“He has seen her many times during his life.”
“He shall never see her again after today.”
“As he shall never see you.” The Vice-Chancellor moved over to stand beside her as Miahala and the Mistress of Walking began to set out her clothes. White silk diyi embroidered with cranes; white and yellow lotus slippers, and white Phoenix crown with silk veil. Mourning clothes.
“Would you rather spend time with him today? I can arrange for the White Tea to be protected by the Imperial Guard. Perhaps your young friend will be among them?”
She breathed deeply, kept her face a neutral mask. She would need to learn this particular skill soon enough.
“Kirin is a friend,” she said. “He will make Captain of the Guard some day.”
“If he remains in Pol’Lhasa. I hear his mother is arranging a transfer to Kohdari, for him to study Chi’Chen diplomacy at the Five Hands Gate.” The Vice-Chancellor smiled again. “He has a remarkable mother.”
“As do I,” she said. “Which is why I would like to see her before she goes to meet our ancestors.”
“Your mother is not well.”
“She will see me.”
“I will petition Chancellor Fa. He may agree.”
“I would like you to petition my mother.”
“Then I myself will ask.”
And the Pershan bowed low and long before leaving the room in a rustle of blue silk. Ling released a long breath, then another.
The breath of butterflies.
Mialah held up the diyi.
Ling sighed again and left the window, holding out her arms to receive a new set of wings.
***
It was almost noon by the time she had been clothed. They had added white dots to her black cheeks, red paint to her lips, and not for the first time, Ling felt like a doll. She had protested, however, when they wanted to remove the swallowtail pin in order to properly secure the Phoenix crown. The swallowtail stayed, she had told them. She would not leave the room without it.
The door opened on an Imperial Guard and she studied them with painted eyes. Four leopards and two lions - one old, one young. She held back a smile, even as her heart leapt in her chest. What an odd sensation. Her mother was dying. She was about to become Empress of the Known World and yet here, at the sight of one young lion, she was a butterfly.
The old lion stepped forward, bowed fist to cupped palm. The others did the same, even the leopards, although they could have remained immobile. The Leopard Guard and Panther Elite were exempt from many protocols. Their eyes saw everything.
“Sahidala,” said the lion, Captain Edwin Rhys-Montbatten, a man she had known all her life. “Vice-Chancellor Ho has asked us to accompany you to the White Tea Room.”
“Yes,” she said. “To await the death of my mother.”
He lowered his eyes. “It is a dark day for the Upper Kingdom.”
“The day I become Empress is a dark day?”
“Forgive me, sahidala. That is not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant, Captain,” she said. “It is a dark day for me as well.”
A Dragon Year. Bad luck for the Dragon-born.
She left the mongoose in the care of Mialah and the leopards stepped back as the party of women slippered out into the high hall. Their moving was like a tide of water toward a distant shore, slow but progressive and she deliberately timed her step to fall in beside the young lion. He was doing his best not to look at her.
“Kirin,” she said quietly. It would likely be the last time she would call him by his name.
“Sahidala,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed forward. She could see the Captain’s tail lash ahead of her. She grinned to herself but would not let it show. It was the way of things.
“How is your mother?” she asked.
“She is well,” he said and she marveled at how his voice had deepened in the months since she had seen him last. He was no longer a boy. “Busy with the running of the house. She has been asking for your health.”
Forty-nine steps down the opal hall; four leopards, two lions, two caracals, a sandcat and one Sacred girl.
“Tell her I am as healthy as a mountain yak.”
She could see the gleam in his eyes, the subtle twitch of his lip but still he would not smile. Stoic, as always.
He smelled of pine and leather. She breathed him in.
“I will tell her,” he said.
He was almost as tall as the old Captain and she knew he was moderating his stride for her sake. He was lanky as well, having not quite grown into his shoulders, and his long golden mane was in a simple braid down his back. Kirin Wynegarde-Grey, her best, dearest friend. Her secret hiding place.
