The Dragon Songs Saga: The Complete Quartet: Songs of Insurrection, Orchestra of Treacheries, Dances of Deception, and Symphony of Fates

by JC Kang

  “Finally!” Speaking in the Ayuri language, a middle-aged man with a scar on his cheek dropped to his knees on the dock.

  A woman patted him on his shoulder. She had a large birthmark on her neck, and a toe ring marked her as married, per Ayuri custom. “We can start a new life here.”

  A younger woman, face partially obscured by a scarf, found Jie’s gaze. Unlike her comrades, this one had a lighter, cinnamon complexion and more slanted eyes. Half-Hua, perhaps, and beautiful in an exotic way. She ducked her head and hid her face beneath the scarf. In that flash of her hand, a black birthmark, or perhaps a tattoo, peeked out from the brown henna patterns on her wrist.

  As curious as she was about these people, Jie couldn’t ask in their language lest she reveal herself as anything other than a boy looking for a job. Still, it wasn’t hard to deduce their story: refugees from Ankira, which was steadily losing a thirty-year war to Madura.

  At the head of the dock, a group of Hua men dressed in the red-and-black livery of Nanling Province approached. Their leader pressed his palms together and bowed his head in Ayuri fashion to the refugees. In perfect Ayuri he said, “On behalf of Young Lord Peng Kai-Long, I welcome you to Cathay.”

  All the refugees returned his salute.

  “You must be tired after your long journey. Young Lord Peng has made arrangements for you to join your countrymen. Please come with me.”

  “I need ten boys,” yelled a voice in Hua from the gangplank. “Two copper fen for a day’s work.”

  Just what she had been waiting for. Forgetting the Ankirans, Jie deftly slipped between the reaching, shouting boys. At the front, a man with a leathery complexion chewed on what appeared to be salted meat, pointing at recruits. Jie hip-butted a kid and placed herself in the line of his finger.

  He started to shake his head, but paused. His focus locked on her. “No, you’ll do. It takes small, nimble hands for the job I have in mind.” He beckoned the boys up the gangplank, but smacked an unchosen one who tried to board. He led the group across the deck, pointing out work.

  When they passed the hatch to the lower decks, Jie waited for him to turn his back, then dashed through and took the steps down two at a time. Dimly lit by banks of oar holes, the open space was full of benches and oars, small chests and hammocks. It reeked of sweat and seawater. Crew berths, in all likelihood, with plenty of places to hide. With their backs to her, six men worked winches, bringing a platform of crates up from yet another hatch near the middle of the ship.

  Using the creaking of pulleys and yawning of ropes to mask her footsteps, Jie crept closer, and then dropped behind a nearby bench. They unloaded the crates and lowered the platform.

  “Load up!” a man shouted down.

  When they carried the crates to the upper deck, Jie slunk forward and inspected the hatch. Ropes attached to pulleys and winches led down into the very bowels of the ship; below the waterline, by her best estimate. Below, a man set a keg on the platform and spun around.

  She leapt down, catching one winch line and swinging to another before landing in a forward roll. It stank of sweat and curry powder. Even her elven vision wouldn’t penetrate the darkness here; luckily light bauble lamps provided illumination as well as shadows in which to hide. If any of the porters had seen her before she ducked behind a crate, they were hopefully too concerned with their own work to care about a trespasser.

  Jie picked her way among the cargo, glancing back at every voice and footstep. Red paint marked contents and destinations. The bulk of the crates were labelled as Ayuri gooseweed and Levanthi spices, imported by Golden Fu Trading Company, bound for Nanling Province’s villa in the capital. Tian’s suspicions, though rarely wrong, were wrong now. Hardly worth the risk of mingling among boisterous sailors. If they discovered her, found out she was a girl—

  The smell of rotten eggs, unmistakable but likely undetectable to a human nose, caught her attention. She sniffed, following the scent to several kegs. The writing marked the contents as turmeric, a ubiquitous ingredient of Ayuri cooking, originating from Pelastya and bound for Wailian County.

  Jie examined one of the kegs. Well-sealed, no residue. There was no way of telling the contents without opening it. However, turmeric didn’t smell like rotting eggs, and Pelastya didn’t grow turmeric. It did have volcanoes and sulfur mines.

