He went outside onto the balcony a moment, then returned, holding a cane he had broken from the bamboo plant. It was as long as his arm and as thick as his middle finger. He swished it through the air, once, then a second time, satisfied with the sound it made; then he turned and looked across at her.
"I am not my father, Mi Feng. Nor my brother, come to that. They were weak men. They held weak ideas. But I'm not like that. I'm stronger than them. Much stronger. And I'll have no impertinence from those beneath me."
He moved closer, measuring the distance between himself and the girl, then brought the cane down hard across her buttocks.
She cried out involuntarily, her whole body tensing from the blow. "Well?" he said, as if there were something she should say, some apology or word of mitigation. But she was silent, her body tensed against him, defiantly expectant. He shivered, angered by her silence, and lashed out, again and again, bringing the cane down wildly, impatiently, until, with a shudder, he threw it aside. "Get up," he said, tonelessly. "Get up. I wish to be dressed."
FEI yen lay there, Yuan's head cradled between her breasts, her hands resting lightly on his back, her fingertips barely touching his flesh. He was sleeping, exhausted from their last bout of lovemaking, the soft exhalation of his breath warm against her skin. It was almost noon and the bedchamber was flooded with light from the garden. If she turned her head she could see the maple, by the pathway where they had walked, so long ago.
She sighed and turned back, studying the neat shape of his head. It had been a sweet night, far sweeter than she had ever imagined. She thought of what they had done and her blood thrilled. She had fancied herself the famous concubine, Yang Kuei Fei, lying in the arms of the great T'ang emperor, Ming Huang, and at the moment of clouds and rain, had found herself transported. A son, she had prayed to Heaven; let his seed grow in me and make a son! And the joy of the possibility had filled her, making her cry out beneath him with the pleasure of it.
A son! A future T'ang! From these loins she would bring him forth. And he would be an Emperor. A Son of Heaven.
She shivered, thrilled by the thought of it, then felt him stir against her.
"What is it?" he said sleepily.
Her hands smoothed his back, caressed his neck. "I was thinking how hard it was before last night. How difficult to be alone."
He lifted his head slightly, then lay back again.
"Yes," he said, less drowsily than before. "1 can see that."
He was silent for a time, his body at ease against her own, then he lifted himself up on his arms, looking down at her, his face serious. "How was it? All those years before last night. How hard was that?"
She looked away. "It was like death. As if not Han but I had died that day." She looked up at him, fiercely, almost defiantly. "I am a woman, Yuan, with a woman's appetites." She swallowed. "Oh, you just don't know . . ."For a moment longer her face was hard with past bitterness, then it softened and a smile settled on her lips and in her eyes. "But now I am alive again. And it was you who brought me back to the living. My Prince. My love . . ."
She made to draw him down again, but he moved back, kneeling there between her legs, his head bowed. "Forgive me, my love, but I am spent. Truly I am." He laughed apologetically, then met her eyes again. "Tonight, I promise you, I will be a tiger again. But now I must dress. The Council . . ."
He turned to look at the timer beside the bed, then sat bolt upright. "Gods! And you let me sleep!" He backed away from her, then stood there on the bare floor, naked, looking about him anxiously. "I shall be late! Where is Nan Ho? Why did he not wake me?"
She laughed and stretched, then reached down and pulled the sheets up to her neck.
"I sent him away. They will excuse you this once if you are late. Besides, you needed to sleep."
"But Fei Yen . . ." Then he laughed, unable to be angry with her. She was beautiful, and, yes, he had needed to sleep. What's more, they would forgive him this once. Even so ...
He turned from her. "All right. But now I must dress."
He was halfway to the door when she called him back. "Li Yuan! Please! You don't understand. I'll dress you."
He turned. She had climbed from the bed and was coming toward him.
"You?" He shook his head. "No, my love. Such a task is beneath you. Let me call the maids."
She laughed, then put her arms about his neck. "You will do no such thing, my Prince. I want to dress you. I want to serve you as a wife should serve her master."
He felt a small thrill go through him at the words. "But I ..." Her kiss quieted him. He bowed his head slightly. "As you wish."
She smiled. "Good. But first I must bathe you. After all, you cannot go to Council smelling like a sing-song house."
He laughed uneasily, then seeing how she smiled at him, felt the unease fall from him. It was impossible to be angry with her, even when her words were ill-chosen, for that too was part of the charm—the sheer delight—of her. Like porcelain she looked, yet in the darkness she had been fire; black wings of fire, beating about him wildly.
WHEN HE WAS GONE she looked around the room.
It was a strangely feminine room, unlike the rooms of her brothers. There were no saddles, no weapons of war on display. In their place were beautiful ceramic pots filled with the most exquisite miniature trees and shrubs. And in place of heavy masculine colors were softer shades, delicately chosen to complement the colors of the garden outside. She looked about her, pleased by what she saw, then went across to the desk and sat there.
She placed her left hand on the desk's broad surface, then lifted it, surprised. She licked at the tiny grains that had adhered to her palm, then understood. Of course.
He had been writing.
She stood, then went back to the bed and picked up his sleeping robe. From whim, she tried it on, putting her arms into its sleeves and tying the slender sash about her waist. It was far too big for her, yet it felt somehow right to be wearing it. She laughed, then sat down on the bed, reaching into the pocket to take out the folded piece of paper.
She read it. Twice, and then a third time.
A poem. For her? It must have been. She shivered, then touched the tip of her tongue against her top teeth thoughtfully.
Yes. She could see it now: she would be everything to him. Indispensable. His wife. In all things his wife.
It was true what she had said. Or almost true. He had brought her back from death. From the death of all her hopes and dreams. Had given her back what she had always wanted.
And in return?
She smiled and drew his gown tighter about her. In return she would be his woman. That before all else. His helpmate and advisor. His champion and chief advocate. His lover and when he needed it, a mother to him.
Yes, and that was the clue to Li Yuan. She had known it earlier, when he had rested his head between her breasts, had known then that it was a mother he wanted. Or at least, someone to be the mother he had never had. Well, she would be that to him, among other things. And in time . . .
She shivered and slipped the poem back into the pocket of the gown.
In time she would have sons of her own. Seven sons. Each one of them a T'ang. She laughed and stood, letting the gown fall from her until she stood there, naked, lifting her arms defiantly. There! That was her dream. A dream she had shared with no one.
It seemed an impossibility, and yet she saw it clearly. It would be so. Yes, but first she must be practical. First she must become all things to him. She would ask him this evening, after they had made love. She would bathe him and wash his hair, and then, when he was at his sweetest, she would go down on her knees before him, pleading to be allowed always to serve him so.
He would agree. Of course he would. And then she would ask again. The maids, she would say, you must send them away. And he would do so. And then he would be hers. Completely, irrevocably hers.