by Jeff Wheeler
He swooped down from the sky and then transformed back into a man just as they reached the inner courtyard of the palace. It felt like stepping out of a fog. One moment they were in the air, and the next they were walking along the courtyard, his hand no longer gripping her arm. Her legs were weak, and she was devastatingly hungry.
No traces of the great glacier remained within the Summer Palace. It was open to the sky overhead, although the eerie light glowing from the sigils carved into the meiwood poles drowned out the stars. The place had changed as surely as the man before her. It was reborn.
The soldiers standing guard on the palace walls wore black robes and armor etched with golden symbols. She recognized the huge marble slab in the middle of the twin staircases, sculpted with a depiction of the twin dragons.
Noticing her perusal of the carving, he asked, “Shall I tell you how we moved that stone into place?” His tone was smug. “Or can you guess?”
“I have no idea,” Bingmei answered humbly.
He paused and gestured toward it. “It was moved during the winter. A path of water was spread across the ground, and when it froze, animal servants dragged the stone across the ice.” He gazed up at the palace before them. “I have rebuilt this palace many times over the centuries. This time, it will endure forever. Come.”
He started again toward the steps to the right of the slab. A red velvet carpet had been thrown down to cover them. That had not been there before, but it was similar to one she’d seen in Sajinau.
He walked up the center of the steps, and she walked alongside him. As they climbed, she saw servants assembling at the top of the steps to welcome their sovereign. Their courtly attire matched that of Echion.
He seemed eager to boast of his prowess and power, which emboldened her to ask a question.
“Were there servants here when you and the queen were entombed? I didn’t see any remains.”
If he was bothered by her question, he didn’t show his displeasure. “They were here,” he said, “beneath the floors of the palace. After they were all sealed in, along with the soldiers of my army, they drank poison and died. They were only too willing to serve me next in the Grave Kingdom. That is where I go while I await the next season of my rule. It will all make sense to you . . . soon enough,” he added with a dark chuckle.
Had they all willingly perished? The thought chilled Bingmei’s heart, as did his mention of the Grave Kingdom. Was this what her mother had foreseen?
When they reached the top of the steps, the fawning servants bowed in deep reverence, prostrating themselves on the floor, heads touching the stone by his feet.
“I have brought the phoenix with me,” said Echion. “See that she is bathed, dressed, and given something to eat. When the sun rises over the mountains, she will awaken my queen, Xisi.”
The servants rose, nodding and bowing in deference. They looked like they were from different kingdoms, but they all wore the same clothing, and their hair was arranged in elaborate styles. They smelled uneasy but eager to please Echion. Fear made them loyal.
Bingmei clenched her hands into fists. “I will not bring her back,” she said to Echion, giving him a bold look. Even as she said it, she couldn’t help but remember that she’d summoned him back to life in a manner that wasn’t entirely within her control.
She smelled a whiff of annoyance, there and then gone.
“You will, Bingmei,” he said, not even looking at her. “Trust me. You will do exactly as I say. I advise you not to try to escape. You are in the heart of my kingdom now, and every person here is loyal to me.”
Bingmei glared at him, feeling both frightened and rebellious.
Her head swiveled around as a familiar smell came toward her through the crowd. It was the smell of sadness. She searched through the servants until she saw the pale man coming closer. It was Jidi Majia, whom she’d last seen in a vision months before.
“Ah, Jidi Majia,” said Echion in a pleased tone. “You came.”
“As you ordered, grand one,” said Jidi Majia. He caught sight of Bingmei, but his expression didn’t change. If anything, the sadness within him grew even deeper. His heart was breaking.
He knelt before Echion and touched his forehead to the floor in another act of ultimate submission. The sight flooded Bingmei with more guilt.
“Have my concubines attend to her needs,” Echion said. “She will not be staying with us for very long.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Deceiver
Before Bingmei was escorted away, the Phoenix Blade was taken from her by Echion himself. Her despair had intensified at the sight of it cradled in his hands. She was still drawn to the blade, and her longing for it increased.
