The Hand, the Eye and the Heart

by Zoe Marriott

  “Oh, I wondered that a few times myself,” she said. “But all the same, I was sure everyone who met us must think me a lovesick fool. Hua Zhi – about the Young General. You … the two of you seemed … very close.” There was remembered pain in her voice.

  “No,” I said thoughtfully but with emphasis. “We were never close at all. Not in any way that mattered. I think we intrigued each other for a while. It was a kind of hero worship on my part, for the traits he had that I wished I could emulate. But then he discovered my secret, and decided that he wanted me and he – he gave me no choice. Not really. And I was so lonely. All I wanted was to be with you. You weren’t a fool – that was me. I couldn’t admit it to anyone, not even myself. I’ve made us both so needlessly unhappy…”

  “Come here.” She cupped my face in her hands, fingers gentle on my battered skin.

  This was no hasty press of mouths. It was sweet, and slow. Her lips captured my lower one between them, and wet it with a soft swipe of her tongue that made thrills dance across my skin. The backs of my eyelids prickled with tears. These lips belonged to my best friend. That wonderful, hauntingly familiar smell was Yang Jie’s. This lemon-peel-scented breath, and these hands, the warmth of this shape… I felt my cheeks flushing with heat as my breathing quickened.

  I drew my fingers through the soft strands of hair that I had always admired, ran my thumb along that unmistakable jaw, traced the delicate shape of an ear that had struck me from the very beginning as perfectly formed – and laughed helplessly into her mouth when she twitched, ticklish.

  “Forgive me,” I said, laying my hand against the side of her cheek.

  “If you will forgive me,” she said, far too serious.

  “You know that I will. Always, always, always. There is no me without you.” I closed my eyes, realizing how close I had come to walking away, not only from her, but from … everything. From who I was. “No. There is a me without you. But not one I like. You help me to remember the person I wish to be.”

  Roosting on the plant in the corner, Bingbing twittered. A new question occurred to me.

  “Was she Zhang Jing’s?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Yes. All I have left of her. She’s getting old now. I don’t suppose she’ll be with me much longer.”

  “She will always be with you. Zhang Jing will always be with you.”

  She kissed me again, as if to silence me. As our lips parted, I whispered, “I will always be with you.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t make promises like that. You can’t know you’ll keep them.”

  “I can. It doesn’t matter what happens to me or you.” With an all-consuming, exultant thrill, I knew it for truth. “I’ll always be with you, my dearest friend. I won’t abandon you again. Even when both our bodies are dust and ashes, mine will lie with yours. That I can promise. I do.”

  She closed her eyes as if stricken, and I saw the glint of moisture among the dark lashes. With curious fingers, I touched the scar that marked her white skin. As I had suspected, my fingertip came away red. “Make-up.”

  She blinked rapidly, defeating her tears, then looked at me and deliberately raised a brow. I shrugged, conceding that I should have seen through the disguise before. But in my defence, with lead paint whitening her complexion, dark lines painted around her eyes and her lips stained red, she really was almost unrecognizable.

  Yet, I had always thought Yang Jie was distractingly pretty. And I had felt compelled to help that young woman that night, even though she appeared a stranger, and it was a risk to my own wellbeing. Speaking of which…

  “You owe me one gold coin, two silver coins and four coppers,” I said, mock severe. “And a new money-purse.”

  She snorted, and the sound was all Yang Jie. “I have your money-purse – and all the coins are still in it. I only took it because I was so hurt and annoyed with you. Rescuing strange girls when you’d ignored me for weeks! I felt terrible afterwards. I was trying to figure out how to explain things to you that day, before the ambush.”

  “I understand why it was hard. But you could have told me who you were when you saved me from the Leopard – I promise, I would have been so happy. I would have welcomed you back with open arms.”

  “I should have,” she admitted. “I was just … afraid.”

  I sighed. “Of all people, I can understand how that feels.”

  “Yes.” She sat back, sliding her hands from my face to my shoulders, and with sorrow, I saw her expression change to one of grim resolution. “But you also know what it means to walk through the fear and do what needs to be done. Hua Zhi, you do know me, and you can trust me. Will you come with me to the palace? Fight beside me to avenge the woman I loved, and all the victims of this senseless war? Now, tonight, before it’s too late?”

