Chapter 40 Temple in the Clouds
TEMPLE IN THE CLOUDS
I spent the first few days of our retreat recovering. Aolian disciples, robed and masked in black and white, brought food to our remote cottage—plain rice, unseasoned meat, and an assortment of more teas than I could ever drink.
We were higher in the mountains than at the palace, and it snowed even more here, painting the pine branches white. The landscape outside the window scintillated with the color of funerals.
Lying on the bed, waiting for my chest to stop aching, I found myself far less afraid than before.
In Tensha, it was customary for new brides and grooms to spend a half month alone together at an Aolian temple.
It wasn’t practiced much in the villages—we could never have afforded so much time away from farm work—but it was mentioned often in the ballads, and so I had heard about the tradition long before the palace.
Aolian temples were scarce accommodations, with only hard beds and simple food.
Even the use of seal magic was not allowed on its sacred premises.
The idea was for the newlyweds to have two weeks to dedicate only to each other and their pledges.
To reflect, pray to Heaven, practice worship to the Ancestors—and, of course, engage in the childmaking activity.
I remembered having nightmares and nightmares about the retreat with Terren. One night at a time was barely survivable. Two whole weeks of him, I had thought, would kill me.
But now, I was already recovering from a near-fatal knife wound. Now, he had already almost killed me. Somehow, that made me brave.
On the fourth day, I managed to sit up in my bed. Terren was not around; I guessed he was at the temple.
I wrapped my winter cloak around me and went to look for him. Every step sent a fresh pain echoing through my chest, a pain I ignored. Time was running out.
There wouldn’t be an opportunity like this again. Not only did I have time with him alone during our wedding retreat, he was also cut off from his advisor. Hesin was far more careful than he was. Hesin would see through any moves I made, any falsehoods I told.
I needed to close in on Terren before we returned.
My boots were ankle-deep in the snow as I made the climb from the simple pavilion Terren and I shared, halfway down the mountain, to the temple at its crest. A layer of cold mist threaded through the ancient pines, which were twisted and bent with the burden of centuries.
Through it all I could see the shadowed pagodas, plain and capped with snow.
Everything was quiet here. Aolian disciples in black and white walked through the courtyard with the silence and dignity of ghosts.
For all I knew, there might actually have been ghosts among them; I would not have been able to tell.
There were offerings of fruit and nuts laid out on the temple steps, for wandering spirits, though chipmunks and twittering snowlarks would come to share them.
I found Terren sitting cross-legged on a bridge, overlooking a pond. He was wearing his usual gray robe, sashed with azalea red. An open scroll was in his hand, and on it was a half-written poem that he seemed to have abandoned in favor of watching the carp in the water.
“Now that you are awake,” he said without looking up, “you shall answer me. What were you doing in the West Palace?”
There were no Aolian disciples within hearing range, but even if there were, it would not matter. The disciples did not concern themselves with worldly affairs.
I seated myself beside him on the bridge, about three paces away, closer than I would have dared before. “If I tell you, will you kill me afterwards?”
“That would depend on what you tell me.”
“I was spying on your behalf. I may not know much about the Outer Court, but I know your brother has been working to remove you from the throne. So I wanted to help. I befriended his wife on Mid-Autumn to learn, through her, of the West Palace’s movements.”
A puff of snow dropped from a nearby pine branch into the pond. Five or six carp, believing the ripples to be food, raced to the surface for a nibble.
“I don’t believe you.” He seemed like he was trying hard to put threat into his voice, but he only managed to sound tired.
“Why else would I risk my life to go to her? Certainly not so she can teach me nighttime techniques.” I lowered my head, trying to seem embarrassed. “You of anyone know that what I said in front of Empress Sun was a lie.”
He was quiet as he considered this. “How did you get Silian to trust you?”
“I told her I would help spy on you, for her. I told her that I found you cruel—which you are—and that I was frightened of you becoming emperor, so I would help Prince Maro rise to take your place.”
“How do I know whose side you are truly on?”
I had prepared for this question. I made my voice hesitant, sheepish. “Because like everyone else in the palace, I want…” Power. I left the word unsaid—better he believed he was drawing his own conclusions. “If you inherit the Crown, I’ll be empress. If Maro does, I won’t. It is as simple as that.”
He burst into laughter, a sound like knives scratching.
“And here I was under the impression there was more to you. I had spent the past few days wondering what all that drivel on our wedding night was about, but it turned out to be something so mundane. So predictable.” In the water, the carp dispersed again, darting back beneath clovers and water lilies.
“Tragic, isn’t it? Even the simplest villager cannot help but fall victim to the seduction of the palace. ”
I did not correct him. He could assume about me whatever he wished, so long as it helped me assassinate him.
“I will not kill you for it, then,” he said, more to narrate a decision to himself than for my benefit.
“Not yet, anyway. I have all the knives in the world, so I have no need for spies, especially not one who is a girl. But I am curious to see where this leads. At the very least, I expect to be entertained.”
I hadn’t realized how tense I had been until he had confirmed, aloud, that I would not die. I let my fists unclench from under my sleeves and said, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
He looked up sharply. Black eyes bored into me like coals.
Again, I had lured him in with curiosity. I wondered how few people in the nation dared to ask him questions.
“Your coronation,” I said quietly, trying to make it seem like I was speaking from a place of concern. “I’ve been wondering all this time—why do it alone?”
By now I’d heard all the legends about the Taming of the Dragon, which all boasted of how dangerous it was, since dragons could not be tamed by literomancy. Princes had to rely only on the strength of their sigil magic and their allies.
In the beginning, when the tradition was still new, one in four seal-bearing princes perished in their attempt to take the Crown.
It was only later that they became more strategic about it.
They began using larger and more specialized armies, more intricate weapons.
They recorded tactics and techniques to be passed to future generations.
But even so, the death rate was high.
One coronation had even killed two princes.
Prince Arwa had been in the arena during his father’s coronation, helping him tame the dragon using his own magic, out of filial piety.
The dragon had ended up killing the son, and not even a month later, the newly enthroned Zhaowei Emperor had died of grief.
Terren made an impatient noise. “There is no shortage of people who want me dead. Do you think I am so foolish to let anyone in the arena while my ward is down?”
“But surely there are at least some you trust. Some who you are certain would support you.”
“The privilege of being powerful, Wei, is that I do not need to rely on trust.” He spat out the word like poison.
We sat in silence a while longer, and then he went to pray in the temple, unaware that he had been giving me material for his killing poem.