She met him at the front door, standing dutifully behind her brother as he went through the rituals of greeting.
As he introduced her, she bowed low, making herself the very picture of demureness.
"Well, Tsung Ye," her brother said, inviting the man inside, "how can I be of assistance?"
Tsung Ye, however, stood his ground, a polite smile on his face. "Forgive me, Prince Yin, if 1 decline your most generous offer, but my instructions are clear. 1 am to escort your sister, the Princess Yin Fei Yen, back to Tongjiang without delay."
Hearing the words, Fei Yen felt faint. Tongjiang! She had never meant this to happen! He had sent for her. Li Yuan had sent for her!
"You have instructions?" Yin Sung asked, puzzled.
"Here, Prince Yin," Tsung said, taking a sealed letter from his pouch and handing it to him.
Sung studied it a moment, noting the Chancellor's wax seal, then broke it open. He read it quickly, then, frowning, handed it to his sister.
"Do you know what this is about?"
Fei Yen shook her head, conscious that she was blushing. "I have no idea, brother. Why I—"
"Forgive me," Tsung Ye interrupted, "but my instructions . . ."
"Of course." Yin Sung gave a bow, acknowledging Tsung Ye's status as his Master's messenger, then turned and summoned one of the house servants. "Bring Lady Fei's cloak. She must leave at once."
Then, looking to his sister, he took her arm, speaking more gently than before. "You will tell me if you need me, neh?"
"Yes, eldest brother."
"Good. In the meantime I shall make sure Han Ch'in is well looked after."
She bowed, keeping all the worries she was feeling at that moment—for her son and for herself—from her face.
"Good," he said again. "Then go. Chancellor Nan expects you."
Yes, she thought, letting the servant put her cloak about her shoulders, then hurried down the path after the T'ang's messenger.
THE GREAT HALL at Tongjiang was cold and dimly lit, the huge space between the pillars empty, the flagstones black with age. Torches flickered in iron baskets hung about the wall, the shadows of the pillars wavering like the dancing limbs of giants, but in the center it was almost dark. There, at that center point, on a ceremonial chair that had been set down by the honor guard, sat Fei Yen. She had sat there for an hour now, alone in the silence, waiting.
On a narrow balcony overlooking the Hall, Pei K'ung looked on from behind a lattice screen, studying the figure in the chair. Her husband had once loved the woman—loved her to the point of distraction . . . and beyond. If rumor were correct he had once in anger killed all her horses while she, in answer, had told him that the child in her belly was not his.
Pei K'ung gave a small shuddering sigh. Maybe it was just the time of the month, but the last few days her emotions had been in turmoil. She had thought herself beyond such juvenile feelings, but it seemed it wasn't so. That feeling she had experienced reading Fei Yen's note to her husband—she recognized it now. It was jealousy. She was jealous of what this woman had once had with her husband, and afraid—no, terrified—that that feeling still existed between them.
Agitated, she fanned herself, then turned away, slipping quietly from the balcony, her servants following after. She was tempted to send the bitch straight home again—to snub her regally—but that would solve nothing. She had to speak to her.
And if it was as she feared?
She pictured herself confronting her husband; saw him laugh and turn from her, dismissing her without a word, returning to his men as if she were not there. She shivered, forcing herself to walk on, to show nothing of her inner turmoil. Could she face that? Could she live with that rejection?
Of course she would. After all, that was the deal, was it not? To be a wife in name alone, while he ...
She stopped dead, her servants almost stumbling over her.
Maybe that was what she should do. Maybe she should put the woman in his bed, to show him that she knew. To prove she was no fool.
Yes, but what if she were wrong? What if her husband hadn't been meeting Fei Yen secretly? And what if her action proved the beginning of a reconciliation between Fei Yen and him?
She whirled about, heading for her rooms.
No. Li Yuan must not even know she had been here. She must meet the woman and dispense with her. Threaten her, if necessary. After all, it was she who had the power now. She who was Empress.
Yes, but if Li Yuan loves her still . . .
She stopped, groaning softly, reaching out to steady herself against the wall. At once her servants rushed to her and held her up, as if she were ill, but she brushed them off angrily.
"Leave me be!"
"But, Mistress . . ."
She turned on Tsung Ye, who had spoken, and glared at him. At once he bowed his head.
"Tsung Ye. Let her sit there another hour, then bring her to my study. And let no one go to her or speak with her. Understand?"
Tsung Ye nodded, then backed away.
She took a long breath, calming herself, then walked on. An hour. She nodded savagely. Yes, let her wait—it would do the bitch good to stew for another hour. In the meantime she would bathe and change her clothes. Then she would deal with this matter. Deal with it once and for all.
FEI YEN waited outside the door as Tsung Ye went inside, her mouth dry, her heart racing. It was more than five years since she had last seen Li Yuan, that day in the Great Room at the estate in Hei Shui—the day after his wives had been killed. Then, astonishingly, he had asked her to come back to him, had begged her to try again, but she had sent him away, pride and anger, and the fear perhaps of him discarding her again, keeping her from saying yes.
The years had passed and no further word had come. Li Yuan had married again, immersing himself in his work. And the Great Wheel had turned, and slowly, very slowly, she had grown older. Older, yes, and ever less content.
Aiya! she thought, looking down at her hands. What am I doing? What madness brought me here?
Was it love that had brought her here? Or was it simple bitterness? Bitterness that her dreams had not come true?
"Princess Yin . . ."
Tsung Ye stood with his hand on the open door, his head bowed, waiting for her. Swallowing, she brushed her palms against her sides, then stepped past him into the room.
"Yin Fei Yen . . ."
She heard the door click shut behind her, and squinted into the sunlight on the far side of the room where, behind a huge desk by the window, someone sat.
For a moment she did not recognize the voice. She hesitated, confused that it was not Li Yuan, not understanding what was happening.
"Please, Lady Fei, come closer to the desk."
This time she understood. Pei K'ung! It was his wife, Pei K'ung. She bowed her head and slowly crossed the room, a small knot of fear at the pit of her stomach. Was this his doing? Was this his way of humiliating her?
That thought dispelled the fear, replacing it with anger.
She stopped, two paces from the desk, her head held defiantly aloft, her eyes boring into those of the Empress.
"Am I not to see Li Yuan?"
Pei K'ung stared back at her uncompromisingly, her eyes hard, her whole manner stern, like a mother-in-law. "Li Yuan is not here. He is away on business."
Fei Yen took that in, trying to assess the significance of it. Was that deliberate on his part? Was this all—the summons, the two hours wait, and now this—simply an elaborate snub; his way of getting back at her for her rejection of him? She bristled with anger at the thought, and held herself straighter. She was worth ten of this aged fishwife. Why, if rumor were to be believed, Li Yuan did not even sleep with her. And who could blame him? Ugly was perhaps too strong a word for it, but for certain the woman was plain.