2. The Shape of a Cage #2
Then we will burn that bridge when we reach it. The humor returns, but softer. For now, little flame, go to her. The political machinations can wait until tomorrow. Your strategizing will be equally mediocre whether you do it tonight or in the morning.
“Your confidence in my abilities is, as always, inspiring.”
I have three thousand years of practice in managing human nonsense. You are welcome.
General Wei arrives as the sun touches the western wall.
“Lord Shen’s faction grows bolder.” He sets the report on my desk. “Three ministers attended his evening gathering. He speaks of tradition. Of bloodlines. Of alternatives.”
“I am aware.”
“Xiang will be aware soon, if they are not already.” His voice drops. “Discord in the court is an invitation. They will look for leverage.”
He is not wrong. A divided empire is a vulnerable empire. Shen believes he is protecting the throne. He may be the one who destroys it.
“Then we do not give them discord to exploit.” I meet his eyes. “Arrange a private audience with Lord Shen. Not a confrontation. A conversation.”
Wei’s expression flickers—surprise, then something like approval. “You mean to bring him in.”
“I mean to try.”
Whether Shen will let himself be brought is another question entirely.
Wei nods once, but does not move to leave. His jaw works as though chewing on words that refuse to come easily.
“The perimeter?” I prompt.
“Tripled since the announcement.” The tension in his shoulders eases slightly—this is ground he knows. “Anyone approaching her quarters without authorization will be discouraged.”
“Discouraged.”
“Strongly.”
“Good.”
The report is delivered. The update complete. Yet he stands as though his boots have taken root in the carpet, and the silence between us grows weighted with something unspoken.
“Was there something else?”
Wei’s face does something complicated—the particular expression of a battle-hardened commander confronting a situation his training has not prepared him for. “She asked me to fetch pickled radish last night. At the third watch.”
I allow the corner of my mouth to move. Barely.
“She is… formidable,” he manages.
“Yes.”
“The radish was surprisingly difficult to find.”
“She has specific preferences.”
“I noticed.” He shifts his weight—another uncharacteristic tell. “The kitchen staff have begun keeping stores. They seem… afraid of disappointing her.”
“A reasonable fear.”
“She has very particular opinions about food temperature.”
“She has very particular opinions about everything.”
Wei nods, as though this explains the entirety of the situation, and withdraws. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
I find I am still almost smiling.
Your general is terrified of her, Tianlong observes. He has been quiet during the report, listening in the way dragons listen—with the ancient patience of a being who has watched empires rise and fall and rise again.
He respects her.
He fetched radish at three in the morning. That is not respect. That is survival instinct.
The distinction may not matter.
The distinction always matters. A pause. Go to her. You have been staring at that report without reading it for three full minutes.
I look down. He is correct. The scroll sits unopened in my hands, and my eyes have been fixed on the window, on the garden, on the space where I know she will be waiting.
I am considering the report.
You are avoiding the conversation you actually want to have.
I am not—
Little flame. I have known you since you were twelve years old and terrified and burning. I know when you are avoiding.
I set the scroll aside. I do not open it.
Go, Tianlong says. Before I am forced to say something genuine about emotions. Neither of us wants that.
The Moon Garden smells of jasmine and evening and something that might be her.
The light has gone gold and soft, pooling between the stones of the path, catching in the water of the reflecting pool.
This garden has been my refuge for twenty-two years—the one space in the palace where Tianlong’s voice does not reach, where my thoughts are entirely my own. I have never brought anyone here.
Until her.
She is waiting by the water’s edge, Dumpling draped across her lap in a posture of absolute conquest. Her robes are simpler than court requires—she has changed, shed the silk armor of imperial appearance for something that looks almost soft. The evening light catches in her hair.
Her fingers work through Dumpling’s fur, and his purr carries across the garden.
“You’re late,” she says without looking up.
“Lord Shen required additional attention.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Not today.”
“Pity.” She shifts, and Dumpling protests with a sound somewhere between yawn and complaint. “I would have enjoyed hearing about it.”
I lower myself beside her. The stone is cool through my robes, and the jasmine hangs heavy in the air, and she is close enough that I could reach out and touch her if I allowed myself.
I do not allow myself.
“The court was…” She trails off, inviting completion.
“Predictable.”
“Terrible. Exhausting. Filled with people who smile while calculating my death.”
“Those as well.”
She turns to look at me. The fading light catches her eyes—dark, sharp, tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep. “Shen’s face when you said loyalty. I thought he might swallow his tongue.”
“One can hope.”
“He’s not wrong, you know. About the risks.” Her fingers work through Dumpling’s fur with more force than strictly necessary. “The Hungering King is hunting me. Xiang will use this pregnancy as leverage. Half your court thinks I’m going to murder you in your sleep and claim the throne for myself.”
“Only half?”
“The other half thinks I’ll seduce you into marriage first, then kill you. More legitimate that way.” She pauses. “I’m not interested, by the way. In the throne. Too much paperwork.”
“And the murdering me part?”
“Depends on how much you annoy me during this pregnancy.”