“Be sure she has no other treasures with her,” Echion said and then made a dismissing gesture with his free hand.
Servants marched her down a long hall and out of the palace itself. They passed under a roofed walkway that allowed her to look down at the courtyard beneath them. The calamity that had befallen her weighed on her like boulders, and she had the urge to fling herself to her death. But she held her head high and walked forward with determination.
As they moved along, she noticed a man trailing after the party, one who kept to the shadows. She glanced back at him and saw his martial bearing. Was he a member of Echion’s ensign?
They arrived at their destination—one of the outer buildings along the courtyard wall. The compound of Fusang was impossibly big. Night had fallen, but it was not dark. Eerie light still emanated from the sigils carved into the meiwood pillars—a smokeless, scentless light that illuminated the room and the pathway.
Once inside, she found two women preparing for her arrival. She recognized one of them by sight immediately. It was Eomen, Rowen’s sister, although her scent had changed. She smelled like bruised fruit spoiling in a basket. Her beauty was still intact, but her spirit had been crushed, her heart full of despair.
“The dragon has asked for her to be cleaned and garbed appropriately for court,” said one of the servants who’d escorted her. “She may rest if she desires.”
The two women bowed instead of speaking in response. The servants left, although the man who had been trailing them remained behind, pacing languidly by the door. Bingmei glanced around the room, her eyes darting from the high windows, which were enclosed in latticework, to the sumptuous decorations. There were divans and couches, several beds, and beautiful cabinets inlaid with dragon designs.
“We will bathe you first,” said Eomen dispassionately as she approached.
“Do you remember me, Eomen?” Bingmei asked.
There was a sharp onion smell, and Eomen pursed her lips. “Yes. Come this way.”
What happened next was utterly humiliating. Bingmei was doted on as if she were a royal personage, her body sponged and cleaned while she was made to stand unclothed before the two women and, undoubtedly, the man guarding the only way out of the building. She’d tried to sneak her meiwood cricket out of her pocket, but it was snatched away from her and set on a table nearby. It felt as if the last part of her family had been ripped away from her. If that weren’t disconcerting enough, she was buffeted by the emotions of the two women—revulsion from the woman she didn’t know, who was sickened by the signs of her winter sickness, and Eomen’s feelings of indignity. She, a princess, was being made to bathe someone of a lower station. Eomen’s self-identity had been shattered by her new situation, and the despair that wrung her heart was nearly unbearable to Bingmei. And the worst part of the experience was the certainty that the guard was enjoying every minute of the spectacle.
After the bathing, the application of powders, the trimming of nails, the plucking of eyebrows, and the smoothing of calluses with a pumice, Bingmei was adorned in the court robes of Fusang. The climate was farther north, and while the air was no longer frigid, it wasn’t warm either. Still, the clothes felt weighty and cumbersome, from the silk skirts hemmed in velvet to the long-sleeved robe that was so wide at
the wrists the ends nearly touched the floor. Made of red silk and trimmed in black velvet and silver fox fur, it bore the symbol of the phoenix.
But they weren’t finished with her yet. After clothing her, both women sat her down on a stuffed bench and proceeded to style her hair. They tugged and yanked on the red strands, braiding them and pinning them in different ways that lifted her hair above her ears on each side, with long strands of hair running down her back.
When the ordeal was finally over, she was brought to stand before a sumptuous mirror that was as clear as looking into a glass lake. Bingmei didn’t recognize her reflection. Her face was lathered in powders and tinged with rose at the cheeks. Her lips and eyes had been painted as well.
But despite the bizarre visage staring back at her, she could smell the odd scent of jealousy coming from the other two women, strong enough to be noticed beneath the reek of disdain and despair.
“I will tell the overservants she is done,” said the concubine Bingmei didn’t know.
“I will stay with her,” said Eomen tonelessly.