  Sulfur, bound for Wailian County, the world’s only major source of saltpeter. As clan master’s daughter, she was privy to the closely guarded recipe for firepowder. The only major ingredient left would be charcoal.

  Against the laws of interdependence that kept the nation at peace, someone was making firepowder in the rebellious North. If that was the mysterious substance they’d found in the warehouse, it was being sent south to Yutou Province. An alliance of North and South, ready to fall on the capital.

  Jie needed to alert the clan. She started back toward the hatch.

  “You!” a male voice called.

  CHAPTER 4

  Intents and Purposes

  The shuffling of court robes and the cloying scent of incense greeted Kaiya as she stepped over the high threshold and into the cavernous hall. Dozens of golden columns vaulted toward the ceiling, where a tiled mosaic depicted a dragon and phoenix circling each other. She mused over their symbolic significance. The male dragon and female phoenix represented balance, even though men and women’s roles were far from equal.

  All the more reason not to be here, presenting a case Father had no intention of hearing. Kaiya ventured down an aisle formed by dozens of kneeling ministers and hereditary lords. Save for Eldest Brother Kai-Guo, all pressed their heads to the marble floor as she made her way toward the white marble dais. Carved into its sides were dozens of bat and lotus symbols, which she counted to calm her nerves.

  Father slouched on the Jade Throne, which was chiseled in the form of a coiled dragon. Yellow robes embroidered with auspicious symbols on the chest and elbows hung over his gaunt frame. Gone was the robust optimism she remembered from her childhood. Mother’s recent passing had left the gold phoenix throne at his side as empty as his heart. As always, General Zheng, bearing the Broken Sword, stood a step behind him.

  A lump formed in Kaiya’s throat. She sank to both knees. Stretching her arms out to straighten her sleeves, she placed her hands in front of her as she pressed her forehead to the floor.

  The Tianzi’s voice wobbled. “Rise, my daughter.”

  Kaiya straightened and met his piercing regard, one that warned not to mention the foreign prince. Her clenching chest squeezed out all her resolve.

  No, Father would never condone the suffering of Prince Hardeep and his people for mere profit. The assembled lords must be hiding the truth. Someone had to tell him, lest Heaven punish the realm for its immorality. She lifted her chin. “Please hear the request of Prince Hardeep Vaswani of Ankira.”

  Behind her, the lords and ministers stifled gasps.

  Yet Father’s expression softened. “What does Prince Hardeep ask of Hua?”

  “Huang-Shang,” she said, using the formal address for the Tianzi. “He asks that we cease sales of firepowder to the Madurans.”

  The ministers broke into a low murmur until Chief Minister Tan rose to one knee, head bowed. “Huang-Shang, I negotiated our original agreement with Madura. It has been mutually beneficial.”

  Beneficial. Riches for Hua, conquest for Madura. Misery for her Prince Hardeep’s Ankira. Breaking all decorum, Kaiya spun and scowled at Chief Minister Tan. Fine lines of age framed his triangular face, giving him a foxlike appearance. When she released him from her glare, he averted his eyes as protocol demanded.

  She turned back to Father. “Huang-Shang, do the Five Classics not say that a ruler must act morally? Our actions have led to an unenviable situation in Ankira that we should seek to rectify.”

  Peng Kai-Long rose up to one knee. “Huang-Shang, I agree with the princess. Not only that, but once the Madurans pacify Ankira, and the trade agreement does expire, they will turn th
eir ambitions toward us.”

  Chief Minister Tan shook his head. “We are their source of firepowder. They will make war with someone else.”

  And spread despair, with Hua’s complicity. Kaiya formulated a dignified response in her head. What kind of country put profit over people? Not only should they not renew the trade agreement… “A moral nation would terminate the treaty now.”

  More murmurs, undoubtedly from greedy lords who cared more about gold than morality.

  “Unfortunately, that is not an option,” the Chief Minister said. “In the original negotiations, I bore an imperial plaque. To go against our word, sealed with a plaque, is tantamount to the Tianzi forsaking the Mandate of Heaven. It would invite another Hellstorm.”

