Chapter Twenty-Six
LIM STOOD transfixed as the prince drew nearer. Xian’s pace quickened, and it seemed for a moment he might run. A breeze played at his veil, teasing a petal from the jasmine he wore, floating its scent into Master Chen’s workshop. Lim finally blinked.
‘Xian. You’re here.’
‘Prince Xian, this is no place for you to be.’ Master Chen stole Lim’s precious view, stepping in front of him; his fan spread open and held like a shield before him. ‘Mandarin Feng would not approve, Your Highness, he would gladly have organised an attendant to come in your stead.’
‘I had to come myself, Master Chen.’
Lim felt Xian’s voice like a caress against his ears. Chen moved out onto the veranda as Xian reached the stairs.
‘Will you not invite the prince in, Master Chen?’ Lim called. ‘I’d say your mandarin would not be pleased to hear you denied his honoured guest.’
Lim met Chen’s glare with one of his own.
‘It is really not appropriate…for the prince to be among all this…’ he waved a vague hand at his own clutter. ‘Dangerous implements…and oils that might stain his royal wardrobe.’
‘The prince can keep his robe clean, I assure you,’ Xian said, reaching the veranda. Lim’s first proper look at the prince worried him; his gown hung too loose on his shoulders, the cinched waist too narrow. But his retort held spirit.
Chen stepped back, tripping over the lip of the doorframe in his haste to put distance between them. Standing right in front of Lim, blocking his view of Xian entirely.
With a frustrated hiss, he took a step sideways, forgetting the shackles. He staggered, arm outstretched, but found only air.
‘Song Lim!’
The waft of jasmine thickened, the rustle of fabric rose, hushing like an autumn wind playing in the willows. A hand grasped his, countering his fall, and Lim found his balance. He straightened, looking right into those unforgettable violet eyes, and his stomach made a most peculiar flip.
‘Xian…it’s truly you.’
The prince’s gaze darted to Lim’s shoulder, then his feet, his frown deepening.
‘Master Song, you are injured, and in shackles. What have they done to you?’ His question hummed with anger, and he turned on the other shoemaker with spectacular fierceness.
‘I was told Master Chen had taken you in, but I did not know it was as his prisoner.’
The other shoemaker backed away, towards his row of deities; ready with new prayers to save him from the evil, unlucky prince.
Lim barely glanced at him, drinking in Xian’s nearness. Their hands were still clasped, Xian’s showing no sign of discomfort with being touched.
‘Your Highness, do not lay your displeasure on me,’ Chen cried.
‘If not for me, your shoemaker might have sustained more injury than that cut. I stepped in when it seemed he’d be cast out.
’ The fan was still raised, putting a paltry barrier between him and Xian.
‘But I am just a simple shoemaker and must do as I am told.’ He hesitated, the same conniving darkness flashing across his face.
‘You should approach Captain Duan if you take issue with the situation. Your shoemaker is shackled under his orders, I’m afraid. ’
Xian’s grip tightened, and Lim squeezed his hand gently. ‘No, there will be no need for that,’ he said, eager to soothe the haunted look from Xian’s eyes. ‘All is well. Master Chen was—’
‘Why did the captain see need to restrain my shoemaker at all,’ Xian demanded. ‘Whatever misunderstanding there was surely is resolved by now?’ He swallowed. ‘I will speak to him, and demand you be released.’
Lim stared, marvelling at the changed man who stood before him. This was not the man who’d quivered before him in Heng’s kitchen, nor suffered quietly under Marquess Shen’s heavy hand. His thunderous heart quietened; his doubts rose. Had Xian found happiness here, among the scorpions?
‘They thought him a trespasser,’ Master Chen said. ‘A thief, actually. He took too long to state his business with you, and by then he was not believed. But I stepped in, Your Highness, and intervened when he was being sorely treated, and he is safe here, helping me with my work.’
‘How do you expect him to help you with your work, when his arm is in such a state?’ Xian demanded, and Lim felt a stirring seeing his prince so imperious. ‘Have a herbalist see to his arm at once, Master Chen.’
The veil shifted with his forceful words, and Lim was struck with a desire to lift from his face, so he’d be seen for the astonishing creature he was.
There was no need to ask him whether he still took the tincture. This clear-headed, decisive delight of a man was fully in charge of his faculties.
‘I will send word, your highness.’
‘No. You will go now, and go yourself.’ Xian levelled him with a violet stare. ‘And you will bring Master Song a meal and a change of clothes.’