Forty-nine steps up the bamboo stair; four leopards, two lions, two caracals, a sandcat and one Sacred girl.
“Where is your brother now?” she asked. “Has he gone East like he said he would?”
“He has,” said Kirin. “I don’t know when we’ll see him again.”
“Do you think he can elude Chi’Chen spies?”
Again, a lash of the Captain’s tail. She hissed, silencing him.
“If anyone can, sahidala, it will be Kerris.”
“Perhaps he will catch them.”
“That is something he would do.”
“Are you transferring to the Five-Hands Gate?”
He hesitated, telling her everything.
“It is a prestigious placement,” she added quickly, saving him.
“It is not yet confirmed,” he said.
And finally, forty-nine steps along the teak corridor; four leopards, two lions, two caracals, a sandcat and one Sacred girl.
“You will make an effective diplomat. But where is your heart?”
“My heart,” he said as they stopped at a sliding door. “Is wherever I may best serve my Empress.”
She smiled and this time, the old Captain’s tail did not lash.
The leopards peeled away and the door slid open on the White Tea Room of Pol’Lhasa. She had never been here before, would likely never be here again and she breathed it all in. With a high black-beamed ceiling, rice paper walls and large windows, it opened to one of the palace’s many terraces, which served to bring fresh air, sunlight and birdsong into the room. There were few patrons this early morning hour, with the passing of the Empress so imminent, but the making and taking of tea was one of the rituals of her people. The room fell silent however the moment her lotus slippers set foot through the door.
At a low table, three girls and one young boy watched her over a cast-iron teapot. Her sisters and brother, all younger by many years, and she let her eyes meet theirs for the briefest of moments. She had known them only until her sixth summer before she was taken for training in the Imperial Court. She still treasured those early years learning and playing and painting in the Imperial Nursery, along with the brothers Wynegarde-Grey. She would have never known laughter had it not been for those years.
She wondered if she would ever know it again.
She tore her gaze away from her siblings, fixed it rather on the end of the room, to the open terrace and a large ebony statue. At its feet, a man bowed in prayer.
The leopards fanned out along the walls, silent as a breath, as she moved into the room. The colourful women flitted like peacocks to a table, bent as if to take tea but they merely moved the cups around the table like a game. They kept their painted eyes on her however. They would watch her every move. The old Captain stayed on one side of her, Kirin on the other as she crossed the bamboo mats to stand at the terrace. She did not move her slippers across the threshold, afraid of what they might do, where they might run.
She breathed in the cool morning air, welcomed the sun on her face. She could see Kathandu, Fang of the Great Mountains, her peak still crowned with snow even in the summer. The terrace floor was raked sand and stepping stones. Many potted trees filled the air with the fragrance of old blossoms and ripe fruit. A water fountain was quietly trickling i
n a marble alcove and small songbirds flitted from birdbaths on the walls. She had never been here before, would likely never be here again.
Like so many places in the world where her slippers would never take her.
Slowly, she turned. Slowly, she moved back to the statue and the man praying at its feet.
All sound in the room hushed, all breathing ceased. They were waiting on her as they would for the rest of their lives, provided she lived. Her mother had been Empress for less than ten years, the most powerful figure in the world for such a fleeting glimpse of time. Bad luck for the Dragon-born.
Ling raised her eyes to study the statue. It was the Goddess Khali with her many arms and raging face, carved out of a single piece of ebony. Her golden headdress, bracelets and collar shone like the sun against the dark of the stone. Khali was an Ancestor but this carving made her look more Chi’Chen than feline, a fact that had always confounded her. Cats owed more to their Ancestors than monkeys did. Everyone knew this. It was a mystery.
At Khali’s feet, hands and knees and forehead to the floor, the man was dressed entirely in funeral white, his long tail bound in silk cords and tassels. Her heart thudded in its chest and she fought to still it as she stood behind him now. He did not move to get up.
