by Zoe Marriott
“There,” I whispered, turning around cautiously on the uneven, crumbly dirt. The crawl-space was – barely – high enough for me to stand upright. The emperor was no larger than I, but with her hair in its tall binding and the headdress over the top of that adding height, she had simply chosen to sit down on the earth.
I expected more complaints about the conditions, and braced myself to bear them calmly and respond with respect and patience. She said nothing. Instead, silently, with deft fingers, she began undoing the crow-black swirls of her hair from the headdress, allowing them to fall down around her shoulders, and pulling the precious kingfisher crown off in sections. She piled them neatly by her feet with a sigh of relief.
Perhaps sensing my shock, she whispered calmly, “It weighs more than a newborn baby. My neck hurts. My head hurts. My back hurts. Everything hurts, in fact – but this, at least, I can do something about.”
Before I could decide whether it was in any way my place to reply, I heard voices outside, and raised my finger to my lips. She nodded, her hands still moving as she quickly bound her waist-length tresses back in a simple plait. I turned away from her to stare up at the loose board again. She had instinctively chosen the far corner of the space, with her back to the earthen wall. I placed myself between that corner and the enemy’s potential point of access.
The voices drew nearer. I tried to count them, but there were too many: at least twenty, maybe more. One of them called out orders to search the place from top to bottom, while another agreed that “they” – we – must be here somewhere.
Shards of memory shattered through my mind, edged with the painfully sharp fear and panic of a child woken by assassins in the night. Cold sweat broke out over my back and upper lip. I felt my breathing begin to speed and I tilted my head back, closing my eyes, forcing my lungs to cooperate in an attempt to centre my qi.
You cannot fall apart now. You cannot fall apart now.
I blinked my eyes open and made myself focus on the sounds of the search instead. The men were shouting, hooting mockingly at each other, even laughing. Their accents were thick, regional, their vocabulary uneducated. They were both nervous and excited. Anyone attempting regicide should be nervous, but mercenaries or trained assassins would be quieter and more businesslike. These men were most likely criminals, like the bulk of the rebel army. That meant they had less skill as soldiers – which was good. But it also meant they were probably the lowest of the low: murderers, thieves, rapists.
Men who had no regard for honour, or the rules of war.
Men who ate women and children.
That … was bad.
There was a bang – the door of the house flying open. The emperor and I both jolted. Now heavy footsteps in the other room. Shuffling sounds, a few more bangs. The footsteps came closer. They were in the room above us. I placed my hands lightly against the underside of the loose board, preparing to hold it steady against any telltale rattle of the stones if the searcher stepped on it. Another glance back over my shoulder showed the emperor’s head bowed over her crossed legs, lips moving without a sound.
The footsteps crossed the floor in long strides. He was directly overhead now. He turned on the spot. One of his feet pressed down on the board.
It made no sound.
The man grunted. Then he walked away. The door banged again. Outside, a voice shouted, “All clear in there.”
“No sign over here, either!” someone called back. “Maybe they’re hiding in the woods, after all.”
The emperor’s head sagged a little. I allowed my hands to fall away from the floorboard, muffling my ragged gasp of relief behind one palm.
The sounds of the search ebbed and flowed around our hiding place for what felt like a long time, but was probably no more than ten minutes. Two more men roamed the house in turn, but none sensed our presence or the trick board.
Eventually all the footsteps and voices receded. I could still hear them outside, but none were close enough for me to make out their words. I began to feel a faint hope that they would be forced to abandon the fake village. Wu Jiang’s men would surely arrive soon.
Then a booming voice rang out, “Your Imperial Majesty! I am Pei Yen, Lieutenant of the Free Army of General Feng Shi Chong. I know you’re here! I know you’re hiding. And I will not leave this place without you – or your corpse.”
Crouching down, I stared at the emperor. A single, thin line of light fell across her face, and in it I could see perspiration standing out like seed pearls against the white of her make-up.
“You have five minutes to show yourself and surrender to me, Wu Fen. Or I will set fire to each and every building in this place and burn it to the ground, then rake the ashes for your bones. Do you hear me? Five minutes, or you die a fiery and agonizing death. And your brat, when we find him, will suffer the same.”
A bead of moisture ran through the red crescent moon painted at the corner of the emperor’s left eye. It made a trail of crimson down the side of her cheek. She lifted her eyes to meet mine. I saw the knowledge there. If we went out, we would be killed. If we stayed here, we would be killed. Each death would be equally horrible. Each death would mean the fall of Wu Fen’s dynasty and victory for the Leopard.
We were trapped. There was nothing we could do to save ourselves, or the empire.
Despair sucked at my insides. If only, if only I could use my banner-breaking to hide her, to get her out. What a craven waste of skill and training – how utterly pointless it had all been – if my ability could do nothing for me, for the empire, now, at this most vital moment.
These men had killed women and children and eaten them. They had killed Diao and Yun and Ma Wen.
They had killed Yang Jie.
And now they were going to win.
I closed my eyes again, silently howling into the dark – howling at my ancestors, at the heavens. At my father. Is this it? Is this my grand destiny? To watch, helplessly, as my emperor burns? To hide while the empire falls?