The other concubine took the meiwood cricket and handed it to the guard before leaving. Bingmei had kept her eyes on it the whole time. It was gone now, likely never to be hers again. The loss made her mourn her grandfather’s death all over again.
“Are you tired, Bingmei?” Eomen asked. “It may be a while before one of the eunuchs comes to inspect our work.”
Bingmei was more mortified than weary.
“Will you talk with me?” she asked quietly. She glanced at the guardian by the door.
“Is there something you wanted to say?” Eomen asked with indifference.
“Rowen is alive.”
There was spurt of emotion from Eomen, something pungent and sickly. “Oh,” she said, turning way.
“You don’t care?”
She turned back, her bottom lip trembling. “I thought he was dead. I’d hoped he was dead.”
That was not the reaction Bingmei had expected. “He’s your brother.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Bingmei. I was there, you see. I was there when he promised Echion he’d bring you back to Sajinau. If he failed . . . which he did . . . the dragon promised . . .” She swallowed, the smell of fear suddenly overpowering. “He said that he would kill me in a most savage manner. As it stands now, at least I’m a concubine. One who hasn’t been summoned yet. He has so many already. Now, when he summons me, I know I’m going to die. So no, your news doesn’t comfort me, although at least I know this misery will be over soon.” She turned away again.
Bingmei’s own feelings had sickened with the words. Rowen had promised to capture her? Had he truly intended to bring her back to Echion? Was this why he’d attempted to get her alone? Except . . . they had been alone together, in the ice cave, and she’d never smelled such an intention from him. But then again, he knew that she could divine someone’s feelings. He knew her secrets.
“I’m sorry, Eomen,” Bingmei said helplessly.
The princess turned, her eyes red-rimmed. Hate wafted off her, as acrid as burnt rice. “Sorry? My brother is dead because of you. And my other brother betrayed us because of you. My father is a slave because of you. If you had at least tried to act on your fate . . . it might all be very different right now. Instead of saving us, you . . . you ruined us. And all you say is sorry?”
Raw emotions struck Bingmei like so many fists, but emotions couldn’t be fought or blocked. Her mind snagged on one point Eomen had made.
“Your . . . father?” Bingmei asked, feeling utterly miserable.
“Yes . . . he is here. He’s a prisoner. I only found out when we came.” She swallowed, her heart thick with anguish. “And they will make him watch my death. I know it. Echion has no sympathy, no compassion.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead, looking as if she’d begin weeping. But she didn’t. Maybe all her tears had already been wrung out. “If I could only die of grief,” she whispered in a choking voice, “I would spare my father the anguish of witnessing my execution.” She sighed, composed once more, although she seemed like a woman only half-alive. Her hope had been smothered. “Where is my brother now? Where did he flee to?”
Bingmei felt her own throat thicken. “We were caught in Sihui.”
“Sihui,” said Eomen with a mirthless chuckle. “Princess Cuifen will be joining us soon, I imagine. Every noble’s daughter has been brought to join the ranks of the concubines. He’ll destroy our lines within one generation.” She sighed. “Such is the nightmare we wake to every day. Get some rest, Bingmei. You will need your strength.”
A hand lightly shook Bingmei’s shoulder. She’d fallen asleep on one of the couches, her legs tucked up. She’d wanted to stay awake, but exhaustion had overruled her wish.
“He’s coming,” said Eomen. As Bingmei sat up, she noticed the other concubine from earlier had returned.
“Who?” Bingmei asked, about to wipe her eyes when Eomen seized her wrist and shook her head.
“You’ll ruin our work. Stand up. They sent Jidi Majia for you.”
Bingmei quickly rose from the couch, squeezing her eyes shut to try to banish the itching that had grown worse the moment she’d been told she couldn’t relieve it.
The smell that came from beyond the open door was not one of sadness or grief. The reek of murder indicated it was Echion himself. She looked at the two concubines worriedly. Eomen and the other woman didn’t smell of deception at all. They both stood in formal poses, hands clasped meekly before them.