She threw a glance over her shoulder. Her oldest sister, Aradhanah, was sitting upright, clutching her iron cup with both hands. She shook her head, begging with her eyes. Ling hardened her heart and looked back to the statue.
She raised her voice so all in the Tea Room could hear.
“Can mercy be found in the heart of her who was born of the Great Mountains?” she began.
Even the birds were silent.
“Men call you merciful, but there is no trace of mercy in you, Mother.
You have cut off the heads of the children of others and these you wear as a garland around your neck.”
It was the prayer to the consort of Death from the Ancient books. Altogether inappropriate and bold.
“It matters not how much I call you “Mother, Mother.”
You hear me, but you will not listen.”
Utter silence in the White Tea Room until slowly, the man at her feet pushed to his knees. He released a long, cleansing breath.
“Your mother cannot hear you, Thothloryin Parillaud Markova Wu.”
“Not from the White Tea Room.”
There was a ripple of voices but she raised her chin.
“I wish to see her before she meets our Ancestors.”
“It is not the way of things.”
“Where is the harm in it?”
“Ling…”
“Soon, you will call me Excellency.”
“Until then,” said the man, rising to his feet. “I will call you daughter.”
He turned to face her. Slightly taller than she, he was a slim grey Tabbeh with white under his eyes and along his cheeks. He wore a turabahn of plain white silk, and was as completely covered as she.
At her sides, both lions bowed, fist to cupped palms and took a step back. Their respect was admirable. It set her teeth on edge.
Her father smiled at her.
“Would you like tea, daughter?” he asked. “The White Tea Room is renown for their Silver Needle. Perhaps you would prefer the Black Peony?”
“My mother is dying. I do not want tea.”
“You are a delicate child. Tea will soothe your nerves.”
She steeled her jaw, her face a perfectly neutral mask.
“I have never been a delicate child.”
“And so stubborn.”
“It is the only way to rule an Empire.”
“You have much to learn.”
“And I will learn it.”
“You would learn better under a regent.”
“I will not accept you as my regent, Father,” she said.
“Chancellor Fa, then? He is respectable and capable.”
“I will not share my throne with anyone, Father. Especially not Fa.”
“That is a shame, sahidala,” came a voice from the sliding doors. “We would make a splendid team, you and I.”
She turned as a tall, slim man in blue robes slipped into the White Tea Room. He was surrounded by a host of scribes and they floated around him like bees to a flower. With a wave of his elegant hand, they stopped and he flowed toward her. He was so very smooth.
Jianguo Chan Freiderich Fa was Sacred and Shiamic, a blessed combination. His eyes were large and very blue, and his face, ears and hands were brown as cacao. He wore a wide cap of trimmed gold across his forehead and it was said that his cheekbones could slice paper. As remarkable as his pelt was, it was his whiskers that set him apart. Most cats trimmed, shaved or plucked their whiskers, believing it made them more Ancestral but not Fa. He waxed and shaped them, trained them to fall down and join beneath his chin in a series of jade beads. It made him look very exotic and wise and everyone in Pol’Lhasa feared him, just a little.
He stopped and bowed, hands clasped within the folds of his blue robes.
“Sahidala,” he repeated. “Vice-Chancellor Ho has told me of your request to see your mother. Alas, I must deny you.”
As smooth as cream.
“Why?” she asked.
“Your mother, our most esteemed and holy Empress, Daughter of the Great Mountains, is asleep.”
“Asleep?”
“And she will likely never awaken. She will be with her Ancestors before noon.”
“It is almost noon now.”
“Indeed. What a pity.” He ran ringed fingers along his whiskers. “If there were a Regency, perhaps we might make an exception.”
“There will be no Regency.”
“Another pity.”
She swallowed, threw a quick glance to the young lion standing several paces away. His expression was neutral, as always, and not for the first time, she cursed her life. Duty and ritual, ceremony and poise. It was all artifice - bound with tradition but empty of meaning. Beautiful butterflies dancing on the breeze, dead by morning.
“You will regret this once I am Empress.”
