“You have hands made of silk,” Xisi crooned to one of the girls. “You will do well here. Bring me a mirror.”
The girl promptly obeyed, attracting the bird’s attention. Bingmei searched around the room with its eyes, looking for the basket or any signs of the baby. She heard no crying or fussing. Nor did she smell her son in the room. Of course, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t smell when traveling through the birds—it was a stark reminder of the usefulness of the ability she’d spent most of her life hating.
“When will the emperor return?” one of the girls asked politely.
“You are missing him already?” Xisi asked in a playful voice, but the tone was belied by the predatory look in her eyes.
“N-no, my lady,” said the girl, ashamed. “I serve only you! I do not want to be a concubine.”
“Do you find him handsome, Baihe?”
“No. He is repulsive! I would rather be wed to a toad.”
Xisi arched an eyebrow. “You try to flatter me. I wish I had Bingmei’s gift myself. It would be so useful. But then, I’d probably grow tired of it. The dragon is hunting, that’s all you need know. Be loyal to me, and you will survive this place. Sometimes the Dragon of Night rules. Other times it is the Dragon of Dawn.” A wicked smile curled her lips.
Another maidservant entered and then prostrated herself on the floor before Xisi.
“Rise, pet. Did you find her? Is she willing?”
“She is honored to serve you in secret, my lady,” said the girl after she rose.
Bingmei watched and listened carefully.
“She knows I will have her tongue if she ever speaks of it to anyone?” Xisi asked archly.
“Yes, great one. She never wanted to be one of Echion’s concubines. But her daughter was slain according to the Iron Rules, and now she hates him with a vengeful fury. She has milk, my lady. She will feed the child in secret. She . . . she asked if you’d given your son a name?”
“I have,” said Xisi. The girls had finished arranging the combs and pins in her long, luxuriant hair. She rose and made a gesture of annoyance so the girls backed away.
They waited in anticipation. So did Bingmei.
“I have named him . . . Chushuile,” Xisi said. “Any child born to an immortal, such as we are, will have special gifts. I will raise him to be a great warrior. A skilled counselor. A wise sage. But for now, little Shuile must remain hidden. Lest the dragon grow jealous too soon. Now. Sing to me. I am weary from the hunt.”
Some of the girls picked up instruments and began plucking the strings. Three others began to sing quietly, their voices soothing and graceful.
Bingmei gazed at Xisi through the eyes of the finch. If the bird had been a hawk, she would have tried to coax it into attacking the queen. After a while, Bingmei realized no more secrets would be revealed, and so she flitted from bird to bird within the palace. She went to the concubines’ area, which she’d stayed in as a prisoner, trying to find the woman who had experienced the death of her baby. Looking for signs of Shixian. She went from branch to branch, from roof edge to roof edge, but her quest did not succeed.
Sitting inside a dove perched atop the Hall of Memory, she watched the servants bustle about in the full courtyard below her. Guards patrolled the walls and the various courtyards. Some were training with staves, others with spears—all meiwood weapons.
Across the way, the sun gleamed off the roof of the Hall of Unity. She’d sensed Rowen’s presence upon her arrival in Fusang; he was still being held captive there. A single blackbird stood on the roof beam. She went to it and asked if it would fly to the window. It was an adventurous bird and winged through the window without any more coaxing.
The windows were large enough for a person of her size to fit through, and the closed slats were still wide enough for a bird. Could she attempt to do just that at night? The room below was dark, but she could see the stained wood and simple craftsmanship of the furnishings.
There was Rowen, kneeling with his hands on his knees, head bowed in meditation. A thin beard covered his jaw. His eyes were closed.
The blackbird flew around the room and then landed on the rafters.
She watched Rowen’s head cock slightly, as if responding to the sound.
“Hello, little bird,” he said. Then he paused. “Is that you, Bingmei?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Blind One
When Bingmei heard him say those words, she thrilled inside. He rose from his meditative position and walked in her direction. She noticed that his eyes were unfocused and still had the milky gray of blindness. But he sidestepped the couch without using his hands to guide himself. He wore nondescript black clothing, no finery, just a white collar and little rope ends fastened into buttons and hooks. It was a peasant’s garb—a marked contrast to the fine silks worn by Echion and Xisi—and yet he seemed more regal than he ever had.
When he stood beneath the rafter that the blackbird had flown to, he held up his palm. “Come down, little bird. I won’t hurt you.”
With her thoughts, she coaxed the blackbird down, promising that it would be safe, like landing on a tree branch. The bird hesitated, for her instructions went against its instincts, but it was a trusting creature. It picked up crumbs left by humans all the time and knew how to dodge and flit away when there were too many.
Come on, Bingmei thought to it. Go down.
The blackbird fluttered its wings and then soared down to perch on Rowen’s palm. It hopped
