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

by CK Dawn

  Someone—from the weight and motion, Kai-Long—rose to a knee. “Your Exaltedness, if I may. The princess’ intentions were good and selfless, even if her methods were misplaced. I would recommend lenience.”

  “Lord Peng,” the Emperor said, using Cousin Kai-Long’s new title. “As the newest member of the Tai-Ming, you show bravery and initiative to speak first. We must remember, however, that horrible crimes have been committed in history with the best intentions. The Teleri Empire justifies the gang rape of every woman in its realm to breed an army of so-called peacekeepers.”

  My heart lurched. Since when did rape become the moral equivalent of trespassing?

  “Your Exaltedness.” Another man, Xiulan’s father Lord Zhao from his voice, rose to a knee in a shuffle of robes. “The Five Classics state that a subject may learn more from forgiveness than punishment.”

  Father responded, “The Classics also state that a ruler who is too gentle with his people invites rebellion. Just think if the Sultanate of Levastya had censured the priests who abandoned their patron god. Perhaps their king would not be living in exile and his people subjects of a foreign conqueror. With a rebellion now bubbling over in the North, wouldn’t it be better for a ruler to make an example of those who disobey him?”

  My heart went from lurching to racing. Father really was going to make an example of me. If I was lucky, the penalty would be banishment. Then, I could follow Hardeep to Ankira. However, if any of them mentioned the Temple of Heaven again, a death sentence could be warranted.

  Just behind me, Eldest Brother Kai-Guo shuffled. He probably wanted to speak on my behalf, but he never went against Father. Second Brother Kai-Wu would certainly say something in my defense, but the light sound of his breath suggested he was dozing. Not surprising, given his lack of interest in these functions of state.

  “Your Exaltedness.” The voice of Tian’s father, Lord Zheng of Dongmen Province, echoed in the hall. “The princess has never shown any sign of defiance before today.”

  “As the Classics say,” the Emperor said, “without correction from a parent for a first offense, no matter how mundane, a good son might one day become a rebel, a good daughter a whore. Such impertinence—”

  I bristled inside, a roaring in my ears drowning out the rest of Father’s words. All I’d done was try to help a persecuted people. Apparently, that was the first step to selling my body and then instigating a rebellion. It wasn’t like I’d offered myself to the prince. Not like Hardeep would have taken my bony, curveless body if I had.

  Impertinence, was it? Let them all see impertinence.

  Gasps erupted as I rose from my bow. “If I may, Your Exaltedness. The Five Classics also say that when nobody acts to correct a moral wrong, a minister should remonstrate those who would turn a blind eye.”

  The Emperor stared at me, expressionless. “I am glad you have studied the Five Classics. Are you now a minister in addition to being a priest and grand musician?”

  The words might as well have been a slap. Even though every fiber of my upbringing urged me to bow in contrition, I squared my shoulders. “Your Exaltedness, I may not be a minister, but none have spoken on behalf of a people downtrodden by our open trade policies. I may not be a priest, but even the eyes of a girl can see the immorality of our ways. In the hands of an aggressive foreign army, our guns have widowed women. Our firepowder has orphaned children. We profit from others’ suffering. And last night, their people were murdered on our soil. Surely Heaven would not condone it.”

  The hall fell utterly silent. A slight tilt of my head gave me a glance through the corner of my eye at all the gawking lords and officials. The Emperor remained inexpressive.

  “Your Exaltedness.” Courage waning under Father’s glare, I added the honorific address to the end of my tirade.

  I pressed my forehead back down to the floor. What had possessed me to speak, to embarrass Father in front of all the lords and ministers like that? Maybe before my rant, I would’ve been confined to quarters until marriage. Now, I’d left the Emperor no choice but to administer a more serious punishment. The Founder of the dynasty had stripped titles, cut out tongues, even executed families to five generations for such outbursts. My palms clammed up.

  “Chief Minister Tan,” the Emperor said.

  “Your Exaltedness.” The Chief Minister’s voice sank, suggesting his bow.

  “Let it be noted that we shall not extend the trade agreement with Madura.”

  Another collective gasp might have finally sucked the last bit of air out of the room. It had, if my spinning head were any indication.

