plucked out a forlorn melody on the lute: a low thrum, descending so low it might have been to the depths of hell.

  I sighed. It was as if he could feel my sadness.

  Removing some of their rings, both the ambassador and his wife flung the jewelry at the poor man. I covered my mouth. How could they do such a thing to a blind person?

  Yet even as he played, he shifted in place, deftly avoiding each ring. The music not only remained steady, his movement seemed to shift with the ebb and flow of the notes.

  I sucked in a breath. With practice, I’d finally learned to hear heartbeats. That skill paled in comparison to the Blind Magician, who seemed to see with his ears.

  Secretary Hong and Han Meiling also gasped. I found the imperial guards in the corner of my eyes. Even if they did not audibly express their shock, their gawking mouths betrayed rapt attention.

  “This is the real reason I brought you here.” Kai-Long’s breath tickled my ear. “To meet the Blind Musician.”

  My mind somersaulted. First Prince Hardeep, then Lord Xu, Doctor Wu, and Xiulan. In the last two days, they had all taught me abilities applicable to Dragon Songs. If I could learn the Blind Musician’s skill…but alas, there was no time. Not with an impending marriage.

  “My song resonates with your heart and comes back to me. It tells me your desires.” The Blind Musician’s low-pitched voice crackled like logs in a fire. “I will teach you what I can tonight. Bring your lute.” He pointed to the instrument in Han Meiling’s hands.

  I could only stare. Perhaps Cathay’s Dragon Songs were not dead after all. Yet the Blind Musician’s bronze skin tone could not belong to a Cathayi person. I dipped my head in slow nods.

  Kai-Long chuckled. “We do not have much time before your dinner, Your Highness. Let us take our leave of the ambassador and his wife.”

  Dinner…and the talk, the one that my mother would’ve given had she not died already. Yet that appointment seemed insignificant in this moment, save for the time constraints it presented.

  I bowed my head. “Ambassador Vikram, it was an honor to meet you. I thank you for your hospitality. Please allow me to steal away the Blind Musician and leave you to the entertainment my father has arranged.”

  Both the ambassador and his wife rose, pressed their hands together, and bowed their heads. The Blind Musician stood as well. Playing his lute in smooth plucks, he navigated around the cushions and rings and came to the door.

  Was this the right thing to do? After all the rules I’d broken the day before? I glanced at the imperial guards, who showed no sign of protest. Han Meiling chewed on her lower lip, but said nothing. Kai-Long only smiled.

  Pressing my palms together, I bowed to the ambassador and his wife. My pulse raced as I turned and stepped over the ghost-tripping threshold. Behind me, the Blind Musician seemed to have no issue negotiating it, either. “Where to?” I asked.

  Kai-Long pointed to the guest pavilion designated for the Madurans.

  My pattering heart almost stopped, even as my feet shuffled toward the entrance. It seemed so…wrong. Even if the Madurans weren’t there. The imperial court allowed my dear Prince Hardeep’s enemies a place of honor, while his own nation suffered. And there was nothing I could do. Not anymore. Not when my own homeland faced fragmentation. I was just as selfish as the advocates for unlimited firepowder trade.

  “You’ll be fine,” Kai-Long said with a smile. “No Golden Scorpions will ambush you tonight. And you have two imperial guards to protect you.”

  “What about you?”

  Kai-Long looked up to the iridescent moon, now waxing to its first gibbous. “I have another matter to attend to, but Secretary Hong will make sure you are on time for dinner with Crown Princess Xiulan.” The last line was delivered with enough emphasis that poor old Hong cringed. Kai-Long leaned in and switched to Ayuri. “I handpicked guards who can’t speak Ayuri, and Hong will do anything you say.”

  Why would that matter? Unless the Blind Musician intended to tell me something not meant for prying ears? Maybe news of Hardeep, since Kai-Long had apparently arranged this. Pulse skipping again, I stepped over the threshold and into the guesthouse. Meiling hurried ahead to unshutter the light-bauble lamps. The Blind Musician and the guards followed.

  Striding across the carpet faster than even someone who could see, the Blind Musician sat cross-legged at the head of the vaulted central chamber. Then he removed the blindfold.

  Blue eyes danced in front of me. Prince Hardeep.

