by JC Kang
Such bravado. Kaiya frowned. “You will not always be here. I am going to change into my bedclothes, so begone, until I tell you to return.”
“Forgive me, Dian-xia. My orders are to be with you at all times.”
At least the Moquan guard was female, but such impertinence! “I will speak to the Tianzi about this arrangement in the morning. Do not make yourself too comfortable here. You will be gone by tomorrow night.”
Three sucked on her lower lip. “Dian-xia, it is for your own protection. If you command it, you shall not even know I am here.”
“Then humor me, and at least pretend to leave.” With an exasperated sigh, Kaiya snatched up her sleeping gown and went behind a folding screen to change. On the other side, the Moquan girl stomped across the room to the door, opened it, stomped out, and closed it behind her. Her footsteps echoed down the hall.
Kaiya emerged from behind the screen. No sign of Three. The nun unpinned her hair, allowing her luxurious locks to tumble down to her waist. Taking up the inner gown, the nun bid her goodnight and slipped out the door. As always, a clean inner gown would hang on the anteroom stand first thing in the morning.
Now alone, Kaiya slid her window open and looked out. A cool breeze brushed across her face, and she smoothed her silken tresses with her hands. The constellation of E-Long loomed high above, a reminder of the evil dragon who supposedly hung over her destiny—if an assassin didn’t get her first. Below it, the iridescent moon waxed to mid-gibbous. Only three hours to midnight. She would need a good night’s rest to deal with the inevitable arguments in the council the next morning. And the confrontation with Father over the Moquan.
Blowing out a long breath, Kaiya closed the windows, shuttered the lamps, and rolled into her bed. She drew up the silk sheets and fur covers, allowing them to envelop her. After a few minutes of deep breathing, her annoyance subsided and her mind settled.
She’d been insufferable with Three, and the guilt gnawed at her. After all, Father only wanted her to be safe. And Three had done nothing wrong, save for her tone, which bordered on mocking insolence.
Something felt wrong in the room: an extra sound in the voice of the night. It seemed oddly familiar.
Kaiya called out softly, “Three, are you there?”
Silence was her only reply, and she spoke again. “Three, I command you to speak if you are here.”
Three’s voice, coming from a mere ten feet away, sounded surprised. “Yes, Dian-xia.”
“I guess I will not be rid of you, will I?”
Mirth danced in Three’s tone. “I am afraid not.”
Kaiya sat up in her bed. “Three, come here, and bring a light.”
Although Kaiya could always hear most movements in her room, Three reached the lantern and opened its shutters in complete silence. Bright light flooded the room.
Squinting, Kaiya beckoned Three over. “Come. Closer.”
Three approached, head bowed. When she raised it, their gazes met.
Kaiya examined the girl’s features. “You are very beautiful, although not in a classic sense. It is...exotic. You have elven blood, do you not?”
“Yes, Dian-xia.” Three answered concisely, though Kaiya had asked in a way that prompted for more information.
“It is not often elves mate with humans,” Kaiya said, waiting for an explanation of Three’s origins. Elves very rarely left their secluded valley realms. The few half-elves in history were the result of violent circumstances, and oftentimes met tragic ends. To her frustration, the girl remained laconic. “What is your story?”
“It is not what you think,” Three finally answered. “From what I have been told, my father is an elf and my Hua mother died in childbirth. Since my adventuring father could not raise me alone, I was left in the care of the Temple as a babe long ago.”
Long ago? “How old are you?”
Three fell silent again, gaze cast down in avoidance of Kaiya’s. She looked up again. “Forgive my rudeness, Dian-xia, but may I speak freely?”
Kaiya nodded.
Three sucked on her lower lip before speaking, almost inaudibly. “Do you typically ask your servants their age, even before you know their name?”
Kaiya paused in surprise before shaking her head. “I apologize, that was rude of me. I—”
“How long has your nun attendant served you? Do you know her name?”
Heat rose to Kaiya’s face, and she turned her head down and to the side. The way it exposed the curve of her neck would buy her time in the company of men, but the half-elf’s eyes merely narrowed. “My apologies. What is your name?”
