"A queen. Of your people."
"A silliness, actually. Of my father's. But I'm his only child now, you know, so he told me I had to obey."
"As is appropriate for any daughter. It is her duty to obey her father."
Joanna turned, her eyes suddenly dark and intense as she focused on him. "Do you mean that, Zou Tun? Do you truly think it is my duty—my obligation—to follow my father's dictates, no matter what they are? No matter what I think?"
He froze, suddenly thrown into a quandary. It was easy to forget her place—and his—when they had been locked in a tiny bedroom in the Tigress's household. But now they were in the world. Her world, but society nonetheless. And he had the feeling her questions had far greater importance than was obvious. He had no answer.
"I was taught that women are happiest when they obey. When they follow the dictates of those whom Heaven has placed above them."
She snorted. "That's what you were taught. What do you believe?"
He sighed, his gaze torn between her living face and the large painting above her head, a frozen creature dead to all but her father's dictates. "This is what your father would make you, is it? A pale, virginal creature without intelligence or—"
"Life. Without a mind or a will, just a doll to hang on the wall and show off to his friends." She nodded sadly. "Yes, that is who my father wants me to be."
"And what do you want?"
She sighed, her entire body trying to shift but held in place by its huge cocoon of frilly fabric. "You know the answer to that, Zou Tun. I want to be a Tigress. I want to learn what Shi Po teaches." She once again pinned him with her dark gaze. "But I have chosen to go with you. So, Zou Tun, what does that mean? What do you want me to do?"
She had something in mind. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the room. She wanted him to say something. To do something. But he didn't know what. He was too disoriented by this strange home, by her strange customs. By the simple knowledge that they were in her father's house. He had no thought beyond that.
And yet he did: escape. He felt a burning need to leave her home and his. To go back to where he'd once been, a simple bedroom near a vast library. With a temple, perhaps, for prayer, and all the peace of wilderness surrounding him. That was what he wanted.
But how to tell her that? How to explain?
Before he could frame the words, a loud clatter interrupted them. It was a booming noise followed by a loud bellow in the language of the barbarians. Zou Tun spun around, his muscles tightening at the forceful sound. It took only a moment before he understood what it was. And when he did his body clenched even tighter, his thoughts becoming even more cluttered and anxious.
Joanna Crane's father had arrived.
Military force brings disaster. But sometimes there is no other alternative. In such a case, it should be carried out in a levelheaded manner, seeking to attain the goal but no more.
—Lao Tzu
Chapter 14
The man did not look like Joanna's father. Given Joanna's sweetness, Zou Tun had expected a large man, fleshy and round. But Joanna's sire was tall and lean in the way of a snake. His eyes were sharp and clear, his skin freckled and ruddy and not at all ghostlike. All in all, Joanna's father was nothing like Zou Tun expected, and yet he was undeniably her father.
The man rushed into the room, calling her name in the way of all fathers who suddenly find a lost child. He enveloped her in his long arms and kissed her forehead, closing his eyes as he breathed her scent. Joanna, too, held on just as tight, just as warmly. Until her father pulled back, searching her face and body as if for some taint.
He looked at Zou Tun. His lip curled, and he spoke in his barbarian tongue. From his tone it must not have been a compliment.
Joanna pushed away, fire flashing in her eyes, but her father would not release her. He held her arm with bony fingers that dug deep into her flesh.
Zou Tun felt his body tense. A single well-placed blow could easily break the man's hold. But it was not his right to interfere. He had no claim on Joanna, and so she belonged to her father. If the man chose to beat her to death for her rash actions, Zou Tun could not stop it. He would not deny a man his rights, not even this skeletal barbarian.
Or so he told himself, even as he thrust his hand forward, breaking the man's grip. Joanna had also been jerking away, and so they appeared to have moved in concert, his blow aiding her escape.
Then they all stood apart, three points of a triangle, all eyeing one another with angry frustration—father and daughter because they were at odds, Zou Tun because he could not understand the words that boiled in the air.
Joanna spoke first, her voice starting low but quickly rising to a roar. Sound after sound crackled from her lips. Her father stared at her, his mouth falling open in shock. Clearly Joanna had never spoken in such a way to him before, but he quickly recovered.
All too soon he spoke, his voice louder than hers, his fists tightly clenched at his sides. But then those too began to rise, and Zou Tun tensed. He would not allow any blow to fall on her.
None did. Instead the father opened his right hand, cutting it through the air like a blade. He spoke one word, and it silenced Joanna.
Then there was no sound. No movement. Only dark, angry glares between father and daughter. Zou Tun wanted to intervene. The need to rescue Joanna—to take her away from this ugliness—drove him mercilessly. But he knew he could not. The most he could do was wait in silence and prevent violence.
And even that prevention was illegal.
"Marry me." The words came out in a quick burst, rushed for fear he would change his mind. In truth, what he suggested was impossible, but he pushed the idea nevertheless. "Joanna, tell him we are married."
She jerked to look at him, her eyes abruptly washed in tears. "What?"
"Then he will have no right to you. And I can take you away."
"As your wife?"