  All my arguments, the protests born of resentment and fear, had fallen away. This, her mere existence, was … a gift. From fate, or the heavens. It was a sign. Perhaps the sign I had been searching for my whole life. My destiny was not to die in the emperor’s place after all. It was not even to save the emperor. At last I knew what I should have realized the moment I first met Yang Jie and was fortunate enough to have him call me friend.

  My great destiny was simply to be at this person’s side.

  “On one condition,” I said.

  “Name it.”

  A grin broke across my face. “Tell me what I should call you.”

  “You may call me your heart, if you wish,” she said, smiling. “But Lu Wan Hua would also be acceptable.”

  I took her hand and squeezed it, wishing to see her smile in return. “We share a name, Lu Wan Hua.”

  The corner of her lips quirked up before she bowed her head, surprisingly shy. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time, Hua Zhi. Almost since the moment I met you.” She cleared her throat. “Now – enough sweet-talking. We have an empire to save.”

  Dressed in borrowed, close-fitting garments of plain black, we approached the northern wall of the palace, and scaled it. With our training, and Lu Wan Hua’s inside knowledge of the guard’s movements, it was a simple if time-consuming matter to avoid detection.

  “Later, if we survive this, and the emperor doesn’t have us both killed,” I said in an undertone, “I shall have some suggestions for her about her security.”

  “Quiet,” Lu Wan Hua said, but I could read the smile in her voice. Then she swore, turning back at the corner of the wall and signalling me to a stop. “They’ve put a guard on the kitchen door. One I don’t know.”

  We couldn’t afford the noise of a fight. I ground my teeth in thought, looked around at the garden, then nodded. “If we can lure him this way, I think I can knock him out without killing him. With your help.”

  “I’m not exactly dressed for allurement,” she said, looking down at herself.

  “Don’t be so conceited,” I teased. “There are other ways.”

  She gave me an unimpressed look – that same look I knew so well – and I restrained a warm yearning to grab her and… No, she would hit me right in the mouth, and I would deserve it.

  Later, if we survive this and the emperor doesn’t have us both killed, I repeated to myself like a mantra. I was filled with lightning-crackles of excitement and anxiety, and they were only partly caused by the deadly serious nature of this mission.

  I leaned around the edge of the wall, located the guard standing rigidly outside a humble wooden door – illuminated by the nearly full moon – and let out a soft whistle. The sort of noise that might belong to a bird. Or, if one had a suspicious mind, a human.

  The guard’s head tilted. He was the suspicious type. Excellent.

  A determined push on one of the wooden frames that supported a plum plant, espaliered on the wall, made the leaves rustle dryly. Again, the sound could be innocent or suspicious. But I was betting the guard wouldn’t want to risk looking stupid by calling for anyone else’s help before he had checked it out for himself.

  The guard to
ok a step forward.

  I looked back at Lu Wan Hua. “Hide.”

  Then I put my foot on the wooden lattice and swiftly scaled the wall, sending the plant shaking and rustling hard enough that I was sure the guard would break into a run. My side and knee throbbed with pain, my shoulder made unhappy grindings, and I was panting as I pulled myself up among the thick growth of fruit-bearing boughs that mantled the top of the wall. When I crouched low and peered down at the white stone path below, there was – as I had expected – no sign of Lu Wan Hua.

  The guard was rounding the corner, his short spear at the ready.

  I waited until he had passed just under my place of concealment to drop down out of the leaves on to his back. One arm I wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air. The other hand clamped over his mouth to deaden any sounds that might get out.

  The man staggered, but didn’t fall. His spear lifted and flailed, flying back towards my face…

  In a shadowy flicker of movement, Lu Wan Hua reappeared. She wrenched the short spear from the guard’s hands, whirled it around, underhand, and hit him squarely between the legs with the wooden end.