The girl grinned. “Jie. My family name is Yan, the same as the Master of the Black Lotus Temple, who adopted me. I’m thirty-one.”
Yet she appeared no older than twelve, thirteen at best. If the half-elf had spent so much time at the temple, then... “You must know my childhood friend, Zheng Tian. He is a cloistered scholar.”
Jie, whose eyes had sparkled with mischief just seconds before, choked on a cough. “Cloistered scholar? There are none of those at the Temple, only Moquan. Even the cooks and scullery maids can kill a dozen different ways. Tian is a deadly swordsman and an unparalleled planner. The best since the fabled Architect.”
Her reference to the Architect meant little to Kaiya, but Tian as a swordsman... The idea would be comical if it weren’t so perplexing. As children, he wasn’t much better than her with a sword, despite being older and a boy. Her archery skills had surpassed his. Even when Father revealed the Moquan were real and came from the Black Lotus Temple, Kaiya assumed Tian must’ve held some clerical role there. How could her gullible, adorable friend be a warrior and spy? “He was like a big brother to me.”
“As he is to me, too. He calls me Little Sister, even though I’m ten years older.” Jie’s tenor dropped to a drone, but there was a hint of adoration in her voice.
The girl was cute, insolence aside. Kaiya covered a giggle with her hand. “Then we are almost sisters. Very well, Yan Jie, when we are in private like now, I command you to speak freely as my sister. Also, from tomorrow, you’ll dress as one of my handmaidens. I’ll feel more comfortable that way.”
Kaiya rose from her bed and treaded over to her writing table. From an ornately carved rosewood box, she withdrew a jade hairpin and offered it. “We must exchange hairpins to sanctify our bond of sisterhood. It’ll make a much more convincing disguise as my handmaiden, as well.”
The half-elf tentatively extended her hand, and bowed her head as she received the jewel. She then plucked a flat, tapered pin from her own hair and proffered it in two hands. “This is all I have. Be careful not to stab yourself.”
The black-lacquered metal hairpin had a wicked-looking tip. Kaiya tried not to gawk as she received it. “I...I shouldn’t take my bodyguard’s weapon.”
Jie smirked. “There are a lot more where that came from.”
Once the princess had returned to bed and her breathing became shallow, Yan Jie settled into an alert meditation. It would allow her to forgo sleep for a while, even as she reflected on the dramatic turn of events.
Just a day ago, she’d returned to Hua after an unsuccessful two-year mission abroad. No sooner had she stepped of the ship, than she was tasked with rooting out the anti-imperial insurgency. No rest for the weary; at least no more than her current meditation.
This evening had started innocuously enough, with tracking a careless rebel and kissing him on the neck with a contact toxin. That had been followed with her both disabling an assassin and protecting him from certain death at the swords of predictable imperial guards. All in a typical day’s work.
And second nature for her, compared to her new assignment.
It was far easier to slink in the shadows than to act like a proper handmaiden.
Protecting a headstrong princess was already proving to be difficult. Doing so in a dress would be even more so. Hopefully, the princess wouldn’t ask who had spoken to her from the shadows two years ago, before t
he attack on Wailian Castle.
CHAPTER 12:
Sweat in Times of Peace
Zheng Ming watched as his arrow sang through the cool morning air, its path undeterred by a light breeze off Sun-Moon Lake. It smacked into the small wooden target with a satisfying thud, just barely audible over the pounding of his horse’s hooves and the applause of watching soldiers.
He looked skyward. Hopefully, the thick clouds would break. He planned on visiting the princess soon, to see how she fared after the ambush the night before. Excitement tingled up his spine as he thought of her, so brave and yet so vulnerable.
Ming turned his horse and trotted back to the starting point on the archery course. His long-time friend, Xie Shimin, waited with several other riders.
Xie grinned. “I see you have kept up with your training since I left the border.”
Watching the next rider begin his run, Ming nodded. “As the first Wang Tianzi said, more sweat in times of peace...”
