by CK Dawn
“Do not apologize.” His voice was sweet again, with a touch of melancholy. General Lu would probably never speak to me with such affection. “Please, raise your head.”
His last words filled me like a warm breath into a soap bubble. I straightened.
Shoulders slumping, the prince tilted his eyes downward. He was handsome, even in sadness. “Will you sing for me? As a memory of our meeting?”
A song. My heart flitted. I would do this for him, appropriate or not. At least someone today would appreciate my voice. I looked over my shoulder toward the official, who scowled and shook his head. No? Who was he to defy my wishes?
The prince’s lips trembled into a brittle smile.
My first foray into diplomacy might have ended in disaster, but with music, very few in Cathay could rival me. Perhaps if the fabled magic of Dragon Songs still existed, I could sing the rebellious lords into submission. Then, Father would value my ability over my marriage prospects. I lifted my voice in song, my soul soaring with each breath. The Broken Sword recounted how the Founder had transformed weakness into strength. Perhaps it would give Hardeep hope.
Exultation surged through my spine, into my limbs. All uncertainties and self-doubts melted away. With each note, I shed my poor imitation of imperial grace, replacing it with the sincerity of my soul. Not even the tight dress could contain me. Verse upon verse rose to a crescendo, my spirit floating with it.
Prince Hardeep’s blue eyes sparkled. “Even Yanyan would envy your voice.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. How could he compare me to the girl from a thousand years before, who’d summoned storms with her music and sung the dragon Avarax to sleep? “Yanyan charmed an orc army into surrender with her song. I could not even convince my father to change his mind.”
“You spoke from your heart, and the Emperor listened.” His forlorn smile sent a chill up my spine. “With an indomitable spirit, you can move your people to do the right thing.”
Could I? Besides Cousin Kai-Long, none of the men in the Hall of Supreme Harmony had shown any concern for morality. I sighed. “If I had the voice of Yanyan, he would have listened.”
Those blue eyes searched mine. “Channeling magic through artistic endeavor is the gift of your people, just as the fighting arts are ours. Come with me, and scatter the Maduran armies with the power of your music.”
Was he suggesting running away? With him? Escaping marriage with General Lu? I glanced back at the official. If he understood Hardeep’s words, the prince might lose his head. And if only shirking duty were so easy. We wouldn’t make it to the front gates, even if I could bring myself to take up his offer.
And who knew? Maybe he was trying to kidnap me, and hold me hostage to get what he wanted.
Tearing my gaze away, I shook my head. “Even if master performers from Cathay’s past could accomplish amazing feats with Dragon Songs, those skills have since faded into legend. You would need an elf.” Like Father’s councilor, Lord Xu. Too bad nobody could predict when the enigmatic elf would make an appearance.
Prince Hardeep took my hands in his. Excitement rose in his tone. “With your voice and musical talent, you have the potential. We will research. I can help you scour your records. Together, we could learn how the masters of old did it.”
His touch sent heat up my arms and into my core. Behind me, the official sucked in a sharp breath and the imperial guards stepped forward. I withdrew, for his safety, and raised an open hand to assuage the guards. Was it even possible? “How can I learn from books what the elf angel taught Yanyan?”
“I would hazard to guess that singing a dragon to sleep is just a little more difficult than convincing a doting father to do the right thing.” He put a finger to his chin. “And if—no, when—you succeed, you will save my nation.”
Yes! No. Even if it were possible to learn from dusty old books, using magic to change an emperor’s mind flirted with treason even more than running away. I met his gaze again. Those eyes implored me, making my belly flutter. No, helping Ankira was the moral thing to do. Here was a chance to show that music was worth something. That I was worth something, beyond my value as a bride to some lord. “I will try.”
A grin bloomed on his face. “Ankira owes you a debt of gratitude. I owe you.”
I twirled an errant lock of hair. “We will need to retrace Yanyan’s steps. To find out exactly where she met the elf angel.” Which meant a trip to the imperial archives. After the mandated matchmaking with General Lu.