He wanted to agree. His chin even dipped in acknowledgment, but the movement was cut off. The truth was too harsh, and he could not lie to her. "No. I cannot marry you in truth. It is impossible, Joanna. My family..." How to explain the complex requirements of a young Manchu bannerman?
"They will not accept me," she finished for him.
"You ask me to defy everything, Joanna. To give up my heritage and my name. To abandon not only my family but my country. It is not possible!" He stopped speaking, but his breath came in angry gasps, his heart pounding in his throat. Some part of his mind recoiled at his reaction. She had not suggested anything of the kind. It had been his idea. A storm raged inside his chest at the very thought.
Meanwhile it was the father's turn to talk, to demand answers in his barbarian tongue. Joanna merely sighed, stepping backward to drop onto a cushioned bench with obvious exhaustion. She said something to her father, something apparently intended to silence him. Then she turned back to Zou Tun.
"I have already told him I am married in the letter I sent yesterday. It was the only way to stop his search."
Zou Tun felt his chest squeeze impossibly tight. The storm still raged inside him, now in even less space. "He believes we are married?"
She nodded, and though her head dipped, her eyes continued to hold his. The word married echoed in his mind.
Suddenly the storm abated, the pain eased, and his body relaxed. He could protect Joanna. "It is done," he said. "We will rest here tonight, then leave in the morning. Please convey my thanks to your father."
Joanna pushed up from her seat, obviously thrown. "No, it is not done! Because we are not married, you haven't explained anything, and I—" She cut herself off, her words stopped as if by an unseen hand.
Both Zou Tun and her father moved forward, wanting to help her. Both stopped, not understanding what had happened, what she needed. Especially as she glared them into immobility.
"Joanna?" Zou Tun asked.
"I want to eat," she said firmly. "And then I want answers. Everything, Zou Tun. You have to tell me everythi
ng."
"Of course," he answered immediately, knowing there was little choice. Knowing, too, what would happen when she finally did understand. They would part ways. They would have to. For even in this barbarian home, lost somewhere in Shanghai's foreign concession, they were not safe. His father, the general, would find them. And if any hint of an impropriety like marriage reached that man's ears—false or not—Joanna and her father would be killed.
* * *
Joanna grimaced. The meal was inedible. Her father and his kitchen had gone to great lengths to cook her favorite foods, but Joanna discovered she absolutely despised it all. How could she ever have enjoyed heavy cream, thick meats, and grainy breads? And how could her body have changed so quickly that these foods tasted overcooked, overdone, and mostly too greasy?
It didn't stop her from eating, though. She was incredibly hungry, and food was food, after all. Even though her palate rebelled at the taste, she ate. And she did her best to spin a ridiculous romantic tale so her father would accept her pretend marriage.
She talked about secret meetings, about chaste kisses and love long denied. She spoke about a sudden desperate flight to a priest and a wonderful honeymoon in Zou Tun's palatial estate.
Her father said nothing throughout the entire recitation. One glance at his face told her he didn't believe a word. He was too shrewd a businessman to believe in romantic tales anyway, but she liked her pretend story. She liked thinking—even for a moment—that Zou Tun cherished an undeniable passion for her. That his love leaped the chasm of bigotry and xenophobia that so plagued the Chinese. That she and he would live happily ever after.
Except the more she spun her tale, the more she spoke of undying love and purity, the more she realized it wasn't true. None of it was even remotely possible. Zou Tun still considered her a barbarian. And despite all they had shared, he had never even hinted at a single tender feeling for her.
So she was lying to her father and herself, while sitting directly across from her, her pretend husband picked morosely at his own food and looked exactly like a man who wished to be somewhere else.
Joanna fell silent, her words—like her food—dark, heavy stones in the pit of her stomach.
"Will you ever tell me the truth, Joanna?" her father asked.
She started slightly at his low, hurt tone. She glanced at him, seeing for the first time his haggard expression, his stooped shoulders. Her father was aging. And her disappearance and ridiculous story weren't helping matters at all.
And yet what could she tell him?
"I don't know the whole truth. Not yet."
"Are you hurt? Are you safe?"
She straightened in her seat. Across from her she could see that Zou Tun had picked up on the change in tone. On the sudden tension in the air. But he did not understand English, and so it was up to her now to decide the next move.
She could end it all right then and there. She still had her virginity. She could tell her father Zou Tun had abducted her. She could send for the general and pretend the whole last few days had never happened.
But they had happened. And she didn't want to forget. So she turned to her father, investing all of her passion in her next words.
"I am absolutely safe," she lied. "And I want to stay with him."
He swallowed his wine in a single gulp. This from a man who never drank any kind of spirits at all. Then he looked at her over the rim of his glass. "Are you really married?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
His eyes went flat. The color drained out of his face but he didn't speak a word. Instead he pushed up from his chair. Without so much as a backward glance, he walked from the room. A moment later she heard the front door bang shut.
The sound echoed through her body, reverberating in her mind. Her father had left the house. He had walked away from her as he would from an unpleasant odor or a plate of bad fish. He had walked out of the room, then out of the house. And she had done no more than tell him she was married.
