Fire and Fantasy: a Limited Edition Collection of Epic and Urban Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “Follow it to its source.”

  Xiulan nodded. “You go ahead. Kai-Hua and I will look for General Lu.”

  I favored Lord Xu with a tentative smile. Even with permission from Xiulan, it seemed inappropriate to wander the castle grounds with an elf. But why not? I’d done worse this day, and nobody would suspect Lord Xu of having any attraction to humans. General Lu had cut our matchmaking meeting short, leaving plenty of time before tonight’s reception, where Father would likely not announce my betrothal. It’s not as if I could get in that much more trouble.

  It was worth the risk, for the improbable chance to grow in the power of Dragon Songs. With a bow, I left the courtyard and ambled through the paved alley until it came to a white rock path. I listened as it wound through a garden in the inner castle. Somewhere beyond the budding plum trees, master musicians sparred in an improvised duel between pipa and the two-stringed erhu.

  My imperial guards marched behind me, crunching the stones beneath their boots, synchronizing with the beat of the song in the background. The handmaidens followed with the shuffle of robes. Though the Spring Festival was just a few days away, winter maintained a tenuous grip on the breeze. I tightened the outer gown around my shoulders.

  And discovered Lord Xu had not followed.

  My footsteps fell short at the edge of the Danhua Garden. Before me, the mottled trunk of a weeping danhua tree curved upward, its willowy limbs cascading downward in strands of red buds. On the ground at the edge of the canopy, almond shrubs formed a circle, their still-grey buds clinging to bare branches. Inside the circle, two of my music teachers sat with perfect posture, playing ornate instruments.

  Master Yong Shu ran his bow across the erhu in furious strokes, the whine of its two strings urgent. Master Ding Meihui plucked at her pipa, calm and resolute, waiting. Middle-aged now, rumor had it the two had been involved in a torrid relationship almost three decades before, culminating in their epic performance before my newly enthroned father.

  That was then, and age and cynicism had since set in, evident from their strict lessons. Yet at this moment, their performance captured passion and youth, making them seem fresh and vibrant again. Buzzing like a hummingbird’s wings, his notes pranced like a fire blazing, while hers churned like the swell of a tidal wave.

  My spirit soared and my belly fluttered. This was love, made tangible by sound. My feelings for Hardeep, perhaps. Too soon, the duet ended. Master Yong turned to me and bowed low, and Master Ding followed suit.

  Finding my breath, I returned their salute with a low bow. Princess or not, I might as well have been a beggar before my teachers. I straightened and walked into the ring of shrubs. “I have never heard such a passionate performance.”

  Master Yong nodded. “We will play tonight at a reception in honor of your brother’s wedding.”

  Right, the reception. The one I would have to escape if I had any chance of leaving the castle and meeting Hardeep. Yet with a new world opened to my ears, and General Lu fleeing our matchmaking appointment, the opportunities seemed boundless. Everything fell into place as if Heaven had willed it.

  “What made their song so distinctive?” Lord Xu whispered in my ear.

  My heart might have jumped into my throat. Where had he come from?

  “Well?” Xu raised an eyebrow.

  There were too many details to mention! I could barely contain my smile. “The harmony and balance. Two opposite styles coming together to form a whole.”

  “Very good,” Xu said.

  Master Ding clapped her hands. “You will soon outshine us.”

  “Never.” I bowed my head.

  Master Ding laughed. “The greatest honor for a teacher is for the student to surpass her.”

  Wiping sweat from his brow, Master Yong grunted. “Our piece reflects the interaction between Yin and Yang, the push and pull, the mutual creation of harmony.”

  Xu harrumphed. “Call it what you will, the key is that you listened and understood. Now, try it yourself.”

  Bowing, Master Ding stood and gestured to her seat. “Please, Your Highness.”

  Try? Someone who was just learning about love couldn’t imitate that music. To do so would be an insult to what they had just played. I begged them off with a wave of my hand.

  With a scowl, Lord Xu nudged me toward the seat. “Please, Your Highness.”

  It might as well have been an order; audacious for a lord, but perhaps not for Xu. I nodded. In any case, Hardeep had asked me to practice. What better way to practice, than with two of my best teachers and an elf wizard?

