Chapter 25 Sheuan
Sheuan
Langzu – inner Bian
The clans fight over territory, estates, and even skilled labor, but nothing is treated so much like a trophy as the artifacts they have gathered from a pre-Shattering world.
The most prized of these is a chair carved of dark wood, the seven elder gods winding around its surface.
It has passed from clan to clan through the years, stolen in the middle of the night, taken during a raid, bargained and paid for in negotiations.
For a long time, the Hangtao clan had possession of it.
When the Sovereign and his enforcers took control of Langzu, they also took the chair.
It sits now in the Sovereign’s castle, in his great hall, a reminder of the bloody night that wiped an entire clan clean from the slate of history.
Filial piety aside, Sheuan hadn’t ever been good at listening when people told her what to do.
She had listened to the needs of her clan, yes, but technically she didn’t have a clan anymore.
So what would following her mother’s dictums do for anyone?
If her mother told her to stop digging merely to protect Sheuan’s interests, well, Sheuan counted herself a better judge of her interests than anyone else.
Mull’s brother had given her more than he’d intended to. He had said she should ask the Risho clan if she wanted to know more about the Sovereign’s rise to power, about his ability to pull information from others.
And of all the fortunate coincidences, it just so happened she was already well acquainted with someone from the Risho clan, and it just so happened she owed this someone a favor. A younger scion, but one she understood, one who was malleable.
Nimao of the Risho clan sat across from her on a cushion in the castle’s informal meeting room, a place that was meant to put visitors at ease instead of showing off the Sovereign’s power.
The walls were painted in cherry blossoms rather than tigers, idyllic scenes of picnicking families next to rivers that ran blue and clear of silty floodwaters.
The tea in the cup in front of him was still hot, but he’d only lifted it to his lips to blow on it once, before absent-mindedly setting it back down.
He had half his hair tied up in his customary bun, the rest falling flat down his back.
Such a pretty man, with the sort of lips that made her thoughts tip into the obscene. And as for his thoughts?
She could practically hear them.
The last time they’d been together, she’d unbalanced him – something he’d quite enjoyed.
So much so that he’d forgotten she wasn’t supposed to be at the Sovereign’s naming-day party.
And now she was here, dressed in the finery of the Sovereign’s wife, a silver cherry branch pinned to her breast. It was quite the turn of events.
He wasn’t sure how to react, and she let him sit in that discomfort without saying a word, as he opened his mouth, shut it, lifted the teacup to blow on it again and then once more forgetting to drink from it.
She clearly outranked him, which meant she was supposed to speak first. But he was also her guest, which afforded him certain privileges, and perhaps Sheuan herself was unsure of what decorum dictated here.
After all, her clan had been on the brink of disaster, and she’d always been something of a novelty at parties – perhaps she hadn’t been raised correctly.
She hid her smile with the rim of her teacup. What was the point of having power if you couldn’t have a little bit of fun with it?
But then footsteps sounded from behind her, and Nimao rose to his feet. Sheuan pushed herself up.
Liyana Juitsi entered, fingers swiping at her hair, readjusting briefly before she let her hand fall back to her side.
She was a lovely young woman, her crowning feature the long, lush lashes she fluttered at every opportunity.
When she looked at men, when she made a particularly funny joke, when she made a particularly cruel one.
She was lithe as a sapling, her skin smooth and unbroken by freckles.
Words like “statuesque” had been invented to describe women like Liyana.
Sheuan wondered, if she tipped the girl over, would she shatter into so many bits of porcelain?
Nimao’s face broke into a relieved smile. This time, Sheuan wasn’t sure if he was pleased that she’d remembered the promise she’d once made to introduce them, or relieved that there was now a third party to this awkwardness.
Liyana bowed to her. “I am Liyana of the Juitsi clan. I’m so glad we could meet…” She trailed off, unsure how to refer to Sheuan. Sovereign’s wife seemed a mouthful. Consort? Not exactly her role. And she didn’t technically have a clan anymore.
“Sheuan,” Sheuan said. “Just Sheuan.”
Liyana’s shoulders relaxed. “Sheuan,” she said, relieved.
“But we’ve met once before.” She might as well have shoved the girl into a Cressiman snowstorm. Each and every lithe limb froze.