  The guard’s muffled scream vibrated through my hand. He crumpled to his knees. I went with him, tightening my grip around his neck even as I felt my own knee crunch ominously at the movement. “Come on. Give in. Give in.”

  His struggles weakened, and at long last his body went limp. Lu Wan Hua helped me lower him to lie on the path.

  “He’s still breathing,” she said. “Good work. Let’s hide him in the plants.”

  A moment later Lu Wan Hua knocked on the door.

  There was no response. In the light of the moon, I saw her brows draw together. She knocked again.

  “We – we’re not supposed to let anyone in…” a young voice quavered through the wood.

  “Su Yi? It’s Dou Xianniang. Where’s Mama Jin?”

  There was some scuffling and murmuring behind the wood. I turned to place my back to the wall, eyes searching the dimly lit garden for signs of the next patrol of guards. Then the door flew open, letting out a spill of warm lamplight. A middle-aged woman with grey hair and her arm bundled up in a makeshift bandage waved us in. A crowd of frightened-looking servants scattered out of our way.

  “Thank the Celestial Animals you’re here, Lady Dou,” the woman said. “Someone’s gone mad. They’re saying the palace is under siege, but there’ve been no official orders, and instead of readying the defences, they’ve locked everyone in their rooms. When I tried to leave the kitchen, one of the guards nearly broke my wrist! I looked for Shu Yuen, to warn the Young General what was happening, but the damn eunuch’s nowhere to be found!”

  “I knew it,” Lu Wan Hua said, under her breath. “Mama Jin, we think someone’s going to assassinate the emperor.”

  An audible gasp went up from the kitchen servants. Lu Wan Hua ignored it and went on urgently: “We must get to her chambers as quickly as possible. Can you help us?”

  Mama Jin glanced at me uncertainly. “Well … I…”

  “You trust me, don’t you? Well, you can trust him, too, with your life. I know the servants here have hidden ways to get about the palace in secret – ways that the guards won’t know. Please. Help us.”

  Mama Jin bit her lip. “You’ve never done us a bad turn before. All right. Su Yi, come here. Take a lantern and lead them up the under stairs and down the south passage to where the Dragon Chambers are. And no dawdling, child – you come straight back and leave them to it.”

  “Thank you,” I told the older woman fervently, as a young girl in primrose robes, yellow ribbons fluttering in her hair, ran forward. The other servants clustered around us, gently patting at our clothes and heads, murmuring, “Good luck, good luck.”

  I tried not to cringe away too obviously from their touch.

  The yellow-gowned girl pressed the wall, low down, with her foot. A panel swung open, leading into a narrow, low-roofed corridor. “It’s this way. You have to be quiet – sound carries through the walls.” She picked up a lantern from a nearby table and darted ahead on silk-slippered feet.

  We scurried after the glow of light shining through her yellow silks, skidding around narrow corners, pattering down a series of short, creaking staircases, and then up a long one – as steep in places as a ladder – before moving down a long, straight stretch.

  Finally, Su Yi came to a halt, nearly causing Lu Wan Hua to run into her back. The servant girl held her finger to her lips and extinguished the lamp, plunging us into what seemed like total darkness. I sucked in a harsh breath, tensing, and felt Lu Wan Hua’s hand on my shoulder.

  Slowly, I began to perceive wavering, uneven lines of gold piercing the dark. It was the light from the rooms beyond the makeshift passages, shining through cracks and gaps in the thin walls. After a moment my eyes adjusted enough to be able to make out Su Yi’s face.

  When she could tell that both of us were able to see, she leaned in to whisper to us, her voice barely a breath in the quiet. “The Dragon Chambers are directly across from this opening. There should be four guards outside the door. One of them … might be Jun Wei. He’s nice. Good luck.”

  She turned and floated away. The shadows swallowed her pale golden glow greedily, and she disappeared like a ghost. A wistful look flickered across Lu Wan Hua’s face. Perhaps the sweet girl reminded her of her own past here, of herself, or of the lost Zhang Jing. But when she turned her gaze to me, all traces of sorrow disappeared.

  “If there are guards outside that door – even Su Yi’s nice one – they will attack us on sight. They may be innocent, or they may be in on it, but either way, if we want to get past them and to the emperor, we’ll need to fight. Are you ready?”