Soon she heard the slapping of sandals approaching on the marble floor. Bingmei’s insides twisted with worry and dread. The news she’d heard from Eomen had only intensified her guilt. Yes, she, too, wished she’d at least tried to accept her fate as the phoenix’s chosen.
A memory struck her. Hadn’t Echion called her the phoenix, not the phoenix-chosen? She’d been confused by that statement but too mind-sick to ponder it in light of her extreme circumstances.
Jidi Majia appeared in the doorway and entered the visiting chamber. He looked just as he had when she’d last seen him, dressed in the royal robes of his new office and station. But his smell was undeniably wrong. It was Echion standing before her in disguise. In fact, there was a hint of honey in the smell, a savoring of his deception.
He trudged into the room as if fatigued by a very long walk. “Dawn is coming soon, let us see the work you have done. If she is suitable to present to such a powerful man.”
Bingmei wanted to recoil from his presence, but she guarded her reaction, not wanting to reveal that she recognized him.
As the imposter Jidi Majia arrived, he bowed his head slightly. “Greetings, Faguan, Eomen.” To Eomen he offered a sad smile, a consoling touch on her arm, both of which were belied by his smell. “Your father is faring well, my dear. He is a patient man. His mind is going a little soft, but that’s to be expected in his current role.” Removing his hand, he finally turned to face Bingmei.
“Here you are,” he said with a sad sigh.
Echion was almost giddy inside.
This, combined with the lies he’d told her the previous day, seemed to confirm that he didn’t know about her gift. That he didn’t understand that his identity and his moods were plain as glass to her.
He didn’t know. A little spark of hope started inside her.
“I wish I had listened to your counsel, Jidi Majia,” she said, playing along with the ruse.
He gave her an apologetic look. “Would it have changed the outcome? I very much doubt it. His power dwarfs our own, Bingmei. He’s from another age, with wisdom we cannot match.”
Not to mention arrogance, Bingmei thought to herself. He was practically preening before her. Why had he chosen this disguise? In all likelihood, he’d done it to gain her trust. To influence her thinking. She’d have to respond to him carefully. Did his disguise mean the real Jidi Majia was dead?
“We’ve underestimated him at every turn,” Bingmei said, shaking her head, and
she smelled his delighted reaction to her words. “Did you hear how he defeated Sihui?”
“Is it defeated?” came an innocent-sounding reply.
“He blanketed the city in darkness so thick that not even a torch could make light,” Bingmei said. “We were stumbling into each other. Chaos and despair. I think he savors confusion.”
Her choice of words brought a pang of disappointment in him.
“He’s always shown a predilection for order . . . with me, anyway,” came his humble reply, hand on his chest. “I’ve read the Iron Rules several times. Everything has its place in society. It’s really rather impressive.”
She fought the urge to laugh in his face.
“Is it much different from what we had before?” she asked, trying to appear uncertain.
“Very much so. Crime has been extinguished in Sajinau. There’s no need for the Jingcha anymore.”
She wondered how Jiaohua would have reacted to that statement.
“Really?” Bingmei said.
“Yes. Trade is flourishing. The trickery and deceit of cowry shells is gone. Only imperial coins are used now. I have to say . . . life has improved since Echion’s return. I fear I may have misinterpreted the danger we faced.”
“But he destroyed the army of Sajinau,” Bingmei said, unable to help herself.
The face of Jidi Majia looked at her with sympathy, but inside, Echion was enjoying himself. “He has not done that to the other kingdoms, Bingmei. Sajinau was an example to the others. They have all surrendered without such bloodshed. As will Sihui now that they’ve witnessed his power. His might. He is not without mercy. I’ve seen that myself.”
The words spoken seemed so reasonable, so calm. But they were the bitterest of lies. Perhaps they were even lies he told himself.