  Master Ding bowed. “Remember what I played, but do not let that constrain you. Let Master Yong guide you, and you will find you are guiding him.”

  Such curious advice, especially given the rigidity with which both usually taught. I sat, rooting my feet to the ground and straightening my spine as Hardeep had suggested. Satisfied my posture met his standards, I nestled the pipa in my arms. Like before, it felt lifeless compared to Yanyan’s.

  “You have to give it life,” Lord Xu said.

  My pulse skipped a beat. It was as if the elf could read minds.

  Master Yong laughed and swept his bow across the erhu. A jubilant sound burst forth.

  The melody would work so well with what Master Ding had just played. I plucked the strings, copying the beautiful music note for note. The sound resonated inside of me, coiling my belly again as it had done in the Hall of Pure Melody. I adjusted my posture, and the vibrations percolated from my arms into my core, and then into the ground. Capture this, and I was one step closer to helping Prince Hardeep.

  Seize the song’s emotion and make it your own, the book had implored. This song was more difficult than the one in that ancient tome, mixing jubilance with resolve. Opposites. Impossible to grasp both at the same time. What had Master Ding thought of when she was playing?

  Love, perhaps? What she might have felt for Master Yong so many years ago? Not that I could even understand such emotion, given my own limited experience. Zheng Tian? We’d talked about marriage at a time when we thought it just meant always being able to play with one another. Hardeep? I barely knew him, even if his eyes twisted my stomach into knots. General Lu? I’d never learn what love was with him.

  On the periphery of my vision, Master Ding’s tight lips sank into a frown. Master Yong’s playing fell out of beat with my own. No, I was losing it. Blowing out the breath I held, I lowered my hands.

  “Your Highness, if I may.” Master Ding held up a hand. “Your playing is technically perfect. It would make a wonderful solo…”

  But.

  Master Yong lowered his bow. “If I may, Your Highness. We are not playing off each other, as a duet should. Ideally, as my song pushes, yours receives. When you expand, I contract.”

  Lord Xu nodded. “You are playing what you want, and you are doing it very well. However, you are not listening. That is the key to playing a song like this.”

  There was denying it. So focused had I been on replicating Master Ding’s piece, that I’d missed the changes Master Yong had improvised. I bowed my head in contrition.

  “Keep practicing, keep listening,” Lord Xu said. “I will seek you out when you have made another breakthrough.” He disappeared, the air popping where he had stood.

  I covered my gasp with a hand. It was surprising to see him disappear just like that, but not nearly so shocking as his certainty that I’d make another breakthrough.

  Eight

  Dilemmas

  I listened to the chirping of birds as a cold breeze whispered through new tree buds. Perhaps a garden wasn’t the best place to practice the pipa; not when the chill brought goosebumps to my exposed arms. However, Lord Xu had implored me to listen, and it was near impossible to distinguish sounds with the preparations for tonight’s reception stirring a ruckus inside the castle.

  Never moving from its reliable spot in the halls of heaven, the iridescent moon waxed to mid-crescent. Prince Hardeep wanted to m
eet past sundown at the first waxing gibbous, four hours hence. That left plenty of time to practice. Maybe I could show how far I’d progressed just from the morning. The thought sent prickles dancing through my core.

  Focus. I shook the excitement out of my head. The book instructed the musician to seize the song’s emotion and make it their own. I’d read the lines over and over again since leaving my teachers, and tried to play the song with the happiness it embodied. If I could affect General Lu, certainly I could influence the mood of my handmaidens.

  One more try. Adjusting my posture, I lowered my hands to the strings and plucked out perfect notes. My rendition of the song was so precise, it had to work. I cast a glance at Han Meiling and the imperial guards Chen Xin and Ma Jun. They stood like statues on the veranda, almost blending into the background. Despite my best efforts with the music, they remained stoic as always; the exact opposite of the song’s intended effect.

  My lower lip jutted out. Learning from a book was getting me nowhere. The sensation of power I’d felt, first in the Hall of Pure Melody with Yanyan’s pipa, then later when playing for General Lu, seemed so distant. Like a dream.

