Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T he maid stumbled back, her face stark white. Her widened gaze darted from the liquid spilled before our feet, up to my face, then down again.
“It’s not,” she stammered, shaking her head so hard her braided knot threatened to unravel. She could barely get the words out through chattering teeth. “I—I swear it—I don’t know anything—please, miss—”
“I recognize you,” Zhengdan was saying, and I saw the immediate effect of her words. The maid stiffened and recoiled as though Zhengdan had raised a hand to slap her. “You were with the palace ladies the other day. You’re one of Lady Yu’s maids, aren’t you?”
The maid didn’t reply, just uttered a low whimpering sound.
Somehow, her panic worked like an antidote, counteracting mine. I felt a curious sense of calm descend over me, my head clearing. A path opened up before me, as natural and obvious as if it were predetermined by the heavens itself. I needed only follow it.
“Lady Yu’s maid,” I repeated slowly. Now, I saw that what I’d taken for suspicion had in fact been guilt. “She’s the one who set you up with the poison?”
The maid shook her head again. “N-no. No, it’s not like that. It isn’t poison—”
“Really?” I took a step forward. I felt the power of my own presence, my dark eyes bearing down on her. “Then drink it.”
She flinched. “W-what?”
I pointed at the puddle of liquid. “There’s still some left. Just drink it, and I’ll believe you.”
The maid seemed completely frozen for a moment, her face contorted in despair. She looked very young, perhaps fourteen or fifteen at most. Perhaps she had been sent into the palace by her parents, in hopes of advancing their social standing—the typical commoner’s fantasy of working in the palace, only to one day be noticed and adored by the king and eventually picked as his concubine. Or perhaps her family was already dead, and she had nowhere else to go. I felt a prickling of guilt, but my stance did not soften. Then there was a loud thud . With a choked sob, she threw herself down on all fours and kowtowed, all but banging her head against the hard wood, her voice trembling as much as her small body. “P-please, forgive me, miss. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to—”
“You clearly did mean to,” I said with a dry huff of laughter. “You knew what you were doing. If my palace lady hadn’t intervened, I would be dead right now.”
“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “I just—I don’t want to die. I’ll do anything, whatever you ask. Please. Please, miss, spare me.”
Over the young maid’s shivering, curled-up form, Zhengdan gave me a hard look. A nod of confirmation. I knew that if the one almost poisoned had been her, she would be happy to turn the page, to let the maid go with only a warning. But because it was me, she had no room for mercy.
“Look at me,” I instructed.
The maid hesitated, then lifted her head slowly. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her skin splotched pink and red.
“What is your name?” I asked.
Clearly, she thought it was a trap; perhaps I would take her name and immediately run off with it to the king. She clamped her mouth shut.
Zhengdan crouched down beside the maid and placed a hand on her shoulder. The maid tensed under her touch as if it were a killing blow. “If you don’t want to die, then I suggest you answer whatever Lady Xishi asks of you.”
A beat. The maid swallowed thickly, then replied, “Xiaomin.”
“Xiaomin.” I regarded her without any outward feeling. This was a rare opportunity to come by, and I would not waste it. “I’m going to give you two choices. I can invite King Fuchai over now, and tell him you attempted to poison me. He will most definitely sentence you to death; how is the key question here. Perhaps it will be death by a thousand cuts. Perhaps it will be a public beheading. Perhaps it will be by attaching your head and four limbs to different chariots, so you are torn apart. Perhaps it will be by cutting off your nose, and letting you bleed to death on your own.”
Another piteous whine rose from Xiaomin’s lips. She clutched her nose as if it had already been severed.
“Or,” I said, louder, over her sobs, “I can pardon you for your crimes. I will not speak a word of what transpired today to another soul. We can settle this matter personally, so long as you pledge your unwavering loyalty to me from now on.”
Xiaomin stilled mid-sob, her warm brown eyes glassy with tears. “You—you mean it?”
“If you agree.” I stared down at her and raised a finger before she could speak. “But if you ever give me reason to question your trust again…” I let the threat hang in the cold, dark air.