  “As the Emperor commands, so shall it be noted.” Chief Minister Tan beckoned toward a scribe.

  “Let it be further noted that Princess Kaiya’s death sentence shall be suspended as long as she remains obedient, and shall be entirely revoked if she proves worthy to the realm.”

  I looked up. Father was smiling. A real smile. Even more than when Mother had still been alive. “Very good, Kaiya,” he said. “I knew you could do it. You acted out of compassion, and you defended your decision even at risk to yourself.”

  My cheeks flushed. Praise from Father was rare, and in public was unheard of. There must have been a reason.

  He continued, “Even if you one day learn to sing Dragon Songs, do not use it as a crutch when a moral argument, spoken from conviction in your heart, will suffice.”

  Especially if magic was a beacon for a dragon, as the elf Xu suggested. I bowed again. “Yes, Your Exaltedness.”

  “Remember this lesson well, for even though a woman will never sit on the Jade Throne, she may one day rule as regent.”

  Regent? Such a strange thing for Father to suggest. There had been no regent since the Founder’s Consort, who ruled for eighty years in that capacity before dying at the unprecedented age of one hundred and twenty-four.

  I would never assume such a title, but still, Father had offered me rare praise, in front of all the ministers and hereditary lords. Emboldened, I straightened. “What about the remaining year on the trade agreement?”

  The Emperor’s smile faded. “As Chief Minister Tan said, the treaty was negotiated under the imperial plaque. To renege outside of the proscribed stipulations would be tantamount to me forsaking the Mandate of Heaven. Perhaps it would invite another Hellstorm. Do not fear. Less than a year remains.”

  I sighed. Ankira did not have a year. “And if Lord Peng’s suspicions are confirmed, that the Madurans assassinated his father?”

  “Of course, such an action would void the agreement.” Father’s gaze lifted from me and settled over the room. “However, my agents believe it is Lord Tong of Wailian County. The rumors many of you have heard are true. Chief Minister.”

  Chief Minister Tan stepped forward, prompting me to kneel. He unfurled a scroll, cleared his throat, and read:

  “To Wang Zhishen, Emperor of Cathay. The four counties of Wailian, Tieshan, Jinjing, and Hongzhou have long been exploited by the rest of the realm. Our pleas for fairness have fallen on your deaf ears. Therefore, we hereby declare ourselves the independent Kingdom of Fengshan. Withdraw imperial troops from our sovereign land. Not only will any incursion on your part be faced with fierce resistance, we will cut off your firepowder supplies and share the secret formula with your enemies. From Tong Baxian, King of Fengshan.”

  A cacophony of angry protests echoed throughout the hall. I covered my ears to dull the roar.

  After a moment, Father silenced them with a single glance. “I will hear your counsel.”

  Uncle Han, Tai-Ming lord of Fenggu Province, slammed his hand down on the marble floor. “Your Exaltedness, we must crush them immediately.”

  Several of the Yu-Ming nodded in agreement, but Tai-Ming Lord Liang of Yutou Province shook his head. “Wailian Castle is impregnable, and those counties monopolize firepowder ingredients. If they sell to potential enemies…”

  I twirled a lock of hair. This must have been how Ankira felt so many years befo
re.

  Tai-Ming Lord Zheng of Dongmen Province cleared his throat. “Your Exaltedness, we can blockade the Iron River and cut off their access to ports.”

  Lord Liang shook his head again. “Your Exaltedness, if Wailian establishes direct trade with Rotuvi, they could access the deep-water port in Iskuvius and use the ships of Serikoth, with whom we do not have a sphere of trade agreement. It would tempt Tarkoth to end its own treaty with us. I advise we normalize relations with this Fengshan and levy tariffs so they can use Jiangkou.”

  “Appeasement!” Lord Han tugged his beard. “Your Exaltedness, if you let those four counties go, you will only encourage others.”

  Xiulan’s father, Lord Zhao, turned back to the lesser nobles. “Almost all the hereditary lords are here. I trust none of them would rise in arms against the Mandate of Heaven?”

  All the assembled lords bowed like ripples gliding across Sun-Moon Lake.

  “Good,” Lord Han said. “Our combined provincial and imperial soldiers outnumber those four paltry countries thirty to one. Let us crush this rebellion.”

