Under Heaven

brother do this. In our mourning period, it was an act of disrespect.”

She was staring as if dazed. And the woman in this sedan chair was no simple concubine or dancer, however exquisite. This was someone who defined the life of the Ta-Ming now, who shaped and balanced it, in a dangerous time.

He was beginning to understand how dangerous, since yesterday and the thought he’d had: of the knife he carried, and committing murder in that carriage by the road.

“You are not suggesting it was wrong to give your sister to this marriage and send her north?”

He needed to be careful. “The Son of Heaven cannot be wrong.”

“No, he cannot.” Her voice was emphatic.

“This is a personal request, my lady, only that.”

“You do understand,” she said, her voice controlled now, “how much you can expect at court as the last hero of Kuala Nor and brother to a new princess? Have you considered that the emperor cannot be less generous than the Lion of Tagur or he is shamed? He must give you gifts that exceed those horses from Sangrama.”

He hadn’t thought about that. At all. Including, before this morning, the connection to Li-Mei, how much her elevation meant for him. He said as much.

Jian shook her head impatiently. Her earrings made a jingling sound. “Son of Shen Gao, you are angry with your brother for what he did. You are a rival to my cousin for a woman. Very well. Do you think their ranks and honours are set in jade, reserved to them forever? Do you think they might be just a little fearful of your coming?”

Tai’s turn to be unsettled. “I don’t know enough to judge such matters. I have little experience, or guidance. Sima Zian’s, perhaps.”

The woman made a face. “Not the surest counsellor, Master Shen. He has never held office, and he owes me a sweeter poem than the last he offered.”

“Perhaps later today?” Tai said. “If he is permitted to—”

“I have other intentions today. Some people have been summoned to Ma-wai. This is too important to go any longer unaddressed.”

“What is?”

“You are, son of Shen Gao! You are too important. Why do you think I am here?”

“Because … because of the horses?”

A slow smile, honey poured to sweeten a drink. A hand, shining with rings, touched his unshod foot where he had kept it carefully against the side of the sedan chair. “You are permitted to think it is only them. But consider what I have said. I will be disappointed if you prove unintelligent. Or lack decisiveness.”

Fingernails moved. He said, a little desperately, “Illustrious lady, you do not want the horses?”

“Ten of them,” she said promptly. “If you wish to give me a gift in exchange for company on this road and lychees peeled for you. I want to train them to dance, I have been told it can be done. But what would I do with more than that? Lead them to war?”

“Then … then surely the emperor? I will give the Sardians directly to the Son of Heaven.”

“You are anxious to be rid of them, aren’t you? No. Think, Shen Tai. Our exalted emperor is not permitted to be indebted to any of his subjects. His is the duty of supreme generosity. He’d have to return more than you gave him or be shamed in the eyes of the world. You control more of these horses than Kitai has received at any one time, ever. The Son of Heaven must honour you as soon as you arrive. And if you also give him the horses …?”

Tai suddenly wished he’d taken that turnoff south, that he were riding home along a road he knew. Not all men, surely, needed to be part of the ten thousand noises, the swirling dust, the palace struggles, the guiding of the world?

He closed his eyes. Not the wisest thing to do. Her foot moved immediately, as if she’d been waiting for that. The toes flexed against his thigh. If she chose to move just a little more … Tai opened his eyes, quickly.

“Have you ever made love in a sedan chair?” Wen Jian asked, guilelessly. Those enormous eyes met his from under perfect, painted eyebrows. “It can be done.” She moved her foot.

Tai made a small, involuntary sound.

Directness. He had decided upon that.

He said, “My lady, you are making my heart pound. My mouth is dry with desire. I know you are toying with me, like a cat, and I wish only to honour you and the emperor.”

That smile again. “You know I am doing this … this toying, do you?”

He nodded his head, too rapidly.

“And that is my only purpose, you have decided?”

He stared at her. Couldn’t speak.

“Poor man. Would a lychee help at all? That dryness …?”

Tai laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her expression was mischief incarnate. A moment ago she’d been crisply explaining affairs of the empire and the world, now she was enjoying her beauty and the power it gave her. She took and peeled another fruit without waiting for his answer. She extended it. Her fingers touched his.

She said, quietly, “I told you, the emperor, may he live eternally and in joy, knows I am here, knows you are with me. He will ask me at Ma-wai if you were respectful and I will tell him you were, because indeed, you are. Does this make you feel easier?”

He was doing a lot of nodding or shaking of his head. He nodded again.

She said, “I have arranged that compensation will be paid to the family of your soldier. My under-steward has been instructed to do this before he attends to his own affairs and ends his life.”

He’d forgotten about that. Tai cleared his throat. “May I ask, gracious lady, that the steward be permitted to live? Wujen Ning, my soldier, and my Kanlin will both have been aggressive in defence of me, and of the horse.”

The eyebrows arched again. “You may ask. I am disinclined, however. This morning was incorrectly undertaken. It reflects badly upon me, and the throne.” She selected another lychee. “In a short while we will reach a waiting carriage and your horse and companions. You will ride to Ma-wai, escorting me. I like this chair, but not for longer journeys. Do you like it?”

Again, he nodded. Then said, “Illustrious lady, I think I would like being anywhere you are.”

That unhurried smile: genuine pleasure it seemed (though he truly couldn’t be sure). “A smooth-enough tongue, Shen Tai. As I said, you might survive in the palace.”

“Will you help me?” he asked.

He hadn’t known he was going to say that.

Her expression changed. She looked at him. “I don’t know,” said Wen Jian.

A SHORT TIME LATER they halted at a place where—when the yellow silk curtain was pulled back—he saw that a carriage was indeed waiting. This one, too, had kingfisher feathers.

Beside it on the road (not the imperial road now, they had turned off, northeast) Tai saw Zian and Song and his soldiers on their horses, and the restless, magnificent figure of Dynlal.

He gave his horse a lychee by way of apology, and mounted up.

No great speed now, they were escorting a carriage. A west wind blew. There was birdsong as the sun climbed. They saw green hills ahead of them. They rode that way. These were the forested slopes where the most extravagant country estates of Xinan’s aristocracy were to be found. The Five Tombs District it was called, near the burial place of the last emperor and his ancestors, and the vastly larger tomb the Emperor Taizu (might he live another thousand years) was building for himself.

Just before they reached the first foothills they passed a large postal station inn on this northeast-southwest road, then they came to a small lake surrounded by trees, a place celebrated for hot springs and healing waters. On the western side of the lake were a silk farm and a Kanlin retreat, on the other shore lay Ma-wai.

CHAPTER XVI