The Dragon and the Pearl Read online

  ‘Auntie has gone to Rongzhou for the spring festival. Everyone went with her except for the gardener, who is too blind to see the lanterns, and Cook because this worthless woman cannot even boil rice to feed herself.’

  He started to ask her why she hadn’t gone with them, momentarily forgetting his strict orders to keep her in the house and guarded at all times.

  He stepped through the garden doors to come up beside her. A swathe of dark cloth hung from her hands.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Mending, for Auntie. I am making use of the daylight while I still have it.’

  She bent to her task. The silver needle darted in and out of the cloth, guided by her skilful fingers. He was surprised to see it was one of his tunics. She continued chirping away while she worked.

  ‘Auntie told me she used to be a seamstress. She is much slower now than she used to be. Her joints are swollen and her eyesight is not as keen as it once was.’

  ‘You do not need to do that.’

  The elegant Ling Guifei shouldn’t be bent over such a menial task.

  ‘I am nearly finished,’ she protested. ‘It is not so different from embroidery… There.’

  She pulled the end of the thread taut and bit through it in a tiny flash of teeth. His stomach tightened involuntarily at the careless gesture. He lowered himself on to the seat beside her.

  Her gaze raked disapprovingly over the dust that covered his clothes. ‘You were gone for three days this time.’

  ‘There were urgent matters I needed to attend to.’

  ‘These urgent matters are keeping you longer and longer.’

  Questioning him as if she were the mistress of the house seemed to put her in oddly good spirits. She perched over the arm of her chair and waited expectantly for an answer. She was becoming more comfortable in his presence while he was more on edge every time he saw her.

  ‘Did the August Emperor confess all his secrets to you like this?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied impetuously. She ran her finger along the sleek, polished wood. ‘Tell me all your troubles and I will nod and sigh until they float away.’

  She demonstrated with a wordless, gentle murmuring in the back of her throat that caressed over him. He laughed and shook his head at her display.

  All a lie, he reminded himself. A very pretty lie and he was charmed in spite of it.

  ‘Gao’s army is moving south,’ he began.

  He watched her face as he continued. It remained a careful mask, clean of any emotion.

  ‘As well as the Emperor’s,’ he added.

  Her lightheartedness faded. ‘You say this so calmly.’

  ‘This was inevitable.’

  ‘Is this what you wanted?’

  ‘No.’ That one word of confession was more than he had spoken to anyone about the inevitable battle before him. He passed a hand over his temples and the weariness poured into him as if the dam had cracked open. ‘I seem to want to tell you things I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Then keep the secrets you need to keep,’ she said gently. ‘Tell me the rest.’

  It could be a ruse. It most likely was a ruse, but it sounded like kindness.

  ‘Emperor Shen wants to control the jiedushi out of fear of rebellion,’ he began. The tension wound tight around his chest like iron chains. ‘But without our armies, the borders will crumble.’

  ‘Yet you weaken the empire by challenging Shen.’

  ‘So a sovereign should never be challenged?’

  She considered his answer for a long time, but said nothing.

  ‘There was a time when Shen might have listened to me, but now…’ He closed his eyes and laid his head back.

  ‘What of the other warlords?’ she asked.

  ‘Too shrewd to take sides, but Gao is forcing the issue.’

  A lesser man might attack the weaker positions first, but Gao didn’t want a drawn-out struggle. He’d take out the strongest first and watch the others fall in line with him. The old wolf had even managed to find a way to do it under the guise of serving the Emperor.

  ‘Gao has always known how to manipulate the court. With a thousand servants inside the palace, all he needed were a few under his control.’

  He opened his eyes to see Suyin stabbing the needle into a pincushion. She folded the tunic into a neat square in her lap, smoothing out the corners fastidiously.

  There was no need to ensnare her into the trap he was caught in. He could return her to her home by the river and wash his hands clean of her, but Gao still wanted her dead. She needed his protection whether she desired it or not.