  Listen, Lord Xu’s voice echoed in my mind, almost too real and with too much of an exasperated tone to be the memory from just an hour before.

  I closed my eyes and opened my ears: the battle between spring and winter, played out in the birdsongs, wind, and waves. Spring sang an uncertain song as winter held a tenuous grip. The irregularity of weather seemed just like Prince Hardeep’s influence. I’d broken more rules today than I had my entire life, even angered the man Father wanted me to marry.

  The uncertainty found its way into my music as I strummed a random tune on the pipa, the hesitant notes reflecting the weather and my emotions. Duty dictated marriage to the general. My soul wanted to sing with the song of the world. An impossible dream before today, but now my spirit soared. Between Prince Hardeep’s promise of the Dragon Scale Lute and Lord Xu’s certainty of a future breakthrough, it now seemed possible.

  It also meant leaving the palace tonight, during a formal reception no less, using some lie to meet Hardeep. His Ankira needed my help, but it shouldn’t require sneaking behind Father’s back. It shouldn’t require imposing my will through magic, even if it were the right thing to do. Surely, there had to be other avenues. My notes wobbled.

  I steadied my breath, and the music with it. Right. It was best to obey the rules. Stay in the castle tonight.

  Not that it was even possible to escape. A thousand eyes would be on me, because either the Household Ministry secretary or the Hall of Pure Melody’s steward had undoubtedly reported to Father about my unapproved adventures in the palace. Minister Hu had probably spread rumors that Hardeep wanted to take me hostage. Maybe he did.

  Father might be too busy preparing for the reception now, but when it did come time to mete out punishment, he’d probably forbid any more contact with Prince Hardeep—in addition to any other reprimand I might face.

  In the corner of my eye, blue robes twitched in a short blur of motion. Chen Xin and Ma Jun had shuffled, perhaps from the uncertainties in my music.

  Another flash of blue and black robes swirled from beyond the veranda. Maybe they were just reacting to that.

  No, it was my music. It had to be. It was a sign. All uncertainties faded. I was destined to liberate Ankira.

  “Young Lord Peng Kai-Long requests an audience with Princess Kaiya,” Household Affairs Secretary Hong’s voice cracked from the edge of the garden. He’d been following me around quite a bit today. A spy perhaps, there at his ministry’s bidding—or even Father’s—to make sure I didn’t break any more rules.

  My hands froze over the strings. I set the pipa down and searched for the voice’s source. The old man bowed, his lips tight like he had just sucked on sour plums. Cousin Kai-Long stood at his side, folding a sheet of paper.

  A letter from Prince Hardeep? My heart pattered. Another sign.

  Kai-Long took the steps down the veranda. “Your Highness,” he started, addressing me formally. Even though he was an elder cousin, my position as a princess from the direct ruling line ranked me above him.

  Eyes on the letter, I smiled. “Cousin, you do not need to stand on formality.”

  “As you command, Kaiya.” He flashed a devilish grin, his eyes searching mine.

  His sarcasm was infectious. I covered a giggle with my fingers, and then pointed at the paper in his hand. “Is that…?”

  He looked down at the paper and then held it up. Elephant left three. “I am playing a game of blind chess. This is my latest move.”

  My heart sunk. Instead of a letter from Hardeep, it was part of a confusing game. Chess made little sense to me, but Father and Kai-Long bonded over it. “Are you winning?”

  “Yes, though it wouldn’t be evident.” His lips twitched. He cast a glance at the imperial guards, then leaned in and whispered—practically mouthed: “I have a plan to get you out of the palace.”

  I stole a glance back at my guards, who showed no sign of having heard him. Thank the Heavens for my good ears. I held up a hand to stay the guards, and then shuffled a little farther down the path.

  At a safe distance away, I turned to face him. “During a reception in honor of my brother’s wedding? And...what about General Lu?”

  Kai-Long’s grin stretched from ear to ear, and he suppressed a chuckle. “When I got back to the palace, General Lu was storming out. His eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying. The servants and officials all say he did not even report to the Ministry of Appointments.”

