Chapter Four #2
Xian fought the twitch of a smile. ‘They were not born into their titles, so perhaps they don’t know?’
Song Lim chuckled. ‘Ah, I see. Bestowed titles. What favour did they do the Dragon Throne, then, to gain the honour?’
‘I was that favour.’
Another pause in the cleaning. ‘I don’t follow.’
Xian glanced down at his half-full cup of huangjiu, placed on the stool when he needed both hands free to put on the overcoat.
Song Lim was observant. He lifted the cup, handing it to Xian.
After a deep gulp, he laid out the corrupt nature of his arrival in Yunnan.
‘Marchioness Shen is sister to the Noble Consort Jing. Before she was asked to take me into her guardianship neither she nor her husband, the Governor, held any noble title. By the time I arrived though, that had changed. Along with the wealth they gain through taxes and trade in Kunming, they are paid handsomely by the Imperial Palace to keep me…’ He took another sip.
‘Out of sight of my father who does not wish the ill-fortune of my presence, nor trust that dark magick wont cause me to set my sights on the Dragon Throne.’
Song Lim uttered something very bawdy and unpleasant.
‘Who would wish to be powerful and wealthy, truly? It makes a sensible man paranoid, and rots his mind.’ He shook his head.
‘I tell you, I’d be run off my feet if I sought patronage in the Forbidden City, but I’ve always sworn I won’t do it.
Always thought it was the biggest nest of yaoguai, now I’m hearing that I’m right.
What were they thinking to send a motherless boy into another pile of daemons? ’
They were thinking of themselves; of their conniving plans and fortunes, of rank and position. But Xian made no reply. He finished his cup and set it back down on the stool. Song Lim picked up the bottle and refilled the cup.
‘Don’t say a word if it hurts you, but I’d like to hear about her.’ Song Lim’s voice had a natural depth, but it deepened further when he spoke gently, as he did now. ‘Your mother, that is. What was her name?’
Gooseflesh trailed down Xian’s arms. No one, not even Daiyu, had ever asked him that, and if she knew it, she had never uttered his mother’s name aloud.
‘Keshun…Wu Keshun.’ Speaking his mother’s name, left so long unsaid, cut open a void in Xian that he sought to fill with a rush of words.
‘A fire in the palace took her. It would have taken me too, were it not for my mother’s protection.
She ran into her quarters as the rooms were engulfed, to save me.
But I was hiding, and too terrified to answer her calls.
By the time she found me…there was no way out. She perished…but I somehow lived.’
Xian’s fingers fluttered to touch the veil, where the scarring beneath lived as a constant reminder of that day. He’d only ever spoken so freely to one other. A golden carp who could tell no one of his deep shame and guilt.
A soft sigh came from the shoemaker. ‘What a terrible burden for a child, to carry such a memory.’ He sat back on his heels, and did not blink as he regarded Xian.
‘But do not tell me you burden yourself more greatly by thinking her loss your fault. A child cannot be blamed for such things. Nor would your mother ever wish such a fate for you, I’m sure.
What happened was the rule of the gods, not a young boy’s fear. ’
There were rumours on that, of course. That jealousy had begun the blaze long before it ignited with the roll of an ember onto a rug. But the years and rumours had never dwindled Xian’s guilt; he should have run when the smoke billowed.
Still, Song Lim’s words shifted some of the weight upon Xian’s back.
Not a single soul had spoken to him so plainly.
‘I should have run,’ he whispered so softly Song Lim stretched closer to hear him. ‘I should have run.’
‘Fear makes us turn to stone, Xian. We are all the same in that.’
The sting behind Xian’s eyes threatened to march tears forward; tears he’d not shed in many years. He barely registered the shoemaker calling him by name.
‘Not my mother…’ If Xian were her fox, she was his wolf.
Fierce and protective till the very end.
‘They called her a sorceress, a concubine witch, intent on reaching the throne, but they were wrong. She was a daughter of heaven already, talented and beautiful.’ His memories, though dimmed, rushed forth.
He’d not allowed them to swim in his mind for years; now their presence had him aching.
‘Her voice, it was so lovely. She truly sang like a nightingale. I recall her singing me to sleep most nights, but I tried so hard to stay awake because I wished to listen to her.’
Song Lim grinned, his eyes warm. ‘And she danced? You must have taken your talent from her. I’m told your dance is a sight to behold.’
Xian’s smile spread so wide he felt the tug of reluctant skin at his cheek.
‘I could not claim to be even half as good as my mother. She was a wonderful dancer. The very best in the Forbidden City, in all of China.’ He laughed at his grandiose words.
