Chapter Thirty #2
No mind. Let them leer and clamour all they wanted. Tomorrow, he and Song Lim would be gone.
He raised his head from a bow of apology and met Feng’s unsettling gaze. Xian refused to retreat from it. He’d spent far too many years wilting beneath the regard of others. Xian imagined Marchioness Shen in his place, and he lifted his chin higher.
‘I am not to return to Kunming, am I, your lordship?’
That earned him a twitch of Feng’s brows, a glint of genuine amusement on his usually impassive face.
‘Does that displease you? I am led to believe your life there was less than fulfilling. Would you rather return, than remain here, where you may do as you please, in exchange for a few favours? I will not ask you to tend to the hearths or chamber pots. They shall not call you the Prince of the Cinders in Manhao, I promise you.’
Likely they would call Xian far worse.
‘What was my price?’ He breathed in the tang of death and preservation in the room; his feet upon the lion and the banma at his back. ‘I wish to know.’
Feng shifted from his cross-legged position, lifting one knee to lean his arm against it. ‘There lies a spirit beneath those scars. How enticing.’
‘Mandarin Feng, will you answer my question?’ He licked his lips.
‘I am grateful to be away from the manor, I will be honest. My life was hard there. A freer life here in Manhao appeals to me greatly. I thank you for what you offer and will do my utmost to further the renown of your court…in whichever way I can.’
The lies tasted like hawthorn berries—tart and sour but fawning seemed wiser than protest.
Feng regarded him through narrowed eyes, and Xian feared his fledgling attempt at politics had failed him.
‘Marchioness Shen would be a harsh master to serve,’ he smiled and failed at it once more.
‘We negotiated long on Kunming becoming the exclusive thoroughfare for my trade, a gateway to take the cargo from my ships beyond the borders of the Middle Kingdom. But she is a resolute woman. We were at a stalemate about what the ultimate price should be. I wasn’t satisfied with the agreement, until she spoke of her displeasure at having the burden of your care for so many years.
She considered it an insult to her sister, Noble Consort Jing, being forced to raise the child of the woman who’d tried to steal the emperor’s favour away from her.
’ Xian didn’t blink, though the words, utter lies, pained him; Jing was behind his exile to Kunming to begin with.
‘So, we agreed, at last. I wished to have the Cursed Prince to add to my palace’s finery, and she wished to have you removed from her sight.
’ He fanned his hand. ‘As did her beloved sister. So you see, your highness, I rescued you, because there is no telling what might have befallen you otherwise. Now you are disappeared from that old life entirely.’
Feng picked up his pipe again and shifted back against the pile of cushions arranged behind his desk; watching Xian as a sparrowhawk watches the mouse.
‘You have indeed…’ Xian said hoarsely. ‘Rescued me.’
He saw now that he was nothing like the surrounding animals. They were preserved and visible. In time, if he remained here, Xian was sure he would vanish altogether. Only then would Noble Consort Jing be satisfied.
A hum started beneath his skin; the drag of a saw’s teeth through wood. A sense of wishing to crawl out of his own skin and leave it behind.
But he had to be patient. Even though his head drummed with one mantra — run, run, run — it was not yet time.
He was too closely watched. Sobriety made men like Feng extra dangerous.
Midnight was useful, even if Sir William lied.
The late hour and the celebrations would soak the senses in wine and dull regard.
‘Now that is done with, it is time to present your gown.’
Feng bit his pipe between his teeth and clapped his hands.
The response was immediate. An attendant, a woman of senior age and with an even sourer expression than Xian’s earlier guide, hurried into the room.
She held in her outstretched arms a stunning gown of white with gold overlay.
Elaborate structuring made the shoulders rigid, and the bodice held a stiffness uncommon to ruqun designs.
A thick sash at the waist hung with slender chains of gold.
‘My Lord, this is too much.’ The beauty was astonishing, almost enough to shift his mind from all that had been said and learned. ‘Truly, I cannot accept such a gift.’
‘You can, and you will.’ Feng stepped off the kang, planting his feet on the lion’s coat, his queue draped over his shoulder; the hair woven through with hints of gemstones.
‘The gold fabric was brought to me from Persia, by a dashi who wished to negotiate a trade. He said it is called Termeh, made of cashmere and silk, and favoured by the royal houses there. I’ve had my best seamstresses at work on it, but was concerned it would not be ready.
’ He gestured to where a divider, painted with a magnificent spring mountain scene and set within a frame of red sandalwood, stood to one side of the room.
Beside it was a hanger rack, one that stood nearly as high as the divider itself.
Its uppermost hanger carved with dragon heads in its extremes; long lashing tongues protruding from mouths filled with white fangs.
‘Hang the dress for his highness, and assist him in undressing.’
Xian nearly choked in horror. ‘I am to try it on, now?’
‘I wish to ensure it fits correctly.’ Feng nodded, his odour unpleasant with its mix of tobacco and sweat and a sickly sweetness beneath. ‘Hurry now, I haven’t much time. They took too long in finding you.’
‘Your lordship, I see no need to—’
‘Prince Xian, you will do as I ask. Put the gown on, now.’ Feng abandoned any pretence of politeness, his eyes hard. ‘You can use your belligerence upon others, if it pleases them, but not on me.’
In the past, Xian would have dissolved into obedience. But he’d changed more in the space of a few days than he had in his lifetime.
‘I do not wish to wear your gown, Mandarin Feng.’ His pulses were erratic butterflies, his temples thumping.
His body hummed still; like the single note of a daoshi’s incantation held long beneath his skin.
‘My gown is exactly what I require in order to move easily. I neither want, nor need, your dress.’
Mandarin Feng’s awful smirk returned, and Xian was oddly disappointed he’d not angered the man. When Feng stepped forward, Xian drew in his belly, his feet tingling with the urge to flee.
‘My dear boy.’ Feng leaned in close, his breath coarse with tobacco, and his last meal. ‘You’ll undress now, and put that gown on. Or I’ll send word to Captain Duan that he can remove your shoemaker from Master Chen’s workshop, and do with him what he will.’
Lightheaded, Xian glared hard at the older man. ‘Master Lim has no part in this.’
‘And yet you made your way to him, and, I have learned, saw fit to put the fear of the gods into Master Chen so he’d run about making your shoemaker more comfortable.
Such unseemly affection, for a mere craftsman, Prince Xian.
One that bothers me greatly, for I was assured you were a chaste and untouched man. ’
Xian stepped back, reviled. ‘What I am is of no matter to you.’
Feng said nothing, merely stared, his expression wooden and his dull brown eyes devoid of emotion.
Unable to bear looking on him, Xian turned away, nodding at the attendant. ‘Let us be done with this, so Mandarin Feng might attend to far more important matters.’