Under Heaven

She is too young, Tai thought. In the room she had left, an old emperor and a new one remained out of sight. Tai wondered if they were watching. If they could see.

With mild surprise, he saw tears on Song’s face, too. She was wiping at them, angrily. He didn’t think she’d ever trusted or liked Jian.

Perhaps liking was without importance sometimes, with some people. The dancers, like summer stars. You didn’t say you liked a star in the sky.

He moved to the top of the steps leading down. He had no idea what he was doing, he was living inside sorrow.

Jian said, clear as a temple bell sounding across fields, “I have a request, dui commander.”

The officer was still kneeling. He looked up for an instant, then lowered his head again. “My lady?” he said.

“I would not like to die as my cousin did, to have arrows disfigure my body, or perhaps my face. Is there a man here kind enough to kill me without marring me? With … with a knife, perhaps?”

That faltering, her first since coming out.

The commander looked up again, but not directly at her. “My lady, such a man would be too clearly marked for death. It is not proper for me to name anyone in my company to that.”

Jian seemed to consider it. “No,” she said. “I understand. I am sorry to have troubled you with such a request. It was … childish of me. Do as you must, dui commander.”

Childish. Tai heard a footfall behind him. Then a voice by his side.

“I will do it,” said the voice. “I am marked in any case.”

The tone was precise. Not beautiful as a temple bell, but firm, no uncertainty.

Tai looked at his brother.

Liu was gazing at the commander in the yard, his posture and expression defining authority, a man accustomed to being heard without raising his voice. He wore his mandarin’s robe and a soft hat, and the belt and key of his rank, as always. The man he had served was lying in blood at his feet.

That was it, of course. Add Wen Zhou’s death to the emperor’s abdication, a new emperor for Kitai. Consider Liu’s position as the first minister’s principal adviser, and …

And you had this, Tai thought. Added to the other moments unfolding here one by one, a morning tale.

The dui commander nodded his head jerkily. He seemed, for the first time, overawed by what they’d set in motion. Not so as to falter (his soldiers would not allow it by now), but by the weight, the resonance of this.

Liu lifted a hand in a practised gesture. “One moment, then, dui commander, and I will be with you.” Jian had turned, was looking up at the two brothers. “My lady,” said Liu, and bowed to her.

Then he turned to Tai. “This needs to happen,” he said crisply, quietly. “I was the prime minister’s man. There is a price to be paid for a failure such as this.”

“Did you have anything to do with that order? Teng Pass?”

Liu looked contemptuous. Tai knew that look. “Am I such a fool in your eyes?”

“He never spoke of it?”

“He stopped seeking my counsel on some things from the time you returned to Xinan, Second Brother.” Liu’s thin, superior smile. “You might say your return caused all this.”

“You mean my failure to die at Kuala Nor?”

“Or Chenyao, if I understand it rightly.”

Tai blinked. Stared. Anger slipped away.

Liu’s smile also faded. They looked at each other, the sons of Shen Gao. “You didn’t truly think I had anything to do with that?”

The sensation was so strange. Relief like a wave, and then another wave, of sorrow.

“I wondered,” Tai said. “We knew it came from Wen Zhou.”

Liu shook his head. “It would have made no sense. I knew how far away you were, if you were still alive. You could do nothing about Li-Mei even if you were foolish enough to want to. Why would I need you dead?”

“Why would he?” Tai looked down at the dead man beside them.

“He didn’t. Which is one reason he never told me about it. It was nothing but arrogance. He did it because of the woman, and because he could.”

“And Teng Pass?”

“He was afraid of Xu Bihai. Afraid the general would decide the rebellion was Zhou’s fault and come to an arrangement with the rebels. I think he feared all soldiers.” A slight smile. “Makes this morning amusing, doesn’t it?”

Tai said, “That wouldn’t be my word for it.”

Liu flicked his fingers dismissively. “You have,” he said, “no sense of irony. Listen now, and carefully.” He waited for Tai to nod, an instructor confirming a student’s attention.

Liu said, “The horses will save your life. Let it be said abroad—by the Kanlins, if you can do it—that I did try to have you killed. They won’t lie, you must make them think you believe it.”

“Why? Why do I need to—?”

The familiar, impatient look. “Because Shinzu is more clever than any of us suspected, and if he thinks you are linked to me …”

“I am linked to you, First Brother!”

Liu’s expression was impatient again. “Think. In this imperial family, brotherhood can mean hatred and murder as easily as anything else. Shinzu will know that. Tai, there is a clear path to power for you, for our family. He honours you already. He will have need of advisers, his own men, over and above your bringing the horses.”

Tai said nothing. Liu didn’t wait for him to speak.

“Also, the lands given you, by the Great River. A very good property, but not safe for the next while. I have no idea which way Roshan will go, but he might move south. After they take Xinan and finish killing there.”

“He will allow killing in the city?”

A small headshake, as if it pained Liu that someone might not see these things. “Of course he will. Wen Zhou slew his son, and the rebel soldiers are hard men, more than half of them barbarians. Almost all of the imperial family are still in the city. They are dead when he finds them. Xinan will be a bad place for the rest of this summer at least. People will be leaving in panic. As soon as today.” His voice was brisk, low, no one else could hear. The soldiers were waiting. Jian, Tai thought, was waiting.

Liu seemed to come to the same awareness. “I cannot linger to teach you,” he said. “Our own estate will likely be safe for our mothers, but have an eye to them, wherever you are. Keep Shinzu content, stay as close to him as you can. If this rebellion lasts a long time, and I think it will now, there is a man in Hangdu, near our property. His name is Pang, he has only one leg, you cannot miss finding him at the market. He has been buying and storing grain for me, for our family, in a hidden barn I had built some time ago. He needs to be paid three thousand a month, the middle of every month. You are wealthy now, but there will be shortages of food. Try to keep buying. These things are yours now to look after. Do you understand, Second Brother?”

Tai swallowed. “I understand,” he said. “Pang, in Hangdu.”

Liu looked at him. No affection, no fear, not much of anything to be read in the soft, smooth face.

Tai said, “I am sorry for this, brother. I am … pleased to know you did not send the assassins.”

Liu shrugged. “I might have, if I had thought it prudent for any reason.”

“I don’t think so, Liu.”

A superior smile, well remembered. “You did until now.”

“I know. My error. I request forgiveness.”

His brother glanced away, then shrugged again. “I forgive you. What I did for our family, Li-Mei made a princess, I would do again. Tai, it was a master stroke.”

Tai said nothing. His brother looked at him, then away towards the courtyard.

“So was Kuala Nor,” Liu added softly.