‘I can only dream to become so talented as her. Though of course, it was said that magic moved her, nothing else. No one could believe a single person held so many gifts. But she did.’
‘Bah, jealous fools, all of them. They probably danced as well as me, and that is to say like sacks shifting about on the back of a cart.’
Xian’s laughter burst from him. ‘I’m sure you are not so terrible.’
‘I wouldn’t torture you with finding out. Tell me more of your mother, did she teach you?’
‘Yes.’ Xian’s mind flooded with those moments.
He was breathless with their freedom. Oblivious to the drums that still marked the time.
‘Many hours in the garden…beneath weeping willow trees so we were hidden. I was frightened I’d be seen, and laughed at for being so flat-footed.
Likely that was why she called me her little fox, I was always sneaking off to find somewhere to practice what she’d taught me. ’
The childish worries of a boy who’d been living his best moments, and did not realise it.
‘Well, it seems all that practice did you very well. And it is a terrible pity that your mother does not live to see it.’ Song Lim set down the damp cloth and rose to his feet.
He was shorter than Xian by half a head, a slight difference somehow negated by the bold presence of the man.
‘One day, perhaps, you’d do me the honour of allowing me to make some shoes for you, your highness. A pair perfect for dancing.’
Xian played his teeth at his lip, wondering how a few sips of huangjiu could loosen his tongue so well.
He’d said so much more than he’d intended.
Song Lim was a stranger, but speaking with him came as easily as the dance.
The sense of foreboding Xian had experienced earlier had not vanished, but was so well buried, he’d almost forgotten it.
‘I would like that,’ he said. ‘How long do you think you shall stay in Kunming?’
‘Until the New Year is my plan. But I am a restless creature.’ Song Lim replied. ‘I may be gone before the week is out.’
‘Oh.’ Xian’s lifted mood dipped; the drum beats seeming louder. ‘There may not be time for a fitting, then. The New Year Celebrations are a busy time at the manor.’
‘But surely you are not called upon every hour of every day?’ Song Lim regarded him with a frown.
And like he’d been snapped from a dream, Xian’s mood returned to that of earlier; low and tense. Fear ran its claws over his heart. ‘Never mind. I have enough shoes. Save your materials for another.’
‘But I don’t—’
‘Master Song, have you finished with my gown?’ He set down his cup hard against the wood.
Song Lim pressed his lips and nodded. ‘Yes, yes, it is all done. But that bruise on your leg will need covering.’
The mention of the injury put out the sparks that had risen with thoughts of pleasant childhood days. ‘Your ash water will not fix that, Master Song. I will tend to it.’
‘Very well.’ He threw down the sodden cloth with as much willfulness as Xian had with the glass. ‘We are done here then.’ He regarded Xian with a carefully guarded look, then turned his head. ‘Heng, we need those slippers, right now.’
‘They’re not yet dry around the heel, a few moments more,’ she called.
But before Song Lim could reply, a young man burst through the door; face reddened, hair dishevelled. Xian knew him at once. A trusted messenger of Daiyu. But Song Lim quickly placed himself between Xian and the newcomer.
‘Come no closer.’ His voice rumbled with authority.
The child halted, eyes wide, chest heaving. ‘But…the guards…they are coming…told you were seen here.’ Sweat fastened his shirt to his chest. ‘Mistress Daiyu bids you…follow me, your highness.’
Heng rushed into the room, bearing the slippers. ‘Here, quickly.’
The shoemaker caught her before she reached Xian. ‘Give them to me.’
With the slippers handed over, he returned to kneel before Xian, setting one shoe down, and holding out the other.
Xian lifted his gown and pushed his left foot forward.
There was a brief touch, a slide of a wide palm against the back of Xian’s heel, before the fire-warm softness of the slipper engulfed his foot.
Lim muttered approvingly before moving to the other, fitting the shoe with the same deft care; the soft glance of his hand against Xian’s bare skin startlingly pleasant.
An apology lingered on Xian’s lips; he’d been too harsh to the man earlier, but before he could speak a word he was being ushered out the door and following the harried young man sent to fetch him.
Xian glanced back and found Song Lim still upon his knees, gathering up Xian’s cup and the bottle of huangjiu. He did not look up to watch Xian leave.
Likely, when he was deep into the bottle, Master Song would tell tales of his encounter with the ruined prince who played in the mud and talked to fish. And he’d laugh as heartily as all the rest of them.
Xian swallowed against the hurt that came with such a thought, and hurried away.