  Kaiya sucked in her breath at the implication. Three centuries before, the last emperor of the Yu Dynasty had reneged on his plaque-bound obligations. The gods rained divine fire from the sky as punishment, blasting open a new sea in the fertile plains of the Ayuri South and plunging the world into the Long Winter.

  It was unusual for an imperial plaque to be used in simple trade negotiations, since it represented the honor of the Tianzi. However, as a girl—even as a princess—she couldn’t challenge the Chief Minister’s word directly. She raised an eyebrow at him. “How much longer does the agreement last?”

  Tan’s brows furrowed as he looked to the ceiling. “A year, maybe? I do not recall.”

  Prince Hardeep didn’t have a year. Kaiya turned back to Father. “Should we delay a decision until we find the original contract in the Trade Ministry’s archives?”

  The Tianzi straightened on the throne. He waved toward the lords and officials. “Everyone but Crown Prince Kai-Guo, Young Lord Peng, and Princess Kaiya will withdraw for tea.”

  All present bowed their foreheads to the floor before rising. Whether they drank tea or not, the Tianzi’s suggestion left no doubt, they would drink something, somewhere else. They filed out in precise order.

  Pulse skittering, Kaiya folded her hands into her lap. Father’s stare might as well have been a dwarven anvil on her shoulders.

  Once the room cleared, servants closed the doors. The hall seemed more cavernous with only Eldest Brother, Cousin Kai-Long, and a dozen imperial guards remaining, and was made even more so by the Tianzi’s echoing voice.

  “Kai-Long,” he said. “It seems the foreign prince ignored the unspoken denial and deigned to pressure the princess into acting as his mouthpiece.”

  Cousin Kai-Long pressed his head to the floor. “Huang-Shang, forgive me for suggesting it.”

  Kaiya found him in the corner of her eye. Her stomach felt hollow. She’d failed all their expectations, even when doing the right thing by helping Ankira.

  “I warned you, Cousin.” Eldest Brother Kai-Guo’s lips drew into a tight line. “Kaiya isn’t trained. She should have just occupied him with idle banter. She is more musician than diplomat.”

  Heat pulsated in Kaiya’s cheeks. Apparently, they’d forgotten she was kneeling right there beside them. Then Eldest Brother’s attention fell on her hand, which was subconsciously twirling a lock of her hair, proving his point. She jerked the hand back to her lap.

  Kai-Guo looked to the throne. “Father, may I speak freely?”

  “I would not have sequestered the family if not to allow you the latitude.”

  Kai-Guo bowed his head. “Then if I may, you dote on Kaiya to the detriment of the realm. She wastes her time on music when she should be learning how to be a proper princess. You could have ordered her to marry any six of the previous young lords she met. Instead, you not only allowed her to choose, you pulled her out of matchmaking meetings.”

  Father’s brows clashed together for a split second. “She is not ready to be married, not to one of those men.”

  Kaiya’s head spun. So the interruptions had been Father’s doing, but why? What was wrong with those suitors, besides their lack of wit and self-absorbed attitudes?

  “She needs to marry one of those men,” Kai-Guo said. “A princess’ duty—”

  The Tianzi’s lip quirked just a fraction into a frown. Kai-Guo fell silent and bowed.

  Father’s expression softened as he turned to her. “My daughter, it was unfair of me to assign you this task after shielding you from court intrigue all this time. I indulged your love of music when I should have prepared you to become my eyes and ears in your future husband’s fief.”

  Suppressing a sigh, Kaiya bowed her head. To the realm, her worth as a musician would never surpass her value as a bride. “Why one of those six men?”

  Father’s eyes searched hers. “What do they have in common?”

  Besides having less personality than a rock and egos larger than the three moons combined? Kaiya cocked her head. “They are all sons of Yu-Ming lords.”

  “Yes. Second-rank prefectural and county nobles.” Father’s stare bored into her. “From where?”

  Why was it important? Especially compared to Ankira’s plight? She caught herself before twirling the stubborn lock of hair again. “The North. Regions near the Wall.”

  “What can you tell me about the area?”

  Had she known a geography test would follow matchmaking and greeting foreign dignitaries, maybe she would have stolen a few minutes out of her rigid schedule to study a map. Her brows furrowed. On her last trip, she’d seen… “Rolling hills rise into mountains. Bloodwood trees dot the mountainsides. The land is poor for farming, but the counties thrive from mining.”