“...means less blood in times of war.”
They both leaned back in their saddles and shared a chuckle.
Xie’s laughter settled. “I shouldn’t have invited you to practice on my province’s equestrian field.” He waved a hand at the uninhabited stretch of land in the capital’s northwest, nestled among wetlands and manicured parks. “These extra practice sections will help you win the national tournament again this year.”
Ming yawned. “I guess I should give your delegation a chance, since you have provided me this opportunity.”
“Yes, Princess Kaiya would be happy to see her home province win, wouldn’t she?” Xie leveled his gaze at him. “How are things progressing with her?”
“Certainly one of my most challenging campaigns ever.”
Xie snorted. “All that sweat, and you are still bloodied. Come now, Brother Ming. You can’t expect the Princess of Hua to easily surrender to your charms like all of your other conquests.”
Ming shrugged. Usually, a woman would be warming his bed after an hour of sweet talk. Then again, this was the Tianzi’s only daughter. “And if she did, I would end up like a Yu Dynasty court eunuch. Nonetheless, a man has urges.”
Xie clapped him on the back. “Nothing a discreet foray or three into the Floating World can’t solve.”
“I have decided to save myself for her.” Ming lifted his chin in mock defiance.
Xie grunted. “Let’s see how long you’ll last.”
“It’ll be worth it.” Ming tracked the next archer.
“If you can accomplish it! But yes, just think about it: your son could be a potential heir to the Dragon Throne.”
There it was again, the same bait everyone dangled in front of him. Ming turned to watch a Huayuan province soldier make his archery run. “That’s the least of my worries.”
“It should be your foremost consideration, especially if Prince Kai-Guo and Prince Kai-Wu fail to plant their seeds.”
Ming gawked. Some things were better left unsaid. He started to respond.
Xie gestured for him to remain quiet. “These are perilous times. If your future son sat on the throne, you could be regent until he comes of age.”
Regent? As if ruling his own province would not be difficult enough. “I’m not sure I want that responsibility.”
“In times of need, I’d rather trust the unwilling hero who rises to the occasion, than the greedy official who wishes to take charge.” Xie locked his gaze on him. “We need leaders to contain the barbarians in the North and an aggressor to the South who seek to carve Hua up.”
Ming’s eyes darted about. His friend’s words bordered on treason. “In any case, even though the Tianzi is in poor health, he still rules. Crown Prince Kai-Guo will rule after him. Even if they remain without child, it would be many, many years before my yet unconceived son would ascend the throne.”
Xie fell silent, nonchalantly brushing the fletching of one of his arrows.
Ming shifted in his saddle. Enough talk of politics. “Now if there’s anyone who needs a wife and child, it’s you!”
Xie shook his head. “Unfortunately, a soldier’s pay can’t cover both the costs of a sick mother’s medical expenses and a bridegroom gift for the right bride.”
“So your mother’s condition hasn’t improved?”
Xie sighed. “The herbs are helping to keep her from deteriorating further, but she’s not getting any better.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps she would be heartened if her only son finally married. If you need a bridegroom gift, then let me know how I can help you.”
His old friend faced him, blinking away what looked suspiciously like a tear. “I appreciate the gesture, my friend. We’re a proud family, and I will not accept charity for this. You need not concern yourself.”
Ming placed a hand on Xie’s shoulder. “We served together for years in Wailian. It would be my honor to help my comrade-in-arms.”
“And I thank you for the offer. But I plan on winning a purse from the national tournament, and taking care of it myself.” Xie flashed a broad grin.
“Just know that in this matter, I will not yield.” Zheng Ming grinned at his friend. “But otherwise, let me know how I might help. I must be going now; I will soon be engaging another opponent at the palace.”
Xie smiled slyly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to embarrass you in front of her at the tournament this year.”
Peng Kai-Long avoided the downward slash, turning to the side and cutting to his opponent’s midsection. The satisfying crack of the bamboo sword on the man’s armor echoed through the courtyard.
Both combatants stepped back and bowed.