“Perhaps, sahidala, but I am Chancellor now.” He stepped back, bowed to her father. “The Court is drawing up the papers as we speak.”
“Excellent, Chancellor,” said her father. “You are as capable as you are honorable.”
Her heart thudded in her chest.
“No!” she snapped, her voice echoing off the walls of the White Tea. “I will not accept a Regency.”
“You will have no choice. The Empress is signing the request as we speak.”
“You said the Empress was sleeping.”
“My mistake.”
Her throat tightened.
“This is a coup,” she hissed, keeping her voice low but she hated it. It sounded young and girlish. “You and my father have conspired to take the throne from me.”
“That is a bold accusation, sahidala,” said Fa.
“And completely unfounded, my daughter,” said her father.
She suddenly felt very small, resisted throwing a glance at her only friend in the world. This was no place for him. His career would be shipwrecked if she drew him into this. She kept her gaze level, her tongue restrained.
“I am not surprised at your behaviour, Father,” she said evenly. “But I had hoped Fa above this.”
“There is no coup, sahidala. There is no conspiracy. There is the working of a young and overactive imagination. Too much time spent in the Imperial nursery. I warned your mother against this.”
Such politics so early in the day. Her chest ached from holding her breath.
“This,” Fa continued, “Is merely the working of the Imperial Court. But of course, you are too young to know. You have no experience.”
“I will not allow it,” she said.
“You cannot stop it. It is done.”
“I wish to see my mother. I wish to hear it from her lips.”
“She is dying, sahidala. You do not need to see that.”
&n
bsp; “I am not a butterfly. I am Thothloryn Parillaud Markova Wu,” she announced so that all in the White Tea Room sat up. “Daughter of the Shagar’mathah, heir of the Great Mountains!”
There was silence for a long moment as the Chancellor stroked his whiskers.
“You are a spoiled, presumptuous little girl,” he purred. “Playing dress up in a little girl’s slippers and robes. Perhaps in six summers, you will be able to fill your mother’s glorious shoes but for now, you will yield to the will of the Court.”
Bad luck for the Dragon-born. She was defeated before she had even begun. A dancing butterfly, dead by morning.
“Forgive me, sahidala,” came another voice and she looked up to see Vice-Chancellor Ho flowing through the sliding door. With his ivory face atop the blue robes, he looked like a white-capped wave. Fa’s tail lashed at the sight of him and Ling turned the thought over in her mind. Tensions were rife in the government, she realized; tensions not caused from the passing of the Empress alone. She had so much to learn.
Ho paused and bowed, hands hidden within his great sleeves.
“The Empress has asked for you, sahidala,” he said. “If you still wish to see her.”
Fa’s eyes flashed.
“Impossible,” he snapped. “She is not well.”
“She is the Empress,” said Ho. “Her will is as iron as it is law.”
“Has she signed the papers?”
“Papers, sahidi? What papers are you referring to?”
Ho smiled innocently.
And suddenly, she knew.
It had all changed in the beat of a heart. There had indeed been a coup, a conspiracy, an overthrow of power but it had been so subtle that no one had suspected it. Like a cobra, no one had even seen it raise its head, let alone the strike. Politics was a game, she realized and Ho as skilled as any and she embraced his play with a wicked glee that she never knew she possessed. Her youth would forever define her now, with such a man at her side.
She raised her chin and leveled her eyes at Chancellor Fa.
“How old are you, Fa? Have you seen your forty-eighth summer?”
“This year, sahidala,” he growled through gritted teeth.
“Bad luck for the Dragon-born,” she said.
Suddenly, a gong sounded from deep within the palace. Once, twice, three times, it rang – it’s tone deep and ominous and the little birds on the terrace lifted from their branches at the tremor. Four, five, six times the gong sounded, changing the world with each chime until the seventh, loud, long and final, reverberating through the White Tea, across the terrace, around the World.
Swallowtail & Sword: The Scholar's Book of Story & Song (Tails from the Upper Kingdom 4) Page 5