  I drew my sword, carefully pointing the tip to the floor to avoid accidents in the small space. “I am.”

  She drew her own sword, then flashed me that enchanting smile – sunny and sly at the same time. Voice low and husky, she whispered:

  “The moon is in the black heights of heaven,

  And the autumn winds blow without cease.

  Oh, let these far-off battles end, at last,

  And bring my husband home, to my embrace.”

  I drew in a shaken breath. Another poem – a love poem, this time.

  Without another word, she slid the door back and slipped out. I did the only thing I could. I followed, grip tightening on my sword hilt, ready to fight.

  We both halted in the corridor, startled.

  Before the great golden doors of the Dragon Chambers, there were no guards. No servants. I turned and looked back along the wide corridor that ran the length of this wing. This part of the palace had hundreds of rooms, and must normally house nearly a thousand people. Eunuchs, serving girls, musicians, courtiers, officials.

  It was entirely deserted. Not a single person to be seen. A chill ran down my spine. “It’s about to happen. Come on!”

  We rushed to the golden doors. It was no shock to find them unlocked. They slid back as easily as silk curtains under Lu Wan Hua’s hands. The glorious chambers beyond were dim and silent – just as deserted as the palace outside, although an emperor should normally be attended by dozens of guards and servants at all times.

  “Your Majesty!” Lu Wan Hua called. Her voice echoed from the vast, vaulted ceilings. “Your Imperial Majesty, you are in danger!”

  There was no answer.

  “What if she’s not here?” I asked. “What if she’s in another part of the palace entirely?”

  “She must be here somewhere. They wouldn’t go to the trouble of clearing this whole wing for nothing. Find her!”

  We split up and raced through the shadowy rooms, searching for any hint of a human presence. I felt despair creeping over me – too late, too late – when Lu Wan Hua let out a cry. “Hua Zhi! Here!”

  I found her in a vast bedchamber. Unlike the rest of the suite, it was warm and well lit with several braces of hanging lanterns, and the scarlet and jade colours dazzl
ed my eyes. Lu Wan Hua was kneeling by the massive bed, over a messy heap of embroidered cloths tumbled on the floor. I recognized the pattern of the fabric – red peonies and dragons on snowy white.

  It was the emperor.

  Too late.

  Thirty-two

  he’s alive,” Lu Wan Hua said hurriedly, seeing my face. “I think someone drugged her.”

  There was a wine flagon and a plate of tiny, flower-shaped pancakes on a tray beside the bed. I sheathed my sword to search the thick rug where the emperor lay and found a fallen cup. Drops of dark liquid still stained the rim.

  I sniffed it, but could only smell the strong odour of grape wine. “Is it poison?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve seen fast-acting poison at work before. Her Majesty’s heartbeat and breathing are normal, and there’s no bleeding. She’s just sleepy and confused.”

  As if to confirm her words, the emperor let out a weak moan and shifted restively. I knelt beside her, but her glazed eyes passed over my face without recognition.

  “Do you think we could carry her together? Get her out?” I asked.

  “Out where?” Lu Wan Hua sat back on her heels. “Nowhere in the palace is safe for her now. Everyone loyal’s been locked up, the servants are terrified, and the guards have been sent away. Anyone who’s out there belongs to the traitor. Whoever they are, they must plan to confront her themselves – so we have to be here to stop them once and for all, or…”

  I knew she was right. But, Great Dragon and Phoenix, the risk. This was the emperor’s life. The future of our empire. If we made a mistake, if we failed, everything we knew would be finished, including our own lives.

  Did we truly have the right to make that kind of decision, disreputable misfits that we were? What would my father have done? What would Wu Jiang have done? Surely either of those men would have had some sort of clever plan.

  “Hua Zhi.” Lu Wan Hua touched my arm. “What are you thinking?”

  I closed my eyes for a second. What was the reality? There was no one else here. We were all the emperor had now. We had to make the decisions – and be prepared to live with the consequences. I swallowed hard, then opened my eyes.