  ‘Do you know there will be a full moon tonight?’ Her tone lightened deliberately. She set the folded square of cloth aside and sat back, looking out over the courtyard, past the rooftops. ‘Auntie tells me the household goes to Rongzhou for the festival every year.’

  He nodded. ‘They stay for days until the celebration is over.’

  ‘You never go with them?’

  He supposed he never had.

  ‘We would celebrate in the palace with elaborate lanterns,’ she went on when he didn’t answer. ‘And eat sweet sticky dumplings.’

  She was making a valiant effort to distract him, but idle conversation wasn’t an art he had mastered. He followed her gaze to the darkening sky even though there was no moon yet to see.

  ‘I miss the lantern festival in Luoyang the most. The lanterns would be strung from balcony to balcony.’ She traced an imaginary line in the air with her hand. ‘Everyone would be out in the streets, packed close together.’

  Her face lit with an unrestrained energy and he couldn’t help but recall the scene she described. How many times had he pushed his way through the crush of the crowd as a boy in Luoyang? He had craned his neck to watch the paper lanterns swinging overhead. All the colours glowing against the black sky.

  ‘The lanterns would burn all night in Luoyang,’ he said.

  ‘Have you been to the eastern capital?’ she asked.

  She flashed a genuine smile at him. Her hand dangled over the arm of the chair and he was stricken by the urge to lace his fingers through hers. But if he did, he might frighten away the hopeful, bright-eyed girl who had emerged and the artful courtesan would return.

  He stood abruptly. ‘Do you ride?’

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  She stared at him, startled, but she took his hand when he held it out. For once she didn’t ask any questions and simply let him lead.

  They were soaring through the forest, jostled and tossed at the whim of the black beast beneath them. Li Tao had his arms about her while she clutched at the front of his robe. Silk whipped about her legs. She held on as the earth pounded by. She prayed.

  Li Tao had foregone the palanquin to set her on to the saddle in front of him, pulled up against the cradle of his hard thighs. Embarrassment was quickly replaced by abject terror as the horse surged forwards. An escort of ten soldiers rode along with them and the combined thundering of their mounts around her added to her disorientation.

  ‘Please slow down,’ she begged, then shouted it again when he couldn’t hear her over the pound of hooves.

  He spoke over the top of her head. ‘You won’t fall.’

  Impassive and stone-faced as always as if he could command away her fear. He handled the reins with ease as he leaned forwards, absorbing the impact of the ride. He must be revelling in the way she cowered against him.

  ‘Governor Li.’ She dug her nails into his chest until she connected with taut flesh beneath the rumpled cloth.

  ‘The town is close,’ he assured.

  It was not close. She buried her face against his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut to escape the roar of the wind. The steady pulse of his heart sounded beneath her ear in contrast to the frantic hammering of hers. He threw a rough arm around her to steady her, a matter of necessity rather than any show of concern, she decided. She was going to be sick.

  Finally they reached their destinatio
n and he pulled the horse to a stop. He dismounted first and closed his hands around her waist to lift her from the saddle. Her legs trembled like saplings as she settled on to the ground. They stood by wooden gates with a cluster of buildings before them and a babble of voices floated from the streets.

  ‘Rongzhou is too far, but there is a smaller festival here,’ he said.

  She ventured ahead, the harrowing ride soon forgotten. The sound of drumbeats came from the centre of town accompanied by flutes and the crash of cymbals.

  A dozen armed soldiers would not be a common sight for a town of this size. At the main square, the crowd parted hastily for Li Tao and his retinue, but the celebration continued around them. She was brought to the front to watch as a troupe of musicians performed in the centre of the clearing.

  An uncommon happiness swelled within her with the cadence of the music. Such a change from her solitary days bent over calligraphy or embroidery. The lanterns hung from the rooftops just like they had in Luoyang—cages of light folded from waxed paper with candles flickering inside.

  Li Tao stood close behind her. She jumped at the first snap of the firecrackers and grabbed on to him. His arm remained wooden beneath her hand, but he permitted the touch.