  He looked to Eldest Brother and Cousin Kai-Long. “See? She understands more than it appears.” He turned back to her. “My daughter, while the realm may seem prosperous and stable, not all under Heaven is well. My spies say several of the lords of the North harbor rebellious intent. They are as hard as the mountains they defend. To keep them content and docile, we buy saltpeter from their mines and process it in the capital to make firepowder.”

  Kaiya stifled a gasp. For Prince Hardeep and his Ankira, that meant… “We need foreign markets to sell the firepowder to.”

  The Tianzi tilted his head a fraction. “We reserve the freshest for ourselves and sell older stocks.”

  She sucked in a breath. “What about Ankira? We profit from their misery.”

  “Sometimes, practicality shades moral precepts.”

  At her side, Brother nodded. Cousin Kai-Long’s lips pursed.

  Kaiya lowered her hand from where she was again twisting that lock of hair. Her own father was rationalizing actions which caused another people’s suffering. Wasn’t this the paragon of nobility who had ingrained a sense of morality in her? “But—”

  His eyes narrowed, their warmth replaced by authority. “Convey my regret to Prince Hardeep.”

  Cowed by his stern tone, she bowed. Kai-Guo and Kai-Long followed suit.

  When she raised her head, Father’s regard softened. “You are so beautiful, my daughter. I will announce your betrothal at the reception tonight. After you send the foreign prince away, go meet with General Lu.”

  The bottom dropped out of her belly. Betrothal! To the commander of the armies in the North. Their planned meeting had been more than a choreographed farce, and with a possible rebellion brewing, perhaps the Guardian Dragon of Hua had not been the one to request it after all.

  She started to speak, but Father’s genuine smile stifled her protest. Her heart sank into her stomach. Betrothal appeared as immutable as Hua’s agreement with Madura. She’d be married, probably as soon as she flowered with Heaven’s Dew, perhaps even forbidden by a dour new husband from singing. Forget her stomach; her heart lay shattered on the marble tiles.

  Rising, she trudged out of the hall, back into bright sunlight. This had to be a dream. Marriage. Like Xiulan, night after night of trying to make babies with Eldest Brother Kai-Guo. Monotonous routines all day. But at least Xiulan could practice the magic of her Dragon Script with friends and family.

  Not Kaiya. She’d be shipped away to barren hills. Devoid of music. Alone. No, i
t couldn’t be real. She took a deep breath to slow her stuttering pulse. A smooth river pebble found its way from her sash into her hand. Cool and soothing, it was a token from her childhood friend Zheng Tian, the boy she’d once laughingly promised to marry. How simple and carefree those days were! When there was no grey area between Right and Wrong. If only she could marry him instead of some pompous soldier. But no; even though he might be the son of a first-rank Tai-Ming lord, he’d been banished years ago for a stupid mistake.

  She glanced back at her senior-most imperial guard, Chen Xin. He was looking at her hand, frowning. Even on the worst day of her life, it would not do to let anyone see weakness. With a wistful sigh, she straightened her spine and squirrelled the pebble back into its place in her sash. Before meeting her future husband, there was first the equally onerous task of walking back and denying a desperate plea. Thoughts of her own dismal future would have to wait.

  Outside the Hall of Bountiful Harvests, she paused and composed herself. Prince Hardeep was just a man. A handsome one, for sure, but she’d met many other good-looking men without wilting into a starry-eyed fool. Steeling herself against whatever magic Prince Hardeep had used to beguile her, she stepped over the threshold.

  The prince pressed his hands together and bent his head as she entered. He looked up expectantly.

  His irises. They again entranced her.

  Her straight posture softened as her insides summersaulted. She bowed low. It broke formal court etiquette, and indeed, the ministry secretary clucked his disapproval. At least it would conceal her spine melting to jelly. She held the position and focused on the prince’s red-and-gold-threaded shoes. “I am afraid that Cathay must honor its agreements, lest the Tianzi lose the Mandate of Heaven and the realm descend into chaos.”

  “Do not apologize.” His voice was sweet again, with a touch of melancholy. General Lu would probably never speak to her with such affection. “Please, raise your head.”

  His last words filled her like a warm breath into a soap bubble. She straightened.