Liyana blinked, an action that reminded Sheuan of nothing so much as one of the blinking dolls mothers bought for their children in the marketplace. A stiff, exaggerated action. “Oh, of course we have. I must have forgotten.”
“It was memorable for me. You stepped on my foot.”
Lips moved soundlessly, a wordless whine escaping her mouth.
And again, that exaggerated blinking, all as a flush crept up her cheeks.
She swallowed, tried again, her voice thin.
“I’m terribly sorry. If I didn’t apologize then, I should have.
Please” – she bowed, and then bowed again – “please forgive me.”
Immensely satisfying, given that Sheuan had been the one to apologize during that long-ago party. But she didn’t do this just for a bit of fun – that would be wasteful. Embarrassment and discomfort could be wielded as well as any dagger. “Ah, but you should forgive me.”
A small, muttered protest from Liyana.
“I haven’t yet introduced you to my other guest. Nimao of the Risho clan.”
To her credit, Liyana recovered quickly, smiling and bowing.
Sheuan watched them both sizing one another up, an action so obvious on Nimao’s part that it was painful to witness.
Liyana, at least, had been taught some subtlety, flicking her gaze over the man so quickly he could hardly notice, disguising it with the movements of her hands.
Sheuan gestured to the table, where a third cup sat waiting. “If I proved unmemorable, I hope you’ll at least remember him.”
“Oh, I don’t think I could forget him.” Eyelashes fluttered, Nimao smiled, and she let them have at it while she sipped her tea and occupied herself with frowning at the dregs. They talked, and sipped, and talked some more.
Gods below, she’d seldom heard more vapid conversations. The weather, their families, the state of their estates. If there was a spark between them, it was kindled on damp wood.
She interjected after a while, just so they wouldn’t start to feel she was some voyeuristic third party, a dog watching a couple undress. Both seemed to appreciate her peppered-in commentary, and both, disappointingly, agreed with everything she had to say.
Sheuan wondered exactly how the Sovereign could stand it, after all these years. Was that why he’d found her interesting?
At last the tea grew cold, the dumplings the servants had brought in had been devoured, all except the very last one – Nimao’s manners had extended to that at least – and Liyana rose. Nimao followed, daring to take her hand in his. “I’m so glad we could be introduced,” he said.
“As am I. I’m having a dinner party in two days. I’ll send you an invitation.”
They both moved to leave, but Sheuan touched Nimao’s arm. “Stay a little bit. I’ve something to ask you.”
She watched and waited until Liyana left the room, until the door was shut and latched. Then she whirled, seizing Nimao beneath the chin, her fingers resting lightly around his throat.
“Sheuan…”
She didn’t let him finish, tightening her grip marginally, pushing him back toward the cushion he’d only just vacated.
His eyes were wide, his hands out to the sides, helpless.
“Pushing” was a rather strong word for what she was doing.
Guiding? He gave way to the slightest touch, letting her have this mastery of him.
There was a time this sort of control would have thrilled her.
Not that she wasn’t thrilled now. But it was like observing a mountain through the haze of a veil.
Everything felt muted. She couldn’t help but think of Rasha, the bright clarity of her eyes, the brush of those clawed hands against her skin.
It was more than that, though – it was the brief flash of her smile, the way she’d seen past Sheuan’s tricks and had still wanted to know the person beneath.
The touch of warmth she’d felt cooled as she remembered the way she’d left Rasha, the way she’d shut her out.
She’d had to do it; there was no way she could have stayed in Kashan, and Rasha wouldn’t come with her.
Sheuan had wanted her to. It would have caused worlds of trouble for her, for her clan, but she hadn’t been able to help wanting it. What could they have become, in a quiet space of their own?
She shook the thoughts from her mind as she guided Nimao back to sit on the cushion. So maybe she didn’t feel the same thrill as she had back in the workshop, what felt like a lifetime ago, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend. And Sheuan was very, very good at pretending.
She leaned over him, his face close to hers, until he could feel her breath across his cheeks. She held him there by the neck as she ran her other hand over his body, groping him roughly.
His breathing quickened, his hands splayed at his sides, elbows locked as he held himself upright. “Your husband,” he said. “You’re married. To the Sovereign. And we…” He trailed off, his lips parting.