  When she tried to speak to him, he shook his head, unable to hear above the noise. He bent down and she had to lift herself on to her toes to reach his ear.

  ‘Over there!’

  She wanted to be in the thick of the crowd and absorb the celebration before returning to the long silences of his mansion. Li Tao indulged her, guiding her through the gathering with his hand secured at the small of her back. All the while he scanned the crowd. His men fanned around them protectively.

  She had done this so many times as a girl in Luoyang. Every year, she had watched the lights and people and listened as the matchmakers roamed the streets bestowing fortunes upon young couples late into the evening. The blessings were all fantasies: longevity, marriage, all that you desire. The night would always end for her at Madame Ling’s, but out in the festival crowd she would hope to catch a young man’s eye. A scholar with a kind face. Someone to walk alongside for the evening.

  The childish dream returned to her so vividly amidst the sulphur smoke and the scraps of red paper littered at her feet from spent firecrackers. She looked up to find Li Tao gazing toward the sky. The moon had risen full overhead, large enough to touch. The sturdy lines of his profile stood out distinctly against the heavens.

  He looked down at her then. She still held on to him and he tensed beneath her touch.

  ‘Governor Li,’ she said. There was nothing after that. She had nothing else to say.

  ‘Lady Ling.’

  His voice resonated deep enough to cut through the firecrackers and the music and the applause of the crowd. It penetrated her, leaving her weightless. He was nothing like the boy, the man she had once dreamed about. She had wished for someone thoughtful and doting, who would touch her hand and gently kiss her in the shadow of some corner.

  Her chest grew unbearably tight. Li Tao was a cold, severe, unyielding sort of man. But she almost wanted him to kiss her anyway. They were both clothed in secrets, but they didn’t have to pretend around each other.

  ‘Buy me a lantern,’ she implored.

  ‘Which one?’ He looked up again, searching through the coloured shapes that swung above the crowd.

  Her gaze settled on a sun-yellow orb with an emerald dragon painted across it. ‘That one.’

  He gestured to a man in the crowd. Before long, the merchant was reaching above with a wooden pole to unhook the lantern. He brought it before her and she stared at the dance of candlelight. Her dragon flickered to life with glowing eyes and a swish of scales.

  ‘Yes, that one,’ she said with satisfaction, resisting the urge to grasp it in her hands. Her lantern was merely a wick of flame inside delicate paper, easily destroyed if she wasn’t careful.

  Li Tao paid for it and handed the hook over to one of his men as they continued through the streets. At a corner stand, he bought her candy made from a nest of spun sugar wound around and around a stick. The fine threads melted against her tongue, warm and golden.

  The town was a small one, but for the moment, it was the world. She was sorry when they reached the edge of it. The drums were still beating and the moon was climbing to its highest point.

  They returned to the horses at the outskirts of town. The men untied the reins from the post and started readying the mounts for the return home. She blew out the candle inside the lantern, folded it carefully along the spines and then paused to look at the moon away from the lights of the festival. Li Tao stood beside her until his guards began to pace.

  Once again, he touched his hand to her back, fingers curving around her waist. This time there was no excuse for it other than that he wanted to. She could barely breathe.

  She wanted to tell him then that he was fighting a losing battle. That death wasn’t the only way. He needed to swallow his damned pride and find a way to compromise with the Emperor. But Suyin had already chosen her course. Her message would reach Emperor Shen before long. She had done what she needed to save herself as long as Ru Shan wasn’t discovered. As long as Emperor Shen felt honour bound to respond to her plea.

  ‘We need to return,’ he said. ‘The roads will be dark.’

  To her regret, Li Tao removed his hand, letting it fall away. He stood like a dark tower over her, barely illuminated by the light of the moon. She passed the tip of her tongue over her lips. The taste of burnt sugar lingered. Ling Guifei was never without words, but it was the hundredth time that night she had found it hard to speak.

  He swung up into the saddle and lowered his hand to help her up. Her temple rested against the heated skin of his neck and she could feel his pulse beating as she pressed close.