“I promise,” she gasped, scrambling to stand. “I will prove that I’m trustworthy.”
I nodded, satisfied at last. In my head, I had already started to compile a list of information she could retrieve for me, errands she could run without anyone else knowing. A thrill shot through my blood. The thing about maids was that they’d been trained to stick to the shadows, so nobody ever noticed them, but really, they were the eyes and ears of the palace, always listening, always watching. “Good. You can begin by telling me where Lady Yu is. I would like to speak to her.”
I found Lady Yu alone in her private gardens. Her back was turned to me, her lovely head bowed as she pruned a bright bloom of peonies. She could have blended in with those flowers herself, dressed in carefully arranged layers of pink gauze, intricate floral patterns threaded down her spine. A white fountain ran beside her, its quicksilver waters tinkling like little chimes. The air was thick and redolent with the fragrance of chrysanthemums and pale azaleas and countless other plants I could not name, a kind of secluded heaven on earth.
My footsteps crunched over the fallen petals, and she whipped around, her face brightening for a moment—perhaps assuming it was the king—before she saw me. Immediately, her features soured, as if she’d just bitten into a rotten plum.
“You,” she said stiffly, not bothering with pleasantries. At least this would be quick. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprised to see me alive?”
Her expression did not change. She was a good actress, I could credit her with that. Only her hand gave her away; the slightest tremble, the flowers quivering under her fingers. A petal fluttered to the ground. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said.
I affected an indulgent air, my tone amiable. “Would you like me to explain it to you in detail, then?”
She pressed her lips together. I studied her face while I waited. She was undoubtedly beautiful, less in the way her physical features were arranged and more in the way she wore them. We’d never spoken more than a few words before, but I’d heard the palace gossip about how her kisses were worth dying for, how her skin was soft as silk, her waist slim and sleek as an eel’s, and I’d seen for myself how many of the ministers and guards secretly lusted after her, though they would never dare act upon it. It was said that the king used to visit her at least seven nights for every full moon, charming her with honeyed words and promises and generous gifts: this garden was one of them. But in recent weeks, I did not think the king had set foot into her chambers even once.
“To save both of us time, your maid has already confessed,” I said, keeping my tone pleasant. We might have been discussing the flowers, or admiring the butterflies dancing over the blossoms. “Perhaps you should have just done it yourself. It would have been less obvious, at least. You may even have succeeded.”
She tensed, covering her face with her sleeve. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How about this, as a reminder?” I unearthed the vial from my inner robes; the poison swirled within it. Her pupils narrowed, turning thin and black as a cat’s. In another fluid motion, I pocketed the vial again. “If I were to bring it to the royal physician now, what do you think he will say?”
“You wouldn’t,” she said, but she sounded uncertain.
“You’re right. I have a better idea: I will summon His Majesty to my chambers—”
Her complexion paled; it was like watching fresh snow harden to ice. “The king is not to be—to be summoned by a lowly concubine—it should be the other way around—”
“With me, he can be,” I said, smiling. I knew I was being callous, that if the positions were reversed, I would’ve wished to slap myself; as it was, I felt more sorry than anything for the girl before me. Still I continued. “I need only say the word, and he will come running, everything else forgotten.” A pause. Another smile. “Why, is he not like that with you?”
She was silent.
“But what was I saying? Oh yes, I shall ask him to come, along with the physician, and his food taster, and my palace lady, Zhengdan, and of course your ever-loyal maid, Xiaomin—it will be like a party, with all of us there. We can go through the day’s events and decide on your punishment together.” When she made no response, I spun around on my heel, turning my back to her. “Don’t believe me? I will go there right now. I certainly have nothing to lose.” I walked as I spoke, counting every step I took away from her.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four—
“Wait.” Her voice cut through the air. “Are you… really going to tell His Majesty?” she asked at last, her fa?ade falling.
“That depends.” I shrugged, pretending to admire one of the begonias dangling from a clay pot. The wide petals were tinged a deep blood-red at the edges, and slowly lightened toward the center. “I may not mention it to Fuchai if I’m pleased enough with our conversation.”