I looked into the prince’s eyes. No. He was here, close, and marriage to the general seemed so far away. Hardeep’s people needed my help, because everyone else would just let them suffer. Again, my hand found Tian’s pebble, firm and resolute beneath my sash. He’d support my decision.
We’d go now, even though it meant disobeying Father.
Three
Resonance
Pages ruffled as I flipped through ancient musical texts with Prince Hardeep under the bright illumination of unshuttered light-bauble lamps. I’d performed in the Hall of Pure Melody’s acoustically perfect main chamber for large audiences of hereditary lords several times before, but it had been years since I visited its library.
My two imperial guards stood at the doorway, expressions marked by tight-drawn lips and narrowed eyes. The Ministry of Appointments secretary clasped and unclasped his hands, turning his head out into the hall over and over again. He resembled a dwarf-made mechanical doll.
Unlike those silent automatons, he had reminded me several times in the bowels of the imperial archives, then on the jaunt across the central plaza to here, that General Lu awaited; and that perhaps I should preen a little first. When it came time for him to file a daily log with his ministry, there was no telling what he would say about me.
Perhaps he would mention how I’d dallied with a foreign prince instead of meeting my future husband. The rumors would swirl through the palace for days, humiliating me—and worse, embarrassing Father.
Shifting my gaze from Prince Hardeep, I stifled a sigh. Helping him had sounded just and righteous earlier. Now though, rummaging through the music library, without permission no less, for the sake of a foreign country… Father might very well order me married immediately, before I even flowered with Heaven’s Dew.
And for what? The prospects of unearthing lost Dragon Songs seemed bleak so far. None of the hundred song transcriptions looked out of the ordinary, beyond the beautiful sound they each sang in my head. Gritting my teeth, I replaced yet another bundle of brittle rice-paper scrolls.
With the enthusiasm of a puppy, Prince Hardeep pointed to a wall of books bound in faded silk cord. “Perhaps we should search the oldest ones.”
A smile came unbidden to my lips. General Lu would never look at me like that, never think of me as more than a stepping stone. Never care about what was important to me. Yes, this was the right thing to do. Nothing bad came from helping others. My hand left Tian’s pebble and reached for one of the books—
“What are you doing?” a male voice barked from the door.
My heart leapt into my throat. I swung around.
The Hall of Pure Melody’s steward marched in, his blue robes swishing. His glower fell on me, widened, and then shifted downward as protocol demanded. “Your Highness, I was not informed you would visit today.”
I nodded. “I am…” I looked to Prince Hardeep, then back. “I am looking for a song to play for my brother’s wedding.” A cringe-worthy lie.
The steward shuffled on his feet. “It is uh, highly irregular for people to visit the musical archives, particularly the rare, and uh, especially delicate volumes. Perhaps I can help?”
“Yanyan,” I said. “Do you have any of her music here?”
Frown returning to his face, the steward favored the prince with a furrowed brow. “Who is this?”
I straightened and channeled my most authoritative voice. “A guest of honor.”
“And a fellow lover of music.” Prince Hardeep pressed
his palms together. “I have researched your peoples’ music for years.” He hummed a familiar tune.
Da-Xiong’s Lullaby? The famous flautist Da-Xiong, one of the last to master Dragon Songs, had calmed a furious Yu Dynasty emperor with that song, sparing hundreds of innocents from his wrath. Prince Hardeep knew the song, while the only tunes General Lu probably knew of were war chants. The prince’s hum hung in the air, each note heavier than the next. My shoulders relaxed as the melody settled my skittering pulse.
The steward’s ridiculous grin spread from the edge of each eye, while he blinked as if he had dwarven anvils for eyelids. His Ayuri came out with a halting accent. “Simply amazing! Few have heard of that song, let alone can hum it. I am duly impressed.”
“You are too kind.” Nodding at the steward, Prince Hardeep winked at me. “I would love to see Yanyan’s songs. Even if none of my people could invoke the magic in her tunes, legend has it the melodies are beautiful.”