  ‘Ride slower this time,’ she admonished.

  He was nothing but shadow. A solid shape in the night. She wound her arms about his waist and he tensed before exhaling slowly.

  ‘I will,’ he said.

  Chapter Seven

  The three days of the celebration came and went, but Suyin tried to hold on to the warmth and the laughter. The dragon lantern remained on her dresser, lifeless without the fire inside.

  Time became muddled in the circular routine of the household. Her existence had whittled down to the long wait. There were days she even found herself waiting for the sound of Li Tao’s footsteps in the front hall or the glow of a lamp in his study. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the festival.

  Only because his presence disrupted the rhythm, she told herself. When he was there, she had to change herself, act differently, think differently.

  She caught the pungent scents floating from the kitchen during her morning stroll through the gardens. When she wandered inside, the scene that greeted her brought back a lost splinter of time from another kitchen: a cramped, dingy corner of her family home by the river. A place that no longer existed.

  The stove radiated an oppressive heat. Even with all the windows and the door thrown open, the air in the kitchen boiled to a swelter as the midday meal neared. Cook admonished her the moment she set foot inside.

  ‘Be careful, everything is hot!’ he said. ‘This is no place for Lady Ling.’

  He tried to shoo her away, telling her food would be brought as soon as it was ready. There was more affection in his scolding than all of the compliments bestowed on her in Changan. She convinced him to let her stay by begging him to put her to work.

  Cook had several pots boiling over the wood stove. A wispy steam rose from the baskets stacked beside her while she dug into the bundle of flour. This lumpy concoction had no resemblance to steam buns that she could see.

  Cook tried to show her the technique with his hands in the air. ‘Roll and knead it.’

  In the corner, Jun leaned against the wall to hide his arm away from sight. He managed a smirk, but wasn’t yet bold enough to laugh outright at her. The servants ca
me by to glance in the kitchen and greet her, before ducking away with smiles on their faces. Li Tao’s household appeared to be a harmonious one, though their master seemed removed from it.

  ‘What are Governor Li’s favourite dishes?’ she asked.

  Cook grunted in response. ‘Master has no care for good food. He eats whatever is in the kitchen when he returns. Salted pork, old rice.’

  The thought of Li Tao dining alone every night brought on an unexpected twinge of sadness. He was so isolated, constantly building up his defences. She’d sensed that loneliness at the festival while he stood beside her, looking up at the lights. The imperial court believed him a traitor and death threats appeared at his door. Even she conspired to free herself from him.

  A shudder ran down her spine despite the heat of the kitchen. She turned back to the dough. ‘Show me again, Cook. This doesn’t feel right.’

  The cook took two steps, his bamboo sandals clacking against the tiled floor. ‘Dear girl! Heaven and earth,’ he scolded. ‘Stir the soup pot if you want to help.’

  He pried the stringy dough from her, dropped it on to the board and began to work it in circles with the heels of his palms. The bare spot on the top of his head glistened as he bent to his task.

  ‘Strong hands,’ he mumbled. ‘You need to have strong hands.’

  Suyin passed her forearm over her brow, avoiding her flour-caked fingers. The silk gown clung to her skin and her hair fell in loose strands about her face. Jun offered her a kitchen rag for her hands and received a quick swat from Cook for his gallantry.

  ‘Lazy! Go get me a chicken.’ He started to form rounded buns to place into the steam basket. ‘The lady likes chicken ginseng soup.’

  ‘Lady Ling!’

  Auntie’s frantic cry from outside interrupted the hectic comfort of the kitchen. The old woman came through the open door and grabbed onto Suyin’s sleeve, decorum forgotten in her haste.

  ‘The death of me!’ she wailed. ‘Come quick.’

  Goddess of Mercy. Suyin’s stomach twisted as she stumbled after Auntie. Emperor Shen’s response had finally come. Or Li Tao had been harmed in some way. She passed through the archway to the second courtyard and saw that the situation was much, much worse.