ing. She turned, looking at herself side-on, when there was a knock at the door. •
"Mistress? It is Tsung Ye!"
Pei K'ung looked across to where her silk bathrobe hung from a silver peg, then, smiling nervously, encouragingly, to herself, she stepped to the edge of the huge sunken bath and slipped in beneath the rose-scented water.
She flexed her muscles, trying to calm herself, to still the trembling in her limbs, then turned her head, facing the door.
"Come in, Tsung Ye!"
She heard the door open; heard it click shut.
"Mistress?"
"In here."
She heard him come partway, then hesitate; knew he had seen the discarded chi poo.
"Mistress?"
"Come here, Tsung Ye. I need your advice."
She waited, staring straight into the mirror, watching the reflection of the doorway. Slowly, with great reluctance, Tsung Ye edged into the room, his discomfort more than evident.
"Mistress?"
She turned to face him, lifting herself slightly in the water so that her breasts came into view. He was staring at her now, wide-eyed, his mouth fallen open. The sight gave her more confidence. After all, he was a mere servant, she an Empress!
"Well, Tsung Ye ... what are you waiting for? Come in and scrub my back."
"Mistress?" There was an edge of panic now in his voice, almost of pleading.
"You heard me, Tsung Ye. Get those clothes off and join me here. Quickly, now!"
He swallowed, unable to believe what he was hearing, then stammered a reply. "I ... I ... am a se-secretary, Mistress. I ..."
Slowly she stood, letting him see that she was naked, aware that he could not keep his eyes from her. That knowledge gave her power; gave her voice a newfound resonance.
"In here, Tsung Ye, at once, or my husband will hear you have insulted me!"
LI YUAN stopped at the top of the steps, looking down into the Great Hall, five thousand heads turning to look up at him. Long banners of bright yellow silk and huge red lanterns, all printed with the characters chang shou—long life—hung over the heads of the great and mighty who had gathered. He smiled, then turned to meet Tsu Ma's eyes.
"It is your last evening as a single man, Cousin Ma. It seems almost a shame to spend it thus."
Tsu Ma laughed, leaning heavily on his pearl-handled cane. "That is our fate, neh, Yuan? Common folk can get drunk and play the fool, but we ... we must perform like actors before an eager crowd. Come, let us go down. There will be time later to share a quiet moment."
They went down, the great mass of courtiers and ministers, soldiers and aristocrats, company heads and politicians, bowing as one before the two T'ang, then moving back, like the sea parting before the bow of a great ship.
Relieved of any official obligations, Li Yuan looked on, at ease in his cousin's court, yet also somewhat wistful, remembering the night before his own brother's wedding when, in the Great Hall at Tongjiang, they had held a similar reception.
Then, as now, there had been peace. Then, as now, beneath the calm surface of courtly ritual, things had been in flux.
And tomorrow it begins again, he thought, wondering for a moment how Karr was spending this evening—his last before he took on his official duties. Was he at home with his wife and child? Or was he out celebrating with his friends and colleagues?
With his family, he decided, smiling. A good man, Karr. Reliable. And honest. Honest as the day is long.
He had not told Tsu Ma just yet, but there would be time later. Once Wei Tseng-li was here. When the three of them were alone.
Smiling, he accepted a drink from one of the stewards and took a large sip, steeling himself, then turned to greet one of Tsu Ma's senior ministers.
The hours passed. Just after ten Wei Tseng-li arrived, the young T'ang greeting his fellows with a laugh and smile, as if the moment had no significance; yet each of them knew what lay behind this meeting. The last time all three had met had been thirty months before, at Tongjiang. That day Wang Sau-leyan, their fellow T'ang and cousin, had sent his elite troops against them in an attempt to wipe them out. Two Sons of Heaven had died that day, including Tseng-li's elder brother, Wei Chan Yin. But they had survived, and Wang, in time, had been brought to account for his treachery.
"Cousin," Tsu Ma said, embracing Wei Tseng-li, then holding him at arm's length. "Why, you've put on weight! Is this what having three wives has done for you?"
Wei Tseng'li laughed heartily, his dark eyes twinkling. "And you, cousin ... is it anticipation of marriage has bloated you so?"
Tsu Ma roared with laughter—laughter that was taken up by all surrounding him until the Great Hall rang with it. He nodded, pleased by the rejoinder, then looked to Li Yuan. "So here we are," he said quietly. "Like the Three Old Worthies!"
Li Yuan smiled. "Old, Tsu Ma?" Then, looking past Tsu Ma, he touched his arm lightly. "But hush . . . here comes your bride."
Shu-sun stood beside her father at the top of the steps, resplendent in a full-length dress of jasmine edged with lavender, her pretty face framed in delicate yellow flowers.
Looking up at her, Li Yuan felt his heart grow heavy, once more reminded of the day before his brother's wedding.
If I had but known what was to come ...
He looked down sharply, tears welling in his eyes.
What would you have done? he asked himself. How could you have prevented Han Ch'in's death? And if you had, how would you have stopped the next attempt, or the one that followed that? Could you have kept your brother safe until his last breath, until you stood over him, an old man in his bed, a dozen great-grandchildren weeping silently in the death room?
No, came the answer. No, for it was willed otherwise.
But even if you had—even if the gods gave back that day to you—how could you then have lived, knowing that she was his? How could you have looked on her, day after day, and not have had your heart break within you, knowing she was not yours?
He shivered, then looked to Tsu Ma. His cousin was gazing at his bride as she descended, a look almost of awe in his eyes.
"She is like the dawn, neh, Yuan? Like Spring's first shoot."
"She is very beautiful," he answered, determined to set aside all troublesome memories. "May you have many sons."
Tsu Ma chuckled but did not look at him, his eyes snared by his betrothed.
"And I'll call the first one Yuan. ..."
FEI YEN climbed from the bed and crossed the room, her ringers reaching for the door. She could hear the man's soft snoring in the darkness, could still feel his weight on her, smell the sickly perfumed scent of him, and shuddered, despising herself.
Kisses and flattery, that's all it ever was: crude disguises for some darker, baser need. Why could she never see that? Why was she always tethered to her senses, like a hawk on a leash, circling the lure? Where in the gods' names was her pride, her dignity?
She took a gown from the peg beside the door and pulled it on, then slipped out into the corridor.
A night-light flickered in a wall bracket to her left, some twenty ch'i along, above the stairwell. Across from it a servant slept atop a lacquered chest, his knees up under his chin, his mouth open. Wrapping her gown tight about her, she went to the right, hurrying down the broad, carpeted hallway, heading for her dead father's rooms, her bare feet making no sound.
Inside, in the silent darkness, she rested, her back against the door, her eyes closed, letting her heartbeat slow, the faint, musty scent of the room filling her lungs.
The evening had been awful. She had drunk too much, laughed too much, and then . . . Gods, the things she had let him do! The awful, degenerate things!