“Alas.” The steward sighed. “Her songs were transcribed in one single book, lost in the chaos after the Hellstorm.”
Prince Hardeep’s lips quirked upward. “A shame. In any case, though I appreciate the offer, we do not need your help. You may all leave us.”
“Let me know if you do.” The steward bowed. He turned and left, the secretary and imperial guards escorting him out.
Leaving me alone. With Hardeep. Whose command both the steward and the secretary and guards had obeyed. My heart buzzed like a dragonfly’s wings. Maybe the secretary would report back to Father that I was alone with a man.
Hardeep brushed a finger across my thumb, and then clasped my hand. Excitement jolted from my palm to my chest. Smiling conspiratorially, he tilted his head toward the older books. “Come.”
I cast my gaze down. Heat flared from my toes to my head. To think that an hour before, marriage seemed so onerous. With him, however… He understood me. Maybe he even liked me. I let him guide me toward the books.
He pulled a few off the shelves, handing me some while flipping through the pages of others. I peeked up through my lashes a few times to catch his singular focus on the task. From the bounce of his head, he could clearly read the musical transcription.
He passed another book to me. “What does the script say?”
The song itself was innocuous enough, a piece for the four-stringed, fretted pipa from the preceding Yu Dynasty. In that era, during which the emperor had kept a large harem, a court musician had cheered a depressed concubine with it. “Once you have seized the song’s emotion and made it your own,” I read, “you must project it. Rooted to the ground, your spine aligned, let your heart impel your voice.” Rooted to the ground, spine aligned…it sounded like my doctor’s breathing exercises.
“As if people were trees.” He laughed, clear and jubilant. Still, his eyes darted over the page before searching mine. “I wonder what it sounds like.”
My lips quirked upward as I contemplated his hand. My own shot out to take his and I gave him a tug toward the exit. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“The main hall,” I said before I could change my mind. It was one thing to go to the library, but the main hall was off-limits except on rare occasions. If the Emperor found out, he might never let me perform here again. Maybe it wasn’t worth the risk.
Yes, it was. Here was a chance to evoke a Dragon Song, something no Cathayi artist had accomplished in centuries. I could be special, something more than just a chess piece in the game of national politics. And Prince Hardeep wanted—no, needed—me to succeed. I squared my shoulders and shuffled ahead of him.
Though steeply pitched eaves of blue tile capped the Hall of Pure Melody on the outside, the main hall vaulted in an elliptical dome. Prince Hardeep looked upward, his irises tracing the coffering that partitioned the porcelain tiles.
“We need an instrument.” I beckoned him toward the front of the chamber, where I knelt and slid aside a wall panel to reveal a storage room. If he loved music as much as me, wait until he went inside! I invited him in with an open hand.
His hands barely brushed over my shoulder as he passed, sending a shiver through me. I stood and followed him in, almost running into his back when he skidded to a halt.
Arms outstretched, blue eyes round with wonder, he spun in a circle, pausing on some of the finest instruments: An antique guzheng zither, said to be worth more than a ship. An array of knobbed bronze bells, played only on New Year’s Day.
And finally, a pipa, believed to have been given to Yanyan by her lover, the elf angel Aralas, resting on a cloth-covered pedestal. Its sound plate glittered in gold, while the strings caught the light like a spider web at dawn. The smooth resonator, supposedly made of a dragon’s eggshell, swirled with color.
“What a beautiful lute!” Hardeep strode over and reverently picked Yanyan’s pipa up in two hands. If only my potential suitors had even a fraction of his interest in music! No, they were more interested in talking about themselves. He presented the instrument with an encouraging nod.
I hesitated. Only designated people were allowed to touch any of the artifacts. Then again, I hadn’t stopped him, either. Bowing my head, I received the pipa in two hands.
And almost dropped it. It seemed alive in my hands, pulsing ever so subtly, as if it had a heart, beating in harmony with mine. As if it belonged to me. I started to return it to its stand.
