Chapter Twenty-Seven
THERE WAS silence in the workshop, the outside world sounding distant, the murmur of a lively household barely noticed.
‘Your Highness—’
‘Song Lim—’
They spoke in perfect unison. Xian ducked his head. He stood in the doorway still, silhouetted by the daylight; a vision that Xian could happily have drunk in for an eternity.
Lim shook off his whimsy. ‘Go on, your highness. I did not mean to speak over you.’
‘Let any discussions wait a moment, I cannot stand seeing you in those awful chains. I’m sorry I did not make Master Chen release you before he left.’
Xian gathered up the lengths of his Han blue skirts in one hand and picked up a wooden stool with the other.
He moved back into the workshop, moving to the bench where he frowned down at the tools a moment before selecting a thin pick from amongst the scatter.
Lim glanced towards the opposite end of the long workbench; where the slipper was concealed beneath the velvet.
‘Your highness, there is something I’d—’
‘Sit please.’ Xian walked towards him, his veil hanging loose, the black fabric contrasting his milky white skin; brushing against the pink hues of his scars.
‘Sit?’
‘Yes. Please.’
He placed the stool in front of Lim, and the thirteenth son of the emperor went to his knees.
‘Gods, no.’ Lim reached for the prince, horror making him insensible. His fingers brushed the silk of Xian’s gown before he remembered himself and withdrew. ‘There is a chair over there. I cannot have this.’
‘And I cannot see you like this, Lim. Let me tend to these shackles.’ Firm and unequivocal, holding Lim’s gaze with such wondrous strength that Lim’s belly clenched tight.
‘There is no key, your highness.’
‘Please call me Xian. And sit down. Both are commands, if that helps you at all.’
Lim hesitated, then relented with an unhappy grunt. ‘I suppose I cannot defy those orders.’
‘You cannot.’ The corners of Xian’s eyes wrinkled with a shy smile. He ducked his head to work at the lock. ‘When I was young the Lady Tian liked us to play crouching in the dark, and she’d always encourage me to hide in places that had locks or bolts—’
Lim growled. ‘That woman is—’
‘The reason I took it upon myself to understand locks.’ Xian looked up at him through dark lashes, and Lim’s heart forgot it should beat smoothly.
‘There was a suojiang, a man much like you, who did not fear my reputation, and taught me his lock craft. I’ll not be kept in the dark again, not by a lock at least.’
‘I have no doubt.’ Lim stared down at the prince, entranced. There was so much to learn about the man, and Lim was greedy for the knowledge.
‘What on earth are you doing here, Song Lim?’
‘Lim,’ he said gruffly. ‘If we are to be so informal, do not leave me feeling out of place.’
‘Very well, what on earth are you doing here, Lim?’ He fussed at the metal encircling Lim’s ankle. ‘Before you answer, I must ask. If you lift your feet will it cause you any discomfort?’
‘No,’ Lim said, puzzled. ‘But lift them to where?’
Xian patted his lap. ‘Here, it will make it easier for me, the lock is at the back of your ankle.’
‘I am not putting my dirty shoes in your lap, Prince…Xian.’ Lim shook his head firmly.
Xian moved deftly, cupping Lim’s heels and pulling his shoes from his feet in one movement; setting aside the travel-worn straw sandals neatly at his side.
‘Xian! This is too much.’
But he was not yet done. Using the shackles as a handle of sorts, he lifted Lim’s wriggling feet, and set them down against his skirt with a firm hand.
‘Oh gods,’ Lim groaned, covering his face. ‘My feet stink, don’t they. I saw you wince. This is a terrible idea, your highness.’
‘Xian.’
‘Names hardly matter, whoever I speak to I shall say the same thing. If it weren’t bad enough for you to find me looking like I’d been in a street brawl, now you regard me as a stinking pig.’
A giggle, soft and sublime, came from the prince as he bent over Lim’s feet, working the pick at the lock.
‘You are no pig, Master…Lim. And I’m sorry for flinching. Every scent and every sound is so much stronger now since I…’ He went still. ‘I mean to say, I’m not offended. Don’t worry yourself.’
Lim frowned, thinking back on Xian’s insistence about the noodles being cooked nearby. He worried on the tincture; his certainty that Xian was too clear-headed to be afflicted was now in doubt.