Then, like a flash of divine light in that most terrible darkness, I saw it.
My ability allowed me to hide myself. As a shadow, or…
As someone else.
Behind someone else’s face.
The emperor’s face.
If they thought they had her, there would be no reason to search for anyone else. No reason to waste time setting fire to the village. They would leave, and the emperor could hide here and await Wu Jiang’s reinforcements. She would be safe. The empire would be safe.
This. This was it. The reason my father had trained me. The reason a girl had been born with such a strong, yet narrow talent. This was the reason I had survived the assassins as a child.
The reason Yang Jie had given his life for mine.
This. At long last. My destiny.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” I whispered. “I wonder if I could trouble you for your clothes.”
Twenty-five
ou understand what they might do to you?” the emperor whispered, her slim fingers flying as they bound, pinned and knotted my hair. Our five minutes were almost up. “They probably have torments imagined for me, yes, but they apparently need me alive for the moment. Once they realize you’re a man, a soldier, that you’ve tricked them – they’ll make you wish for death. And you’ll be given it.”
I swallowed hard, staying still as she slid the last section of the kingfisher crown into my hair. “Your Majesty, I have no choice.”
She turned me firmly to face her, scrutinizing my face. Her face.
I stared back at her boldly, still adding minute details to my illusion mask as I knelt there. Threads of qi sparked and glimmered, spinning out through my mental fingers and layering on to the basic likeness I had already created. The fine lines that were a fraction deeper on the left side of her mouth, the winglike shape and slight bronze tint of her brows, the smear in the white lead paint on one cheek from a careless swipe of her hand.
I was almost the same height as the empero
r, but both nature and the musculature gained in all my training made my figure much broader, causing her silk riding outfit to strain over my shoulders and biceps, my hips and thighs. My voice was entirely different – ironically, far deeper and more manly, thanks to the tincture. And I smelled like a soldier, practically reeking of leather and horses and the faint tang of metal, nothing like the distinctive fragrance of her perfume – sweet basil, cloves, angelica, cassia and honey – which still clung to her body even though she was now wearing my linen shirt and leggings instead of her own things.
If any one of the rebels had ever been in her presence, had perhaps worked as a palace servant, been inspected by her as a soldier or as an imperial official in one of her offices – the differences would stand out like a shout. The mask itself had to be so good that it was beyond question or doubt. Without that, the deception would not, could not, work.
“You have a choice,” she said.
I was so absorbed in my efforts that for a moment it seemed a random statement. Then I realized what she was saying. Asking.
“You are the empire. The empire must not fall to the Leopard and his men.”
Her remarkable eyes were dry, but there was something almost vulnerable in them as they studied me now, something that was not the Daughter of Heaven, but purely Wu Fen. Her fingers tightened on my shoulders and her lips crimped up painfully at the corners. “It really is an astonishing talent. You look more like me than I do.”
“Good. Imperial Majesty, please stay here, stay hidden. No matter what happens when I go out there, no matter what you might … hear. Stay and wait for the Young General. He will come soon.”
She nodded and released me. Her eyes flicked away, and when they returned they were the eyes of an emperor again.
Outside, Pei Yen shouted, “Time’s up, Imperial Majesty! Show yourself, or we start the fire!”
I had to go.
Fine tremors crawled up and down my limbs, making me clumsy as I pulled the paperweights from the plank and pushed it up, then clambered out. I leaned down and dropped the thin stones into the emperor’s hands.
“Wedge them into the gaps after I’m gone,” I said. Without waiting for acknowledgment or reply, I kicked the floorboard back into place, hiding her face from view.
When I straightened, alone and unobserved, it was no longer the soldier who stood there. It was the girl.
What am I doing here?
What have I done?
My breath came in short, panicked gasps, and my eyes prickled with tears that I would not allow to fall. I had to force myself into motion, to cross the musty, quiet room towards the world outside – the world where the enemy soldiers waited. But cross it I did.
It took an effort to walk, but no effort at all to shorten my strides to the small, dainty ones of a woman, to bring my hands up before me and tuck them modestly into my sleeves. The female aspects of myself were still there within me, as vital a part of myself as my quick reflexes and banner-breaking, as natural as blinking and swallowing. These men expected to see a woman. So it was a soft-spoken, graceful girl who would face them, as bravely as any man. Though I might tremble, I would endure.
I would finally make my mother and father proud.
I … I would make Yang Jie proud. If I could.
My mask thrummed with agitation, qi fluttering like moths’ wings against my skin, but it held. It was the strongest illusion I had ever woven, and I had put everything I had into it. No matter what they did to me, while I was conscious, it would hold.
I pushed open the door of the little house, raising my hand to shelter my face from the brilliance of the mid-morning sun.
A cry went up. Before I could dash the water from my eyes, footsteps thudded towards me and several pairs of rough hands seized my shoulders, my arms. I was yanked up on to my toes and towed forward. The dainty riding boots I had squeezed my feet into dragged on the ground, leaving dusty trails. All around me there were hoots and shouts and vile insults – a mob of faces distorted with furious triumph, mouths that gaped and eyes that glittered with febrile excitement.