It felt like leaving behind a long-lost friend. I looked up to see Hardeep disappearing into the performance hall. Pulse racing, I cradled the pipa against my chest and followed.
When I reached the door, he was scooting a bloodwood chair, carved with nightingale patterns, to the most ideal spot in the chamber for playing. He set the music book on it and gestured for me to sit, then walked across the chamber. Though the location wasn’t marked on the white marble floors, he stopped where Father might relax—the most ideal spot for listening. Pressing his hands together, he bowed his head. “Please play.”
I looked at the instrument in my hands, then up at him. Of all the pipas, he had chosen this one. “Do you know the significance of this lute?”
He shrugged. “It drew my eye. It was the most beautiful in the storeroom.”
“Yanyan used it during the War of Ancient Gods.”
His mouth formed a perfect circle. “Then you must play it.”
I studied the pipa. I might be a talented musician, but… “No human in living memory has coaxed a sound out of it.” Hushed rumors spoke of the elf lord Xu playing it for Father twenty-nine years ago; other than that, the last masters to play it lived almost three centuries before, and had all died under bizarre circumstances.
Tapping his chin, he regarded me. “You won’t know unless you try.”
My head spun. If I succeeded where even the best musicians in the realm had failed, it would prove the worth of music. My worth. Then again, if the pipa didn’t respond, it would only confirm what Eldest Brother Kai-Guo and the other lords believed: my only value was that as a bride to General Lu. Even worse, Prince Hardeep would think less of me. I met his gaze again.
His kind eyes encouraged me on.
Yes. I could do this. Had to do it, even if it was just to prove to myself I could. I scanned the music book, memorizing the complex changes. Settling on the edge of the chair, I took a deep breath and plucked out the first note. A beautiful sound emanated from the resonator.
My heart jolted and I nearly dropped the pipa in surprise. It couldn’t be. It had to be my imagination. I looked up to Hardeep.
Beaming, he nodded me on.
Could it be? I strummed a chord, emitting a wondrous sound. There was no mistake. Heavens, I had done it! Something no human had accomplished in over two centuries!
Plucking each string, pressing each fret, the music came out inspired. The joyous soul of the song bounded off the page, swirling in seemingly tangible currents.
“Each note raises my spirit higher,” he said, yet his own tone was flat. “Maybe do w
hat the book suggested. Adjust yourself in the chair? I think if you straightened your spine, feet more flat on the ground, it would sound even better.”
Such strange advice, sounding more like my doctor’s counsel than anything my music teachers would ever say. Still, it couldn’t hurt. I shifted in the chair and plucked out the tune. Its vibration echoed in my arms.
“One shoulder is higher than the other,” he offered.
Adjusting my posture, I continued, and the pulsations merged into my core. With a slight tilt of my waist, they sank to my pelvis, awakening a flare of warmth there. After tucking my tailbone forward, the vibrations reached my legs as well. I looked up again.
Prince Hardeep’s expression brightened from his luminous blue irises. He placed a hand over his breast. “Yes! More emotion!”
I closed my eyes and strummed. My spirit soared to a place only music could take me. Even though I was plain-looking, music made me feel beautiful. And now, playing for this audience of one…my beauty might rival Guanyin, Goddess of Fertility, in her glorious splendor.
My entire body tingled, from fingertips to toes. My pulse quickened, roaring loud and torrential in my ears. My insides felt like ten thousand fish squirming over each other in a shallow pool. An immense source of energy lay just beyond my reach, like an ocean of power trickling through a pinprick in a wall. There, ready to tap into.
Then my fingers went slack on the pipa and the blood rushed from my head. A dark tunnel in my field of vision narrowed. All went black.
Four
Honor In Question
Metal tinkled and chimed as my head bobbled in the darkness. Cold seeped into my back, yet warmth cradled my head. The uncomfortable twisting in my stomach seemed to climb higher, almost into my chest. The black in my field of vision faded to a dark orange.