  Eighteen

  Hot and Bothered

  Secretary Hong’s breath wheezed in the background as I gawked at Prince Hardeep. The guards showed no signs of surprise; Kai-Long had probably chosen them not only for their lack of fluency in Ayuri, but also because they hadn’t seen Prince Hardeep the day before.

  Now, his eyes danced with mirth, sending my mind spinning. Despite my best efforts to control them, my lips quirked into a grin. When he spread his arms, inviting an embrace, I ran towards him as quickly as my gown would allow.

  Dao rasped out of scabbards as the imperial guards closed in.

  “Stand down.” I stopped midstride and held a halting hand out. I locked an imperious gaze on them. Hopefully, as long as I didn’t fall into his arms, they would hold back.

  One of the guards bowed his head. “Your Highness. The Emperor commands that no man touch you until your marriage.”

  Chest tightening, I offered Prince Hardeep a conciliatory smile. Even if he might not understand the Cathayi language, the swords and body language needed no translation. Still, to be absolutely sure, I said, “I am sorry, Prince Hardeep. For everyone’s safety, you must not touch me.”

  Hands raised, Prince Hardeep looked from the imperial guards’ blades and back to me. “I will do my best to obey the order, but my style of teaching is very…hands-on. I might not survive our lesson.” A flirtatious smile formed on his lips.

  My belly fluttered like a dragonfly’s wings. “Lesson? Do you really know how to see with your ears?”

  He shook his head. “If such a skill existed, it would have belonged to your people’s great musicians.”

  “Then how did you avoid the rings?”

  “Paladin skills. I felt their trajectories.”

  My heart sank into my belly. No matter how wonderful it was to see Hardeep, there was no new skill to be learned. “Why the ruse with the Ayuri Confederation ambassador?”

  His lips formed a tight line. “I didn’t want them to recognize me. I have no love for them. In Ankira’s time of need, the Confederation’s Paladin protectors claimed to be too busy containing the ravages of the great Avarax.” The awe in the prince’s voice when he named the dragon could only come from deep-rooted fear. “Speaking of which, I was serious about the lute. You should learn, so that when the time comes, you can play the Dragon Scale Lute.”

  “Do you have it?” Not that I ever wanted to play it again.

  “One of our pursuers took it while I fought the others.”

  I sighed. “There won’t be a chance for me to help you, anyway. I am betrothed. I will marry Lord Tong in a few weeks.”

  “Lord Tong?” Hardeep cocked his head. “It doesn’t matter. We don’t know what fate holds for us, only that it has brought us together.”

  Fate. The closest word in Cathayi, yuan, suggested that mountains and deserts and oceans could not stand between those fated to be together, while those without yuan could pass each other every day and never meet.

  “Let us begin.” As he approached, one slow step in front of another, his blue eyes seemed to look straight into my soul.

 
My breath hitched. Every muscle froze in place, like a doe facing a hunter’s arrow.

  He stopped as the imperial guards strode forward with hands on their swords. “Sit.” He motioned to the floor beyond.

  “On the floor?” My voice came out as a squeak.

  He nodded. “Have you seen a painting of the Goddess Saraswati?”

  I’d seen so many paintings of the many Ayuri gods: Surya, Lord of the Sun, riding his flaming chariot drawn by white horses. Beautiful Shakti, Goddess of Fertility, holding auspicious symbols in her many hands. Black-skinned Yama, dragging sinners down to Hell. And of course, Saraswati, sitting cross-legged with an Ayuri-style lute cradled in her arms.

  The pose might be appropriate for an Ayuri goddess, but a Cathayi woman of noble standing would never sit with her legs so...open. The constricting inner dress might not even allow it. My blush must’ve now been illuminating the room better than the light baubles.

  He smiled again, this time less flirtatious, more understanding. “Correct posture is important for everything in life.”

  Just like Doctor Wu had said. I glanced at the imperial guards, and then, with a deep breath, held the folds of my outer gown together while hitching up my inner dress. With the amount of heat my face put off, I might be able to warm the entire palace on this chilly evening. I met Hardeep’s gaze again.

  He gave me a perfunctory nod.

  Reassured, I settled into a cross-legged seat on the floor. I arranged the outer gown, as much for modesty as to conceal my stick legs and enormous feet. No telling what the guards and handmaiden were thinking at this moment. Better not to even look in their direction. I kept my eyes focused on the prince as Han Meiling presented the lute, the one he’d given me through Kai-Long yesterday.