Under Heaven

“Cousin …” began Zhou, turning to the woman in the room. “Surely a pleasant springtime gathering is not —”

“In truth,” Jian interrupted, gently enough, “I admit I should like to know, as well. About An Li. After all,” she favoured the room with an exquisite smile, “he is my adopted child! A mother always has concerns, you know. Everlastingly.”

The silence this time was almost painful. Zhou looked back over his shoulder at Liu. Tai’s brother stepped forward a little (only a little). He bowed to Jian, then to the prince.

“My lord prince, illustrious lady, it is our understanding that Governor An has left the capital.” Which was true, and Tai happened to know it, but wasn’t an answer to anything.

“He did,” said Shinzu promptly. “Three days ago, in the evening.”

“And his eldest son left before that,” added Jian. She wasn’t smiling now. “An Rong rode northeast with a small company on good horses.”

“Roshan went west, however,” said Liu. His brother was shifting them away from whatever questions the prince had, Tai realized.

Not successfully.

“We know that,” said the prince. “He met with your brother on the road to Chenyao.”

Tai stopped breathing.

“With my brother?” said Liu.

He looked shaken, and this would not be an act. Liu was skilled at hiding feelings, not simulating them.

“With Shen Tai!” said the first minister in the same moment. “Why did he do that?”

“I’d imagine it was regarding the Sardian horses,” said Shinzu carelessly. “But that isn’t what I wish to discuss.”

“It should be!” snapped the prime minister. “Roshan is obviously—”

“He is obviously interested in their disposition. He is commander of the Imperial Stables, among other offices. It is his duty to be interested, is it not?” The prince shifted himself off the wall. “No, my question is for you, first minister—and your adviser, of course, since he seems well informed. Why, pray tell me, have you been engaged in actions designed to drive him from the city, or worse?”

Tai swallowed hard, made himself breathe again, carefully.

“The Son of Heaven did invite him here, cousin. We all know that.” Jian shook her head. “I even asked for him myself, he amuses me so whenever he comes to court.”

It was only in that moment that Tai realized that she and the prince were working together, and it was not spontaneous at all.

“Drive him from the city?” Wen Zhou repeated. “How could I do that?”

The prince sipped his wine. “By planting stories in the Ta-Ming and the mandarin courtyards as to his intentions. And doing so while he was in Xinan, away from his soldiers, and feeling vulnerable because of it.”

There was nothing idle about the room now.

Tai saw two or three of those present begin to back away, as if removing themselves from a combat. Sima Zian’s wide-set eyes went from one speaker to another, avidly, absorbing it all, like light.

“Sometimes,” said Tai’s brother softly, “my lord prince, sometimes the stories being told can be true.”

Shinzu looked at him. “They can. But there are ways of dealing with a man as powerful as An Li. These do not include making him feel as if his back is to a stone wall, or that he faces ruin at the hands of a first minister.”

“Ruin? Not from me,” said Zhou, regaining his composure. “I am no more than a servant of the empire. It would be our glorious emperor, may he live forever, who decreed anything at all!”

“In that case,” said the prince in a voice delicate as silk, “might it not have been wisest to advise the glorious emperor, and others perhaps, as to your intentions? This is,” he added, “a game so deeply perilous, Minister Wen, it beggars description.”

“Hardly a game, my lord!” said Wen Zhou.

“I believe I will disagree with you,” said the prince.

There was nothing remotely indolent or drunken about him, Tai thought. What was this moment? What was happening here?

He saw the prince set down his wine on a lacquered table. Shinzu added, “This feels, I am sorry to say, to be about two men and power, not the empire, or the emperor, may he rule another thousand years.”

“I am distressed to hear you say so,” Zhou murmured.

“I’m certain you are,” agreed the prince. “My father was, as well.” He said it quietly.

“You … you spoke of this with the emperor?” Zhou had flushed again.

“Yesterday morning. In the Pagoda Tree Garden here.”

“My lord prince, if I may?” It was Tai’s brother. “We are confused. Please enlighten us all. You say there are ways of dealing with Roshan. That suggests you agree he needs to be dealt with, if your servant may be so bold. The first minister and all of us who labour, unworthily, to assist him in his heavy tasks will be grateful for guidance. How does one address the danger General An represents for Kitai and this dynasty?”

There was nothing, nothing, Tai thought, of the amusing here now.

The prince, Taizu’s heir, said, speaking as quietly as Liu, “By giving him honour and power. By summoning him here to be given more honours and more power—which is what the Precious Consort and my exalted father have been doing. Offering him banquet after banquet in the Ta- Ming or here at Ma-wai—and then watching him die of the sugar sickness, which he is doing in any case.”

Wen Zhou opened his mouth.

Shinzu held up a hand. “And, after the great and glorious An Li has lamentably gone to join his ancestors, by giving him the most sumptuous funeral any barbarian military leader has ever had in the long history of Kitai.”

He paused. The room was riveted. “And then, by bringing his eldest son into the palace, to whatever forms and variations of luxury appeal to him most. Making that son a supreme officer of the Palace Army, or leader of the Hundred Horsemen, or both! And doing the same thing for the younger sons. Keeping them all here for life. Giving them every woman in Xinan their fancy might turn towards. Every horse they wish to ride. Giving mansions and jade and country homes, endless wine and finer clothing than they have ever worn—while three new governors take control of the armies and districts in the northeast.”

He looked at Zhou. “That is what you do, First Minister Wen, if you are thinking about the empire and not a private war between two men who hate and fear each other. Private wars, Wen Zhou, can become more than that.”

A silence. No man rushed to fill it.

“Every woman?” said Jian, a hand to her breast. “Oh, dear!”

Prince Shinzu laughed aloud.

Tai realized he’d been forgetting to breathe again. He resumed, as silently as he could.

“It is not, my lord prince, so simple as that!” said Wen Zhou strongly. “Not when the man in question, ill as he might or might not be, remains ambitious beyond words.”

“Nothing at court is simple,” said Jian, before the prince could speak. “You are tasked, cousin, with guiding an empire. An Li is one of those charged with expanding and defending it. If you spend your days and nights circling each other like fighting cocks with metal claws, what happens to Kitai? Do we just watch and place wagers?”

From his place of hiding, Tai could not help but ask in the silence of his mind: And where is the emperor in all of this? Is it not his task to resolve such matters, for his people, under heaven?

Then something occurred to him and he caught his breath, again.

“Fighting cocks?” Wen Zhou repeated, head high.

Shinzu nodded. “A good description. Who shall be lord of the battle ring, vanquish the other, whatever the cost. Minister Wen, with the burdens that lie upon you, great privileges also come. This was true of Chin Hai before you. He was—we all know it—a potent, fearsome man. Roshan has chosen to test you in your first year. Can anyone be surprised? Military leaders exploring the strength and will of the Ta-Ming Palace? How do you think