‘Are you unwell, Xian?’
‘No,’ Xian replied softly. ‘Not exactly…please, Lim. Let us not speak of such things right now. I’d rather speak of you. If you are here for me, then why would you not give my name when you arrived, and avoid this appalling treatment.’
Lim licked his lip, glancing up at the bench where the slipper rested beneath the velvet.
A shackle gave way with a wondrous click, hitting the hemp mat with a dull thump. Lim heaved a sigh.
‘You are a wonder, Xian.’ He reached down to rub at his ankle, but found the prince’s hand instead; the brush of skin was warm and all too brief.
Xian pulled away, setting his sights on the second shackle. The pick shook as he worked it into the lock. ‘The journey from Kunming is long, Lim. Arduous…and dangerous…’
‘Not so dangerous as your journey must have been.’
The barest pause before the tinkle of metal against metal continued. ‘I was treated well enough.’
A strand of his black hair freed itself and fell across his cheek. Lim couldn’t help himself. He reached to affix it but paused, giving Xian a chance to protest or move away. Lim’s pulse felt as though it stopped dead when Xian tilted his head towards Lim’s waiting fingers.
He was certain neither of them breathed as he coaxed the strand over the curve of Xian’s ear. Lim sat back, exhaling, as Xian cleared his throat and went back to work on the shackle.
‘You should be treated more than just well, Xian.’
‘You are very kind to me, Lim.’
I want to be more than that. I want to protect you from the world, and wake every morning to find you with me.
With a despondent groan, Lim slipped his foot from Xian’s lap, intending to demand the prince get back on his feet. The intimacy, the nearness of him, was rending Lim apart.
At the same moment, Xian released the second shackle. There was a tangle of chains and feet and material with Lim’s sudden movement. His foot caught at the long drape of Xian’s sleeve. The prince let out a short gasp, reaching to grab at the fabric, but Lim had already felt what he sought to hide.
‘What do you carry there?’ He knew. He’d spent too many years in his trade to miss it.
Xian shook his head, rocking back onto his heels. ‘I am embarrassed to say. I fear you shall be angry at me, Master Song, for I shall have to admit I lost something wonderful you gave me.’
‘It is Lim, and you know I would never rage at you. Come, time you were off your knees.’
Lim rose to his feet, lighter without the shackles, and he offered his hand to the prince. Xian peered up at him, still reticent, but he slid his fingers over Lim’s palm.
It was distracting how neatly they fit together; Lim’s coarser skin and wider palm against Xian’s slender paleness. Such heat ran between their flesh; enough to keep Lim warm forever if this touch was all the prince could give.
Lim shook himself. ‘You have the slipper.’
Xian drew in a breath, but did not pull from Lim’s hold. ‘Yes! How did you know?’
Xian had carried the shoe all this way, and held it close. Lim’s heart felt too big for his chest.
‘Because I know every inch of the shoe I made for you. You kept it…even without its pair…you kept it with you…’
Violet eyes widened, and he pulled his hand from Lim’s. ‘How do you know I do not have the pair?’
‘Because I have the other.’
Xian’s eyes glistened, confusion and delight dancing across his features. ‘You have it? How…it fell into Mercy’s pond…how could you know it was there…’
Lim cleared his throat; filled with a sense of being about to step across a threshold.
‘Because…I was shown it was there, and compelled to bring it to you.’ He shook his shoulders in irritation, looking down, safe from what he might see in Xian’s gaze.
‘No, it wasn’t a compulsion, that makes it sound as though the choice was not my own.
I assure you, it was. I was guided but I came willingly.
Oh, I am sounding like a lunatic…and to be honest, since leaving Kunming I’ve experienced things that make me certain I am one. ’
He glanced up. Xian was watching him with too many emotions to discern; but Lim saw no revulsion, no disdain.
‘We share that in common, then Lim.’ Xian blinked, his eyes still glistening but no tears shed. ‘I feared telling you what has happened to me…but now, I wonder…if perhaps, you can find it in your heart to understand…’
‘What happened to you?’ Lim said, fear slinking between his ribs, the captain at the forefront of his mind. ‘Did someone—’
‘No, no,’ Xian soothed. ‘Nothing so revolting. The encounter I had was far more…unusual. Do you have the slipper, Lim? I’d like to see it.’
