Under Heaven

Then she touched his cheek, and then she closed her eyes.

He bent and kissed her on the lips. He did it gently, trying to acknowledge what had happened, the reality of it, and that he’d been away two years. Her mouth was soft, her lips parted. His own eyes closed.

He made himself draw back. He said, “Rain, there has never been a woman who reaches into me as you do.”

Her eyes opened. The gazebo was lit by only one lantern, so it was hard to see how green her eyes were, but he knew, he remembered. He wondered—a shockingly hard thought—if he’d ever see those eyes again.

For that was where this night was travelling, he realized.

She said, “I am sorry for it, my lord. And pleased. Am I permitted to be both?”

“Of course,” he said.

She had slipped, effortlessly, into the mixture of formality and intimacy that had characterized her manner in the Pavilion of Moonlight. He tried to match it. Could not.

He said, “Why did you come tonight?”

She shook her head, suddenly impatient with him. He remembered that, too. “Wrong question, Tai. Would you have me shame myself with an answer?”

He looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

She was angry now, he could see it. “I came because the Beloved Companion sent a note advising me not to sleep tonight, and she quoted the jade stairs poem.”

“I see.” He thought about it. “She told me you were alerted I might come. She kept Wen Zhou at Ma-wai. Gave me guards and a pass into the city after dark.”

“So we are both serving her needs?” He heard amusement under the bitterness. “How compliant of us.”

He smiled. “Rain, I would say the feel of your mouth, the taste of you, serves my needs very well.”

She looked up at him for a long time. Then away into the dark, and then she said, with finality, “I cannot be your lover, Tai. There is no proper way for it to happen. I did not send a Kanlin to you for that.”

“I know,” he said.

Sorrow in the quiet dark. The astonishing truth of this woman: proud and seductive, more subtle than he was. Needing to be more subtle, he thought, in the life she’d lived.

“I could accuse Zhou of trying to kill me,” he said. “It was almost said at Ma-wai today, not by me. He did have Yan murdered, and Lun. It might change your—”

“You would accuse the first minister of Kitai, governing this empire, of killing students or minor civil servants? And this would accomplish what, Tai? Who would care? How would you prove it?”

“Others would do that. Wen Jian has the man who killed Lun.”

“What? Feng?”

He saw that she was startled by this. “He was heading south to Wen Zhou’s family. She told us all that she had the man. There were important people in the room, including Prince Shinzu.”

He didn’t mention the emperor. It was not the sort of thing you spoke about. He said, “I think … we think … that she is giving her cousin a warning. He’s in difficulty, Rain, mainly because of Roshan.”

She crossed to the bench, sat down, looking up thoughtfully at him now. Moths darted around the one light. The air was cool. He remembered this about her, the way her mind could be so suddenly engaged.

“Who is we?” she asked. Not the question he’d expected.

“I was befriended on the road. Sima Zian has been with me since Chenyao.”

She stared. Then inclined her neck, as if in submission. “The Banished Immortal? Oh, my. How may a singing girl from the North District, a simple girl, ever hope to keep the interest of a man with such illustrious connections?”

Tai laughed softly. “For one thing, she isn’t simple at all. For another, she isn’t in the North District. And her own connections are more potent than his.” He grinned. “How else may I assist you?”

He saw her return his smile this time. “If I said, You could kiss me again, that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?”

He took the one step necessary, and did so. Her mouth came up to meet his. It was Rain who pulled back this time. She looked away. “That was wrong,” she said. “Forgive me.”

He sat on the bench beside her. He was aware that she’d left room for him to do so. “Rain, your life has changed. I have been foolish in my dreaming.”

“Most of us are foolish in our dreams,” she said, still looking the other away. “The trouble comes when we bring folly out of dream.”

“Rain, listen to me. If I am right, if Jian is sending a warning to her cousin and it has to do with me … does that endanger you?”

She thought about it. “I don’t think so. There is a servant who could destroy me, but he won’t. If you were seen here I would be killed.” She said it matter-of-factly. “But Wen Zhou is worrying about Roshan right now, not you. An Li left the city a few days ago, and so did his oldest son.”

“I know,” said Tai. “I spoke with him on the roadside, coming here.”

He saw that he’d shaken her again. He was young enough to feel a flicker of pride in that, and old enough to know it was unworthy.

She said, “Tai, what is all this? You are in a swift river.”

“Yes,” he said. “Because of the horses. Only that.”

“And the ghosts,” she said. “What you did.”

“The horses come from what I did. It is the same.”

She was silent, considering that, then said, “Sardian horses.”

“Second thing from that country to change my life.”

She smiled. “I haven’t changed your life.”

“You might,” he said. “Rain, we can’t know what the next days will bring us. Sima Zian thinks something grave is happening.”

He could see her thinking about it.

He said, “I have a house in the city now, in this ward. If you need to get word to me, can someone do that?”

“If I need to? Or if I wish to?” She turned to look at him.

His turn to smile. With every word they spoke some of the old manner was coming back, like the steps of another dance. It was unsettling.

He said, “You were always better at judging. You will know if there is danger for you, or something I need to be told.”

She took his hand. Looked at the interlacing of their fingers. “I think I am not so much better than you any more, Tai. If I ever was.”

“You were. You are. And you risked your life. What is it I can do? Please ask.”

He was wondering how many men had said I love you to this woman, late at night. He wondered what Zhou said to her.

Her head remained lowered, as if she were fascinated by their twined fingers on her lap. She wore no perfume. He’d understood why immediately, but there was a scent to her, to her nearness after so long, and it conjured desire, drew it forth.

She said, “I will have someone learn where your house is. If I need to send word, I can. The man by the wall may be trusted with messages. They will get to me. The servant here to approach is named Hwan. No one else.” She fell silent, still gripping his hand. When she spoke again her voice had changed. “I think … Tai, you need to leave, or I will relinquish my pride. This is more difficult than I thought it would be.”

He drew a breath. “And for me. I am sorry. But … Rain, I am also pleased. Am I permitted to be both?”

She squeezed his hand hard for that. It was painful, because a ring of hers bit into his skin. She meant to hurt him, he knew, for so neatly echoing her phrase from before.

“How clever,” she said. “You students are all alike.”

She released his hand. Clasped hers together in her lap. Her gaze remained lowered, as if submissively. He knew she wasn’t submissive at all. He didn’t want to leave, he realized.