Han Ch'in, meanwhile, knew nothing of these things. No shadows were to fall upon his nuptial bed.
"Let them be innocent of this," his father had said, taking Li Yuan's arm as they made their way back to the Yu Hua 'Yuan. "For if the seed is strong it will take root and grow a son."
A son. . . . Yuan looked back at them. They were closer now—almost below where he stood. He could see them clearly now. Fei Yen was breathtaking. Her dark hair had been plaited with golden threads and bows and tiny orchids, then curled into a tight bun on the top of her head, revealing a pale gold, swanlike neck. She was so delicate. Her ears, her nose, the lines of her cheekbones; all these were exquisite. And yet there was fire in her bright, hazel eyes; strength in her chin and mouth. She stood there at Han's side in an attitude of obedience, yet she seemed to wear the cloth of crimson and gold as if born to it. Though her head was tilted forward in the ritual stance of passive acceptance, there was a power to her still form that contradicted it. This bird, this flying swallow, was a proud one. She would need her wings clipped before she settled.
He looked from Fei Yen to his brother, seeing how flushed Han was. How his eyes would take small sips of her; each time surprised by her, each time astonished she was his. In this, as in so many things, Han was his junior. So much surprised him. So much evaded his grasp. "It's easy for you, ti Yuan," he had once said. "You were born old. It all comes new to me."
It would be an interesting match, he thought. A love match. The strongest kind of power and the hardest to control. She would be Fire to his Earth, Earth to his Fire.
Li Yuan laughed, then turned and went down quickly, his hard-soled ceremonial shoes clattering on the wooden slats, his long-sleeved silks billowing out behind him as he ran. Down, down, and straight into the arms of his brother-in-law, Pei Chao Yang.
Chao Yang, eldest son and heir to the Pei family, one of the Twenty Nine, the Minor Families, was standing at the edge of the decorative rockpile, beside the pavilion. His father, Pei Ro-hen, who stood nearby, was a bondsman of Li Shai Tung and a childhood friend of the T'ang. Almost fifty years ago they had shared a tutor. Then, eight years back, they had brought their families much closer, when Chao Yang had married the Tang's second daughter.
"Here, Yuan! . . . Slow down, boy!"
Chao Yang held on to Li Yuan's arm a moment, getting down onto his haunches and smiling good-naturedly at him, teasing him.
"What is it, little Yuan? Is your bladder troubling you again? Or has one of the little maids made you a promise, eh?"
He winked and let Li Yuan go, watching him run off down the narrow, tree-lined path and through the small gate that led down to the Lodge of Nature-Nourishment. Then, realizing the newlyweds were almost on him, he straightened up, turning toward them.
Chao Yang was a tall, handsome man in his mid-thirties; the product of his father's first marriage. Easygoing, intelligent, and with a reputation for knowing how to enliven a dull occasion, he was welcomed in all the palaces and had had Above tongues wagging many times with his reputed intrigues. His own wives, three in number, stood behind him now as he was introduced to the newlyweds. With smiles and bows he summoned each for-
ward in turn, his senior wife, Ye Chun, Han's natural sister, first to be presented. That duty done, he was free to make less formal conversation.
"It's good to see you again, Chao Yang," said Han Ch'in, shaking his hands vigorously. "You should come visit us once we've settled in. I hear you like to ride."
Chao Yang bowed deeply. "I am honored, Li Han Ch'in. I'd like to ride with you." Then, leaning closer, he lowered his voice. "Tonight, however, you ride alone, eh?"
Han Ch'in roared with laughter. "Trust you, Chao Yang! You would lower the tone at a funeral."
Chao Yang laughed. "That depends on what was being buried, eh, my young friend?"
He saw Fei Yen lower her eyes to hide her amusement and smiled inwardly as he bowed to her. But as he straightened he experienced a slight giddiness and had to take a step backward, steadying himself. He had been feeling strange all day. Earlier, dressing himself, he had reached out to take a hairbrush from the table next to him. But his hand had closed on nothing. He had frowned and turned his head away, surprised. But when he had looked again, he had seen that there really was nothing on the table. He had imagined the brush. At the time he had shaken his head and laughed, in self-mockery, but he had been disturbed as well as amused.
Chao Yang bowed once more to the couple, then watched them move away, conscious of Han Ch'in's nervousness, of Fei Yen's beauty. The latter stirred him greatly—he could taste her perfume on his tongue, imagine the olive pallor of her flesh beneath the gold and crimson cloth. Again he smiled. No. Best not even think what he was thinking, lest in wine such thoughts slipped out, betraying him.
Han had stopped a few paces on. For a moment Chao Yang studied the side of his face in the lantern light, noticing how the shape of Han's ear and chin and neck were like those of his wife, Ye Chun. Then something peculiar began to happen. Slowly the flesh about the ear began to flow, the ear itself to melt and change, the skin shriveling up like a heated film of plastic, curling back to reveal, beneath, a hard, silvered thing of wires and metal.
Chao Yang staggered back, horrified, gagging.
"Han Ch'in ..." he gasped, his voice a whisper. "Han Ch'in!"
But it wasn't Han Ch'in.
Chao Yang cried out, his senses tormented by the smell of burning plastic, the odor of machine oils and heated wiring. For the briefest moment he hesitated, appalled by what he saw, then he lurched forward and threw himself at the thing, grasping it from behind, tugging hard at the place where the false flesh had peeled back. He faltered momentarily as Fei Yen leapt at him, clawing at his eyes, but he kicked out at her brutally, maintaining his grip on the machine, dragging it down, his knee in its back. Then something gave and he was rewarded with the sweet burning smell of mechanical malfunction.
The thing gave a single, oddly human cry. Then nothing.
Now, as it lay in his arms, it felt strangely soft, curiously warm. Such a perfect illusion. No wonder it had fooled everyone.
He let the thing slide from him and looked about, seeing the expression of horror on the faces surrounding him. So they had seen it too. He smiled reassurance but the oddness, that strange feeling of forgetfulness, was returning to him. He tried to smile but a curious warmth budded, then blossomed in his skull.
Pei Chao Yang knelt there a moment longer, his eyes glazed, then fell forward onto his face, dead.
T O L O N E N had moved away, toward the steps, when it be-gan. The first scream made him turn the chair, his heart pounding, and look back to where the sound had come from, his view obscured by trees and bushes. Then he was up out of the chair and running, ignoring the pain in his side, the life-link stuttering, faltering in his head. The screams and shouting had risen to a crescendo now. Shoo lin were running from every side, their swords drawn and raised, looking about them urgently. With one arm Tolonen pushed through the crowd, grimacing against the pain in his chest and shoulder each time someone banged against him.
Abruptly the life-link cut out. He tapped the connection in his head, appalled, then stumbled on, his mind in turmoil.
What had happened? What in the gods' names had happened? His heart raced painfully in his chest. Let it all be a mistake, he pleaded silently, pushing through the last few people at the front. Let it all be a malfunction in the relay. But he knew it wasn't.
He looked around him, wide eyed, trying to take in what had happened. Fei Yen lay off to one side, clutching her side and gasping, in extreme pain, one of her maids tending to her. A few paces from her lay Han Ch'in.