Chen shuffled in between his gods, his foot knocking the ash from a stick of burning incense. ‘Be reasonable, your highness. I cannot leave you alone here with the shoemaker.’
Xian let go of Lim’s hand, trembling with what Lim hoped was rage, and not fear.
‘You cannot leave me with my own shoemaker? What preposterous nonsense is that? Do you think I will shirk my duties and run away with him? How dare you insult me. Do not waste anymore of my time. It would not do for the mandarin to search for me, your time grows short.’
Lim worked to keep his expression smooth; but internally he was shouting his delight. Xian, the indignant, self-important prince, was a revelation.
And Master Chen had certainly backed himself into more than a corner of his room, but the man was stubborn.
‘I do not wish to insult you, of course, your highness, but I think it truly best if an attendant sees to your requests. You have my assurance that it will all be done, and Master Song made very comfortable.’
Chen’s own obvious discomfort gave Lim an idea. He shifted around behind Xian, so his face couldn’t be seen by the other shoemaker.
‘Curse him,’ he whispered.
Xian arched an eyebrow, mouthing, what?
‘Cursed Prince.’ Lim rolled his eyes, trying to make light of the terrible name given to the prince. ‘He believes.’
He dared not say more lest Chen hear.
Xian set his shoulders, giving Lim the barest perceptible nod. He let out a gasp, stepping back.
‘Are you certain?’ he exclaimed. ‘My eyes…they have deepened?’
Lim did his best at looking concerned. ‘Yes, your highness. They are indigo…do you feel the change?’
‘I do, they burn.’ Xian rounded on Chen, a theatrical sweep of his skirts making it appear as though the move were a part of one of his dances. ‘Master Chen, you have angered me too much.’
He unfastened his veil, and with a hesitation Lim only saw for how carefully he watched, Xian let it fall from his face. The jasmine fell away, landing at his feet.
‘Do you wish me to wipe good fortune from your life, Master Chen?’
‘No, no of course not,’ said the flustered shoemaker, whose horrified gaze darted between Xian’s face and his stone gods. ‘What has happened? What have I done?’
‘I try to keep my peace, so the curse does not overcome me, but I do not always succeed. Do you see my eyes, how deep a shade they are? The curse is restless. You know of my curse, do you not?’
He leaned towards Chen, who pressed himself against the wall, lifting his fan higher. ‘I do, I do, but I do not wish it laid upon me. I’ve done you no wrong.’
‘Ill-fortune has no favourites, and bad luck no friends. Help me, Master Chen. Calm me, so we might appease the spirits that possess me.’
The shoemaker whimpered behind his fan. ‘Appease, yes, yes. I beg you, Your Highness, calm yourself.’ He shuffled his way towards the open doors. ‘I shall go now, a salve, clothes…’
‘Noodles,’ Lim whispered as his belly rumbled.
Xian hardly paused. ‘And food for the shoemaker, so he can work well for you, and please me,’ Xian called after the skittering man who lifted his skirts to travel down his stairs faster. ‘There are zhajianmian being made, not four houses down.’
Chen paused, looking over his shoulder. ‘Your highness?’
‘I smell them.’ Xian sniffed theatrically. ‘So do not dare tell me you could not find them.’
Bobbing like a bamboo pipe in a fountain, Chen backed away, scuffing his feet as he raced to do the Cursed Prince’s bidding.
Xian stood near the door, like a vengeful god watching his servant flee. It was rousing, watching him stand so tall, so unyielding.
Far too rousing. Lim shifted his hips, willing softness to return to parts grown stiff.
When Chen was out of sight, Xian turned.
They stared at each other in the new, welcome silence. Until Lim could bear it no longer, and doubled over with laughter.
‘Highness, that was the most incredible display I’ve ever seen.’ He hugged his ribs, his bruises painful, as his delight took him over. ‘They should have you in an opera, not just twirling about.’
Xian’s laughter joined his, though far more subdued. ‘Master Song, quiet now, they will hear you in Beijing with that laugh.’
Lim stifled his amusement, which was almost as painful as letting it free, and wiped at his eyes. ‘You are right. But you were a sight to behold. Thank you for understanding so quickly. I hope my idea didn’t upset you too much?’
‘You did not upset me, Master Song.’
‘Lim, please.’
‘Lim. I am so pleased to see you.’ He lowered his eyes, a pinkness shading his cheekbones. ‘But I don’t understand, how is this possible? Why are you here?’
Lim had tired of all the lies he’d told to bring himself here. And tired of pretending he’d done so for the slipper alone.
‘You, Xian. I am here because of you.’