‘I do.’ He lifted his hand, offering his palm to Xian, restless to touch him again. The prince accepted without hesitation. ‘But Xian, there may be some pain for you, when you see it.’ Lim covered Xian’s hand between his. ‘It was your beloved carp that guided me…and Mercy left her mark…’
He cursed himself for the flash of anguish his words brought to Xian’s face, fearing he should have kept his mouth firmly shut; a lesson he seemed doomed never to learn.
‘Show me,’ Xian whispered.
Lim led him to the far end of the bench; a dull throb of pain at his ankles, a pinch from the cut at his shoulder.
‘There.’ He gestured towards the bulge of velvet, reaching with his free hand, while Xian clung tight to the other. ‘Shall I…’
‘Please. Quickly.’
With only one hand at his disposal, Lim’s unwrapping was not elegant. The slipper tipped from the roll of velvet onto its side; a sun-shower of white and gold light erupting.
A sob came from Xian; a great shudder that Lim felt in their clasped hands.
‘Xian…if it is too much…’
‘No, no.’ The prince reached for the slipper, loosening his grip on Lim’s hand to pick it up. A sunrise — glorious and golden with hints of the same violet in Xian’s eyes — erupted from the facets; a hue unlike any other Lim had seen since the moment the fabric came into his possession.
The flickering light danced against the tears streaming down Xian’s face; streaks of dampness against smooth skin and rough. He traced his finger along the row of Mercy’s scales. He’d seen in an instant what Lim had so diligently sought to ignore.
‘All this time,’ Xian whispered. ‘For so long I have mourned you…and knew nothing of the truth. Now I have learned everything in barely a day, and it is a sweet agony.’
Lim stayed close, a watchful eye on the outside world. Not a soul would take this moment from Xian. He’d take all the spears they could throw, for as long as the prince needed.
Xian clutched the slipper to his chest, crying so hard it was agony to listen to.
‘I shouldn’t have done this,’ he said fiercely. ‘I’m sorry, Xian. This was a mistake.’
The prince’s tears poured from him, dripping from his chin.
‘It’s too much, Lim. To know…too late.’ The sobs overtook him, wracking his slender body, wiping the strength from his knees.
Xian collapsed. Lim threw one arm around his shoulders, the other at his hip, clasping him tightly.
Their descent to the floor was rough and a mess of limbs and grunted effort, all accompanied by the glow of the slipper, clutched in Xian’s hand.
Tools fell from the bench, caught up in the folds of Xian’s gown, and the hidden slipper dug into Lim’s side as he went to his knees, setting Xian down on his backside, cradling the prince against him.
The man’s sorrow was devastating, and too long held back.
‘Lim,’ he whispered between strangled breaths. ‘Lim.’
‘I’m here…I’m here. Don’t leave a single tear behind now.’
‘She asked so much of you…yet you came…’ Xian burrowed his head against Lim’s chest. ‘You came for me.’
A week or two ago, Lim would never have believed he’d simply nod, and acknowledge that a ghost had led him to where he should have always been.
‘It made no sense to be anywhere else but with you. And your carp asked nothing of me I wouldn’t give freely.’
That drew another soft whimper from Xian.
‘I loved her…’ He spoke into Lim’s shirt, his tears dampening the fabric.
‘And I knew she loved me too…now, Lim…I know why…’ He sniffed, and Lim waited, sensing where the words would take them, feeling the truth prickle beneath his skin.
‘My mother. Her spirit was in the carp’s bones.
She watched over me all this time. My mother never left me, even when I felt so alone, she was there. Do you think me mad, now, Song Lim?’
Lim bent his head, his lips a hair’s breadth from kissing the top of Xian’s head before he stopped himself.
‘No, Xian. I know you are not mad.’ A ghost, a watchful guardian. A carp who had known before Lim himself where his rightful place was. ‘How great her love for you was, to defy the bounds of the afterlife. What it must be, to be so loved.’
The prince pushed against him, not seeking to move away, but the opposite; burrowing into the man who held him. Lim wrapped him tighter in an embrace, shifting his legs so Xian rested between them; holding fast as a storm of old and weighty grief lashed the man in his arms.