What am I doing here?
What have I done?
I was dumped before a tall, commanding man. He was in his early thirties, unscarred and deeply tanned. His black armour featured the usual gold splotches, painted with slightly more skill than I had yet seen. This was Pei Yen. White teeth glinted under a long, thin moustache as he stared at me, and I read a trace of disbelief in his eyes. He hadn’t known his gambit would work – not until he saw me.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” he said mockingly as I straightened my back and lifted my chin. “Or should I call you the Imperial Whore?”
So it begins. A shudder worked down my spine, and my guts seemed to turn over inside me. What would the emperor say? How would she look at him? With dignity. With contempt. No fear. No fear.
My voice was still husky and low, but if I was careful to pitch it a little higher, it could pass for a woman’s. I stared unblinkingly into his eyes. “Men always call women whores – when they are afraid of them.”
The white teeth bared in a snarl. The man twisted away, his elbow coming up. I read the movement and braced myself. The hard, back-handed slap to my cheek made my eyes water again. My head snapped to the side and I rocked back on my heels. But I did not fall.
Inside the sleeves of the emperor’s golden robe my hands knotted into fists.
When I looked at Pei Yen again, there was surprise in his face. He had expected to send me flying – a woman half his size, a civilian who may never have known the back of a man’s hand, and would not be able to defend herself.
Coward.
This time I raised my voice so that everyone could hear. “Know this, Pei Yen. Know it – all of you. My son is safe. And one day he will seek you out, and flay the flesh from your bones, and your children’s bones, and the bones of everyone you have ever known, until all that is left of all your houses is blood and dust, and rot, and your ancestors are as forgotten as you are. That is a promise from your emperor. Remember it.”
Now it was his turn to rock back on his heels, eyes wide. Had he really expected the Daughter of Heaven to cringe from him? Then he was a fool, too. Around us some of the men surged forward with anger, while others shrunk back in sudden fear. I glanced sidelong at one of the ones who had dragged me, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.
Pei Yen shook his head like a spooked horse and raised his hand. “Enough. The Leopard’ll soon stop the bitch’s mouth for her. Do it!”
One man caught the back of my robe, while another grabbed my jaw, holding me still as a wad of wet cloth was forced down over my nose and mouth. The stench was chemical. Ten times worse than the tincture, it burned my nostrils and made my head swim. They were trying to knock me out.
No! My mask – I have to stay awake!
Pressing my lips closed, I held my breath and struggled fiercely, jerking my face sideways to try to get clean air. Someone swore. The top part of the kingfisher crown tore loose, pulling my hair painfully before it fell away. A heavy hand clouted the side of my head and sent me reeling – but the stinking cloth stayed firmly clamped in place. There was no escape.
I mustn’t breathe, I mustn’t breathe…
It was no use. My lips opened on a desperate gasp. Fumes flooded into my lungs. I coughed, choked, still struggling, as my knees lost their stiffness and began to wobble. My attackers dropped me, and I folded slowly down, vision narrowing as though I was rushing away from the light into a long, black tunnel. I hit the ground, still clutching at the threads of qi that covered my face. The mask was shredding. Not yet, not yet…
The drugged cloth fell away as my cheek pressed into gritty dirt, but the curtain of my loose hair fell over my face, hiding me just the same. I blinked … and was gone.
I was going to be sick.
Skull beating with agony, dizziness, and queasy cold shivers wracking my flesh, I heaved myself over on to my front just in time to vom
it messily, retching until my throat was raw and my mouth tasted of blood. I didn’t know where I was, couldn’t remember how I had got there. It was dark, but everything was moving – creaking and shuddering. One of my shaking hands flailed out and found a cold, unmistakable shape. An iron bar.
I was in a cage.
Large animals of some kind – not horses – snorted and grunted ahead. A man swore at them, and there was the crack of a whip. The creaking and shuddering increased and the cage jerked violently. Still grasping the iron bar, I dragged myself across a rough floor away from the mess I had made, feeling clothes and skin snag on splinters. The effort squeezed my breath into short, painful wheezes – the bones of my head seemed to grind and flex against each other. I imagined the soft pulp of my brain bleeding under the pressure. Am I dying?
I curled into a ball. That was the last thing I knew for a while.
There were other awakenings, more or less miserable than the first. Sometimes I fell in and out of consciousness by myself, only aware for a few moments. At other times I was shaken roughly or had filthy water dumped over me, and food and liquid – mainly strong spirits – were forced past my dry, cracked lips, before the cloth with its awful burning chemical made its reappearance to send me to oblivion again.
They were transporting me somewhere. Doing what was required – only what was required – to keep me alive until I arrived. I tried to work out where we could be going. To keep track of passing days by the feedings, and by how many times the wooden pail in the corner of my cage – where I had no choice but to piss and void my bowels – was emptied. But the burning drug and the spirits made time contract and stretch out strangely, and some days I thought they did not bother to feed me, or empty the pail.