  The chamber shook with the confident roars of approval. I looked up at Father. His face betrayed nothing, which meant there was a possibility of civil war. Thousands would perish. Others would end up in poverty like the Ankiran refugees. Certainly there was another way. I peeked back at Lord Liang, the lone dissenter up to now, and Kai-Long. Their expressions might have been mirror images, staring off into the distance, jaws relaxed. Pensiveness, perhaps, and neither appeared ready to intervene.

  And who would? Their voices would fall unheard, drowned out by the roar of bloodlust. Those robust chants, a symphony of voices speaking as…one? I closed my eyes and listened. Yes, there it was, a rhythm in the disparate voices. The pulse of fervent men.

  Only the power of your intent can compel the sound beyond its physical limitations, Lord Xu had said not an hour before. Hear the waves of Sun-Moon Lake and allow them to lend you their strength. Holding the rhythm of the men in my heart, I stood. “Your Exaltedness.”

  The shouts swallowed up my voice. Even standing, I went ignored. No, I could not fail, not now. Toes gripped to the floor, I straightened my spine. Beneath the shaking marble dwelt a resolve, that of the earth, preventing the excitement from descending into cacophonic disorder. Seizing that resolve in my soul, I spoke again. “Your Exaltedness.”

  The din of men subsided. Father looked at me, eyes wide for the first time I could remember. Yet now that I had everyone’s attention, what had I planned to say? I surveyed all those men, the ones who surely resented a woman—no, a girl not yet blossomed—in their midst. A few started to mutter.

  Now was the time to speak, lest my single voice get lost. Speak with the conviction of your heart, Father had said. Tian’s pebble squeezed tightly in my fist, I bowed my head. “Your Exaltedness, allow me to marry Lord Tong on the condition that he submit to the Mandate of Heaven.”

  Silence.

  Enough to consider the weight of my words. I knew nothing of Lord Tong. He was a stodgy Northerner, like General Lu. What if he were even worse? If he were the domineering type, all I’d learned about sound and music these past two days would go to waste. And no matter what, I would never see Hardeep again.

  Lord Liang broke the silence. “Your Exaltedness, the princess’ suggestion is sound. It will allow us to bring the four counties back into the realm without conflict.”

  “Appeasement!” Lord Han said.

  Locking eyes on me, Kai-Long—Lord Peng—nodded. “Your Exaltedness, I agree with Lord Han. If another lord decides to rebel, there are no more imperial daughters left to marry out.”

  I stared at him. As a diplomat, he’d never advocated war.

  “Your Exaltedness,” said Tai-Ming Lord Wu of Zhenjing Province, father of Kai-Wu’s bride-to-be. “This is a special case. While no other place in Cathay can repel your armies, we could never take Wailian Castle by force.”

  Father’s lips curved downward for a split second. “Chief Minister Tan, send a messenger bearing an imperial plaque to Lord Tong. If he agrees to submit to the Mandate of Heaven, the four counties in rebellion will be incorporated into a new Fengshan Province with him promoted to Tai-Ming lord.” He turned and held my gaze, his eyes drooping in defeat. “He will also wed my daughter, placing their future sons sixth in line to the Jade Throne.”

  I stopped myself from twirling a lock of hair. With an imperial plaque, representing the honor of the Emperor himself, there was no escaping this marriage.

  Seventeen

  Ulterior Motives

  The silence in the Hall of Supreme Harmony allowed me to hear the collective breaths and heartbeats of the assembled lords and ministers. None breathed more rapidly than me, and my pulse pattered faster than anyone else’s.

  After all, none of those men would be marrying a traitorous lord in the coming weeks. Perhaps days. And I’d volunteered myself for this fate. Hopefully, Lord Tong was not like other Northerners in their dislike of the arts.

  Father gave the slightest of nods, and all the men pressed their foreheads to the ground.

  Chief Minister Tan cleared his throat. “Distinguished lords, you may retire.”

  Around me, the lords stood, many of them discussing the implications of my impending marriage. Several approached and bowed their heads, offering their congratulations.

  As I rose, I looked to Father. Cousin Kai-Long—Lord Peng—stood before him, whispering, his voice too low for even my keen ears to pick out from the surrounding conversations. He turned toward me, and Father’s gaze followed. Father nodded.

