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Yin Chan looked to the other three, who nodded. “I am glad you came, Cousins.” He shivered, tears of gratitude in his eyes. “Until now I could see no end to it... no way to douse the fire of rage that burned in me. But now ...” He clenched his right fist and raised it, his face suddenly hard. “Now we can fulfil the will of Heaven.” Their response was fierce and passionate—a raising of clenched fists. All eyes were tearful now.

“It is so,” An Hsi said, leaning toward them across the table. “We must be as brothers now.”

as they stepped out into the hallway they heard a movement on the stairs above—a brief silken rustling, and then silence. “Who was that?” An Hsi asked quietly, his eyes suspicious.

“It was no one, Cousin. Only my sister.”

“Your sister? You didn’t tell me she was here.” “She wasn’t meant to be, but her son was ill and she decided not to go with my father.”

“But if she heard ...”

Yin Chan leaned close, pressing An Hsi’s hand reassuringly. “I doubt it. But even if she did, she has more reason than most to hate Li Yuan. Why, if it came to it, I am certain she would strike the first blow herself.” An Hsi stared past him briefly, then looked back, smiling faintly, mollified by his words. “She suffered badly, then?” Yin Chan lowered his voice. “She raged, Cousin. The house shook with her anger. Imagine it ... to be cast off, your only son disinherited! A T’ang he would have been! A Son of Heaven! And what is he now? Not even a prince! The special Edict...”

Yin Chan looked down, shuddering with repressed anger. “I understand. ...” An Hsi said softly, sympathetically. “She must hate him, neh?”

Yin Chan looked up, then gave a sharp nod. “Well... I must go. There’s much to do. We’ll meet again, neh, Cousin? Two days from now, at my estate. Until then, take care. And remember what I said. Trust no one, not even your closest servant— only those bonded to us in common hatred.” .

Yin Chan nodded.

“Good.” An Hsi smiled, his hand briefly caressing Yin Chan’s cheek. Then he leaned close, gently kissing his lips. He moved back. “And maybe you’ll stay next time? It’s been too long, dear Chan. Much, much too long. . . .”

fei yen stood just inside her bedroom door, the room dark, moonlight from the open window casting a silver bar upon the far wall, revealing the door to the nursery. She could hear the child coughing in the next room, the soft singing of the nursemaid, but her mind was on what she’d heard downstairs, outside the door to her father’s study. Yin Chan, she thought, her anguish making her twist the silk of her nightdress tightly between her hands. What are you doing? What in the gods’ names are you doing?

Treason, it was. Simple treason. Punishable by death. To the third generation.

My son, she thought, her heart pounding. They’ll kill my son. Quickly she crossed the room. From the window she could see the hangar on the far side of the lake. There was movement there beside the craft as the crew prepared for takeoff. A moment later she saw her brother emerge on the lawn below beside An Hsi, the two men talking quietly. Foolishness, she thought, seeing her brother clasp the older man’s hands and bow his head. An Hsi she could understand, he had lost three brothers when Li Yuan had dealt with the Willow Plum Sickness that time, but Chan .

. .

Fei Yen took a long breath, calming herself, forcing herself to slow down and consider matters properly.

She had never thought—never, even from a look or comment, suspected—that her brother hated Li Yuan so much.

And she herself?

Chan was wrong. She didn’t hate Li Yuan. Not now. If anything, she understood him better now. And if, when she looked back on their days together, it was not with fondness, there was at least some element of regret that she had not tried harder with him. He had loved her. She had no doubt of that now. She had seen it in his eyes that last time he had come to visit her, after the death of his wives. But this—this madness! What could she do to stop Chan’s foolishness? How could she prevent him from bringing retribution down on all their heads? She watched, as Chan handed An Hsi into the boat, then climbed in after him, waving the servants away and taking the oars himself. She knew what had happened between An Hsi and Chan. Oh, she had had no need of spies to see what had been going on there. But she had thought it ended. Now, however, An Hsi was back, dripping his venom in her brother’s ear, fanning old frustrations into fires of vengeance. And for what? She shook her head, suddenly angry. A fool and a villain—it was a fine pairing! It would serve them well if the boat sank and the two were dragged down to the bottom. . . .

She caught her breath, realizing where her thoughts had run. Her brother

dead. Her dear, feeble, foolish brother . . . dead? Was there no other

way?

She closed her eyes, pained by the thought, but frightened by the alternative. She had heard them down there, swearing binding oaths of brotherhood and talking of the death of the T’ang. It was madness, yet it was real. And its reality threatened all their lives. Her brothers, her son, herself...

And father, she thought, horrified suddenly by the idea that that dear and noble man might be sacrificed to her brother’s foolishness. I must tell him. Let him decide.

The thought, once formulated, took hold of her. Her father. He would sort out this mess. After all, that was his task as Head of their great family. It was not for her to decide her brother’s fate. After all, she had not spawned him.

She turned, looking at the moonlit door. It was quiet now. The coughing had stopped, the nursemaid’s singing ceased. There was only the gentle slush of the oars where they dipped into the water of the lake behind her. Sleep softly, Han, she thought, blowing a kiss to her infant son. I’ll let no one harm you. No one.

it was a tiny two-room apartment, sparsely furnished but neat, like she’d said, a single wall lamp throwing a pale orange light over everything. As she closed the door behind them, Chen looked about him, noting the cheap romantic prints that covered the end wall, the ersilk pillows that were plumped up on the single bed. A beaded curtain separated the room from the galley kitchen. He and Wang Ti had lived in such an apartment for a year, when Jyan was three. It had been cramped, but they’d been happy there. He smiled, feeling unsteady, heavy limbed, from the beer he’d drunk. He turned, looking at the woman. She was standing by the low dresser, taking off her earrings. Seeing him watching her in the mirror, she turned and smiled at him.

“So . . . what do you want?

“Want?”

“You want sex? Or maybe something more kinky? Sex is five yuan. Anything else is extra.”

He stared at her, suddenly understanding. “I—I don’t know. I thought...” She smiled and came across. Placing her hand against his chest she began to unbutton his tunic.

“How much have you got?”

He felt in his pocket, then handed her a twenty-yuan note. She whistled softly. “For that you can have me any way you like. But no rough stuff, understand? And if you want it up the ass, you do it gentle, right?”