Kai-Long kept his expression stoic, hiding his satisfaction. He was a fair swordsman at best, using pre-engagement analysis and deceit to compensate for his admittedly mediocre physical skills.
His villa steward shuffled out onto the veranda. “Jue-ye, Minister Hong is here to see you.”
“I will meet the old man in private. Send him to the teahouse.”
The prior night’s ambushes had visibly shaken Old Hong. Those who thought they knew everything failed to plan for uncertainties. The minister’s lack of foresight and preparation would be why Kai-Long ultimately prevailed once it was time for them to betray each other.
He reached back. One of the squires placed a silk towel in his hand, which he used to dab the sweat off his forehead. More sweat in times of peace.
Peaceful times would be ending soon, for the good of the realm. If only the Tianzi and his Royalist yes-men saw it. Kai-Long took his time walking, not bothering to strip off his padded cuirass. Hopefully bloodstains remained on the teahouse mats. That would be sure to intimidate Old Hong.
A servant opened the sliding doors, revealing Hong sitting cross-legged on a cushion. Sweat trickled down his leathery face. He bent over low.
Kai-Long took a seat across from him, taking note of the new mats. “Rise.”
The old man creaked out of his bow. “Good morning, Lord Peng. You look well in spite of the chaos last night.”
Kai-Long shrugged. “The Tianzi’s agents have questioned everyone. From what I have been told, the attackers on the road between here and the palace used arrowheads forged in the South. The assassins were Maduran Scorpions. One was captured alive.”
Hong lowered his voice. “You decided to attack the princess?”
So, the old man correctly suspected his involvement. Kai-Long scowled and shook his head. “Of course not. The princess will be yours, as we promised— if we can keep her alive.”
Hong’s eyes narrowed. “Then this was not your doing?”
Kai-Long glared at the minister, wrapping his next lie in indignation. “No. The prisoner revealed that I was their target. They didn’t know the imperial guards would appropriate the teahouse. In any case, I need her alive so that you can continue using her as your bargaining chip, and I can get what I want.”
Hong’s mouth gaped. “Are you suggesting there are real Maduran Scorpions in Hua
jing?”
“It appears so. The Tianzi’s agents are paying courtesy calls to all of the Ayuri nations’ trade offices, to root out infiltrators and spies. I suspect word of the princess’ romantic correspondence with the Ankiran prince got out.”
Hong nodded, understanding blooming on his monkey face. “That would make sense, then. Killing the princess would prevent her from sealing an alliance with the Ankiran freedom fighters; assassinating you would silence the greatest of our lords and the loudest proponent of punitive action against them.”
Kai-Long wondered if the old man was truly convinced. He needed the minister for a little while longer, just until he could get the Expansionist policies approved by the Tianzi, as well as measures that would aid with his eventual coup.
Once the obsequious toad delivered on the third stage of their plan, he was a loose thread that could unravel his carefully-knit plans. A loose thread that would be clipped, at the neck.
After wasting time being fitted for her first silk dress, Yan Jie watched from a covered veranda as her ward shed an extravagant gown in favor of simple cotton robes.
Jie snorted, drawing the stares of the handmaidens beside her. The princess now looked not unlike the young nun who guided the group of noblewomen in their martial arts practice. Fashionable hairstyles were abandoned in favor of simple pony tails, giving them an austere appearance befitting the White Sand Courtyard. Bordered on the east by the Praise Moon Temple, the courtyard’s only defining features were the fine white gravel for which it was named, and a dragon-shaped well.
The Praise Moon nuns practiced a secret style developed by the Founder’s consort after witnessing a fight between a snake and a crane. Jie suppressed a yawn. The nuns should probably stick to their duties of harvesting a unique species of tea leaves reserved for the Hua Imperial Family.
On this overcast morning, the princess, along with her sisters-in-law, her cousin Wang Kai-Hua, and the yappy Lin Ziqiu, all tied up their sleeves, exposing slender white arms. Wrist-to-wrist, they engaged in the pair exercise of Sticking Hands, supposedly to learn how to feel a partner’s intention through tactile sensation.