  They were discussing me. Kai-Long opposed my wedding; maybe it had to do with that. I’d know soon enough, with the way Cousin Kai-Long approached me wearing a broad grin. He bowed his head. “Congratulations, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you, Lord Peng.”

  He started to laugh, a breach of protocol in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, but contorted his face into a smile. “Come with me. I would like to introduce you to the wife of Ambassador Vikram of the Ayuri Confederation. She is in the guest pavilions. The Emperor has already approved.”

  Why bother with extending pleasantries, when now I was nothing more than a bride-to-be? I looked to the Jade Throne. Father, now barely sitting straight, nodded.

  Cousin Kai-Long gestured toward Secretary Hong, who hovered nearby. “Go find the princess’ handmaiden Meiling, and have her meet us in the central plaza with the princess’ lute.”

  Prince Hardeep’s lute, not mine. It was a cruel reminder of how much I was sacrificing. My belly felt hollow. But why would an ambassador’s wife care about a foreign instrument I couldn’t even play?

  Secretary Hong wetted his lips. “I am supposed to—”

  “Hurry.” Kai-Long leaned his head toward the doors. “I will take responsibility for the princess until you return.”

  The hapless secretary bowed his head. “As you command, Young Lord… I mean, my Lord.”

  Kai-Long beckoned two imperial guards, ones I recognized but who were never assigned to me. “Come.”

  We had started out of the hall when Appointments Minister Hu ventured into my path. His eyes narrowed like a snake. Perhaps he still bore resentment for my contradicting him the day before. “The princess has a dinner with the Crown Princess in two hours.”

  I suppressed a shudder. This sudden dinner, on the eve of my wedding announcement, could only mean one thing. That discussion. It was typically a mother’s responsibility to discuss the arrival of Heaven’s Dew with a daughter who was soon to blossom, but Mother’s passing meant that duty had fallen to my elder sister-in-law.

  Undoubtedly, a pillow book would be involved. My younger friend Lin Ziqiu had already shown me a collection of graphic woodblock prints before, and it had made me blush hotter and brighter than Tivar’s star during the Year of the Second Sun. Soon, I would be acting out those pictures, with a lord I’d only recently heard of. Now instead of blushing, my insides squeezed into a painful
knot.

  Cousin Kai-Long stepped forward, at an angle which interposed himself between me and Minister Hu like the way an imperial guard would do. “The Emperor has approved Princess Kaiya’s meeting. Two hours is more than enough time.”

  Eyes shifting from Father to me to Kai-Long, Minister Hu smiled with about as much warmth as a burnt-out hearth at midwinter. He spun on his heel and went fawning over to another Tai-Ming Lord.

  Cousin Kai-Long grinned. “I think I could get used to this new position.”

  I would have at least faked a laugh if not for the reality of my situation. I was getting married to a stern man who might not even let me play music. I would never see Hardeep again. Not only that, it had been my choice. My lips tightened into a straight line. Thankfully, Cousin Kai-Long spared me embarrassment by turning around and leading me out of the hall.

  Secretary Hong and Han Meiling met us on the far end of the central plaza, the handmaiden bowing with the lute in her hands, then joining the retinue two steps behind. My belly writhed, like the twists and turns we took through the alleys between buildings. Somewhere up ahead, musical notes danced on the winds, plucked from…a lute?

  The sound grew louder, taunting me as a reminder of what I would be losing. We rounded a corner into the Nine Courtyard. Carefully manicured by imperial gardeners, the open space featured a central pond bordered by soon-to-blossom flowers. Plum trees already bloomed, their white and pink petals drifting on a light breeze like snow. It might have been a metaphor for my own impending blossoming and deflowering.

  I froze in place. One of the banners above the pavilion door was emblazoned with a golden scorpion, the symbol of Madura. The ones Prince Hardeep suspected of trying to kill us last night. Heart seizing, I clutched Kai-Long’s sleeve. “How could the Foreign Ministry house the Madurans here?”

  “It was my doing.”

  “Yours?” My heartbeat resumed, only to roar in my ears. If the lute still played, I couldn’t hear it through my shock.