She looked at her plate. She knew that Zou Tun was watching her. She could feel the weight of his attention like a warm blanket—surrounding her or smothering her, she wasn't sure which. Either way she wasn't prepared to deal with him, with his questions or even his answers. Her father had just abandoned her. And she felt very, very alone.
"You are not alone, Joanna," he said.
She jumped, startled that he had read her mind.
"Fathers have dreams for their children, plans that are etched upon their hearts and souls. It destroys them when a child does not fulfill those things."
"I didn't destroy him, Zou Tun. I got married. Or so he thinks." Amazing that she could even say the word without crying. Especially since the truth was so much harder to bear. In truth she wasn't a wife, and she was no longer a daughter. So exactly who was she?
"What do you want, Joanna?"
She shook her head. She didn't know.
"To sleep," she suddenly said. "I want to sleep."
She stood, intending to go to her room. But she didn't want to leave Zou Tun. How would she know he would be around when she woke? Would he leave as well?
"Will you come with me?" she asked. "Will you..." What did she want to say?
"I am tired as well. Perhaps we would both benefit from a rest."
She smiled, at once awed and disturbed by how easily he understood. Was it sinful to wish to lie with a man who wasn't her husband? Would she be damned to an eternity of fire and brimstone because she wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her as she slept? And would her father's curses add to the coals Satan poured upon her head?
She sighed, full of questions spun from hellfire sermons, collisions of her Christian teachings and the Tigress scrolls. What was real? What was true?
Zou Tun took her hand, and she gripped him as tightly as she would a lifeline.
He was real. He was true.
Together they walked to her bedroom. Gently he undid her clothing, slipping her gown from her shoulders and removing the restriction of her corset. She took her first deep breath in hours as all her undergarments dropped to the floor. And then he lifted the covers and helped her settle into bed.
She rolled onto her back, watching as he drew closed the curtains and shut out the afternoon sun. He turned to look at her. His face was in shadow, but she felt his gaze nonetheless.
Without a word she scooted to the far side of the large, four-poster bed. She pushed aside the frilly coverings and made a space for him. It took him less than a moment to strip off his clothing. Then, with a sigh that wrapped her in warmth, he settled into bed.
She snuggled backward, fitting her naked body to his, her back against his chest, her legs intertwined with his. She felt his breath, the heat of it and his body wrapping her in a cocoon of peace.
Did he feel delight or sorrow, joy or fear? She felt his lips touch her ear and his arms pull her tightly against him. Pressed flush against her bottom, his dragon stirred and swelled, but she didn't respond to its call. Her mind was on Zou Tun, not his dragon. On the man, not the religion.
He wanted to be here with her. And she wanted to stay right where she was. All the other things didn't matter. Her father, the Tigress, even the general who hunted them—none of those things mattered just then.
So long as Zou Tun held her, she had no questions and no fears. She slept.
* * *
She woke when he left her. She felt him slip away, creeping out of bed with a stealth only a fighting monk could achieve. She lay still, fighting tears and pretending she wasn't imagining the worst when she heard him open their bedroom door. But then he closed it again, and she heard him use the chamber pot. Heard him wash his face and hands in the basin. Felt him return to the bed, his body slipping slowly beneath the covers.
Only then did she release her breath. Only then did she begin to think rationally again.
"What time is it?" she whispered.
"Evening," was his response. "The servants have left a tray outside the door. Woul
d you like some food?"
She wasn't hungry. Her mind was in too much chaos, her body still recovering from her last meal. And yet she sat up, pushing the hair away from her eyes as she reached for the tray he was already offering. "I'm starved," she said. "Why is that?"
"The yin tide takes a great deal of food to sustain."
She didn't answer. She was busy eating a mango and trying not to spill the sweet juice all over her covers.
When the fruit was consumed, the bread tasted and set aside, all that remained was the tepid tea in her cup that tasted like Heaven. "We must make some decisions, Joanna," Zou Tun said. His voice was coarse, and he winced as he spoke.
"Your throat still hurts. Why?"
He shrugged, trying to appear casual. "My punishment."
"But I forgave you."
He nodded. "It appears I have not forgiven myself."
She blinked, wishing with all her heart that she understood even a fraction of the mysticism he knew. "There is just so much to learn."
He reached out, stroking a finger across her cheek, his expression infinitely sad. "I would teach you, Joanna Crane."
"But...?" she prompted.
He sighed. "But we won't have the time."
Joanna leaned back against the cushions, her eyes narrowing. She folded her arms. "All right, Zou Tun. I am sick to death of cryptic statements. What is going on? Why is the imperial army after you?"
His expression went flat, but his voice remained level. "I have already told you. The emperor suspected my monastery was training traitors, people who wished to overthrow the government."
"But you weren't, right?"
His shoulders stiffened in outrage. "Of course not!"
"So why—"
"Because they killed everyone, Joanna. Rebellious or not, they are all dead." His voice was heavy, and his eyes slid to the coverlet.
The Way of the Tigress 1-4 Page 54