  The betrothal remained up in the air. Maybe the general had given up on marriage. Hopefully, someone would tell me something before tonight. “Still, I’m supposed to be sitting at the head of the room, next to Kai-Wu and his bride. Someone will notice my absence.”

  If Kai-Long shook his head any more, it might wobble off. “Trust me. Old Hong there—” he tilted his head toward the palace official still on the veranda, who ogled us and wrung his hands “—has agreed to help. It took a little convincing. I also called in several favors among the young lords and palace staff.”

  I searched his eyes and found but sincerity. Before coming of age and being assigned as a diplomat, Kai-Long had virtually grown up in the palace, and had always been close to me and Tian. More than once, he had kept us from getting into trouble. Of course he would have my best interests at heart. Still… I shook my head. “It risks too many people. It will betray Father’s trust in you.”

  Kai-Long cast his gaze down. In shame, no doubt, considering Father’s fondness for him. Before Kai-Long had been sent to Ayuri lands, the two used to share tea on a regular basis, and play Cathayi chess. He raised his head. “That’s too bad. Prince Hardeep told me only someone of your talent could use his magical instrument.”

  My destiny. Was it worth breaking yet more rules? Exposing collaborators to potential punishment? The memory of Yanyan’s pipa sent a tingling through my hands and into my core. It had caused me to pass out. No telling what a similar instrument could do, with me out in the city without guards.

  But oh, the possibilities! I was so close. And Prince Hardeep would be there with his Paladin skills, to protect me. My chest swelled. “What would you do?”

  “Kaiya,” Kai-Long said, taking my hand in his. “You must make that decision for yourself. Just know that Prince Hardeep told me you have a gift. He wholeheartedly believes it is like none other since Yanyan herself.”

  Heat flared, and my hands went sweaty. The exuberant bubble in my chest threatened to choke off my air. Prince Hardeep’s kind blue eyes saw me. My potential to do good in this world. He didn’t care about how plain I looked. To him, I was more than a stepping-stone to power.

  Still, Father also loved me unconditionally. My excitement withered, and the swell in my chest deflated. “Whatever I choose, I will betray someone.”

  “Not necessarily.” Kai-Long squeezed my hand. “I have friends in Vyara City
who remember when the Dragon Scale Lute repelled Avarax. If you learn to use it, you can help Cathay. Remember what the Emperor said about the lords of the North. Remember that if Ankira falls, aggressive Madura will be on our border, and I am sure they have stockpiles of firepowder.”

  It did make sense, and provided a means of getting official permission. I nodded. “I am sure the Emperor will see the logic. I will go to him—”

  He released my hand and raised his own. “If you decide to leave the castle—and I will support whatever you choose—the Emperor must not know. Because if he denies your request, all eyes will be on you during the reception, making my plan impossible. It will also be direct disobedience to his order, punishable by death.”

  I twirled a lock of hair. If it was just myself to consider, the chance to find my potential, beyond a political marriage, was worth the risk of death. After all, the proverb of marriage being a woman’s grave rang even more true from what I’d seen of the short and pompous General Lu.

  But what about collaborators? Anyone who helped me escape the castle—from servants to Hardeep and even Kai-Long—would face certain torture and execution. No, asking for permission was out of the question. I searched Kai-Long’s eyes again, finding nothing but devotion and support. “Tell me your plan. If it endangers anyone besides myself, I cannot go through with it.”

  “There is magic in the world beyond Paladin fighting skills and our master craftsmen.” Grinning, Kai-Long pulled me behind a large tree, out of the guards’ line of sight. He withdrew a red silk pouch and emptied what appeared to be a light bauble into his bare palm.

  I gasped. Kai-Long’s face was gone, replaced by my own—or at least, a flattering rendition based off an official court painting. His broad shoulders and muscled frame now withered to my slim, flat build, and his court robes seemed to shrink to size.

  My mouth open and closed, more reminiscent of a carp out of water than a princess, until one word could escape. “H-How?”

  When he spoke, it was with his own voice, making the situation all the more disconcerting. “An Aksumi illusionist I knew in Vyara City made it.”