A stem snapped between her fingers. “You dare call him directly by name?”
I had used it deliberately to provoke her, to assess her reaction. “I do,” I said, calm. “He asked me to.”
The sour look was back. “How sweet.”
“Tell me something: Do you truly love him?”
She blinked. I had surprised her. “Love,” she repeated slowly, in a tone veering toward contempt. “Girls like me are not made for love; we are made to be wanted.” Then she cast me a careful, sidelong look from under her heavy lids, and amended: “Girls like us.”
The familiar words stung my throat. Briefly, against my will, I remembered Fanli’s fading figure, the blue-white mist rising up around him, the canal waters lapping against the boat as it floated farther and farther away. Stop , I instructed myself, before my heart could fracture again. Do what’s useful.
“Of course, there are things I love,” she went on, “if power counts as one of them. And pretty things. Maybe that makes me vain, but isn’t it natural to be drawn toward what’s beautiful?” She stroked one of the budding flowers, then touched the gold bracelets jangling around her delicate wrists, the inlaid gems luminous under the sun’s light. Finally, she glanced back up at me. “Is that response satisfactory enough?”
I drifted forward through all that lush greenery and stopped by the fountain, lowering myself to the ledge. The stone was cold against my skin. I patted the empty spot next to me. “Tell me more.”
“What is there to tell?”
I waited until she was seated—with all the reluctance of one coming to sit beside a leopard—before continuing. “I’m just trying to understand you. Poison is a rather dire tactic, don’t you think? Messy, as well. You must have been desperate.”
Confusion flickered over her features. Dryly, she said, “You don’t sound too angry about it, for someone who could have died.”
“Oh, I am angry,” I reassured her. “Furious, in fact.” A beat. “But at more than just you.” These were the rules that shaped our lives from when we were born: Be beautiful, be charming, be the most coveted girl in the room, or else you will be nothing. For men, it was so easy; the path to power was so direct. But we had to manipulate and maneuver and claw our way to gain half of what they did.
Lady Yu’s brows furrowed, the only crease to be seen in her smooth, petal-like face. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, softly bitter. “You wouldn’t understand. My father commands a portion of the royal guard. Whenever my position in the palace slips, his falls as well. All the servants have been talking about it; how His Majesty used to frequent my chambers as if it hurt to be separated from me for more than a day… and how he doesn’t even seem to remember me now.”
My heart leaped. The royal guard. I had come here in search of an ally, but I had found something even better. “How about we make a deal?”
She eyed me warily. “A deal?”
“I can ask Fuchai to visit you more often, and remind him of everything that’s good about you, and kindly omit your personal defects, such as your occasional impulse to poison the people around you. It will be enough to stop the servants from whispering, and anyone with eyes shall be convinced of your worth to him. Your father’s rank will be secured, and your family’s power will only grow from here on.”
“What, you don’t mind sharing?” Her tone was still dry, barbed with mockery, but I could see the fresh glow of interest spreading over her face, the apt attention in her gaze. She was right, after all. Neither of us were in this for something so trivial as love.
I shook my head.
“And what’s the catch?”
I could not disclose my plans with her, not yet. So I only said, “Remember this favor. What I’ve done for you, and what I’ve forgiven. When I need you and your father, I’ll provide you with more details.”
She scoffed, but it was a sound without much malice. “You are different from how I imagined, you know.”
I smiled slightly. “Aren’t we all?”
There was a silence. A strong, abrupt wind blew through the azaleas, a torrent of flushed petals picking up and swirling around us, some landing in the fountain waters, so light they barely made a ripple. My robes fluttered out like bird wings, my hair tickling my cheeks, wisps flying loose from their elaborate knots. Yet I remained motionless, my breath held tight, while Lady Yu rearranged the gauze covering her shoulders. Her eyes were contemplative.
“So? Do we have a deal?” I prompted, holding out a hand.
She stared down at it for the longest time, then nodded, curling her thin fingers around mine. Her bracelets sang softly as we shook, gleaming in the light.