Descendant of the Crane(107)

What did he have up his blue sleeve?

Or rather, who? For when her half brother returned at the second hour, it was in the company of two. One was a page.

The other was Consort Fei.

That would have been the biggest shock, simply seeing Rou’s mother in that iconic, screened headpiece, if the consort hadn’t then gone on to remove it.

Rou asked for the location of the master key. Hesina gave it. Rou told her to meet him in the corridor to the left of this block of cells, where he would be waiting with Akira. Hesina nodded. Rou unlocked her, then left with the page.

Hesina stepped out, gaping at Consort Fei. What did she say to her father’s concubine? What did she say, upon seeing her face?

“You’re…beautiful.”

Because Consort Fei was. Skin white as jade. Eyes black as jet. Hair like a spill of ink, and lips stained, rather than painted, by the juice of plums, parting in laughter at Hesina’s words.

“Hello to you, too, Hesina.”

Hello. Hesina should have said hello. But she couldn’t manage it. How many times had she envisioned a missing eye, a droopy lip, a terrible birthmark, or a scaly scar under that veil?

“Why do you hide?” With a face like that, Consort Fei could have easily garnered respect instead of ridicule.

“A face is an identity.” The consort passed Hesina her screened hat, then started disrobing. “And some identities, as you well know, are best forgotten.”

“But—”

“Time is fleeting,” said the consort, shoving her ruqun into Hesina’s arms. Hesina donned the headpiece, which turned out to be opaque only from the outside.

“There.” The consort affixed the bixi panel to Hesina’s skirt, stepped back, and dusted off her hands. “You look just like me.”

Belatedly, it occurred to Hesina that Rou intended for his mother to take her place. “Will you be safe?”

Would the page, who she assumed was to take Akira’s?

“Safe as a hare,” said the consort.

Hesina wanted to point out that hares were hunted animals, and caged ones could not run, but Consort Fei stepped into the cell before she could say anything.

“Now go.” She pulled in the door by the bars. “Rou is waiting.”

Hesina made it four steps out before stilling. She turned back around. “What was your relationship with my father?”

It wasn’t exactly the ideal occasion for a conversation. Hesina realized that. She also realized, since last speaking to her mother, that she had a troubling habit of asking self-destructive questions. But she couldn’t help herself. She needed to know.

“It’s not what you think,” said Consort Fei with a secretive smile.

“Then is Rou his son?”

“Yes and no. Come back when the time is right, Hesina. Then I’ll tell you.”

Would the time ever be right for a fallen queen? Hesina filed the thought away as a worry for another day. Considering the number of worries she had, perhaps there would never be enough days. “Thank—”

“Uh-uh.” Consort Fei wagged a finger. The gesture reminded Hesina of Lilian, and her heart panged as the consort said, “This is my thank-you to you.”

Righting a wrong—what Hesina had done by acquitting Consort Fei—wasn’t worthy of gratitude. But if she started talking about wrongs, then she’d have to go back to the beginning, to those long nights in the consort’s shrubbery in the company of summer gnats and fireflies.

Flushing hot, Hesina hurried away. She wished that they might have met in the Southern Palace instead of here, these dungeons where all her greetings and farewells took place.

And now reunions.

Her heart stopped at the sight of Akira, standing alone up the prison corridor where Rou had told them to meet. Dressed like a page from the back, but with a topknot too sloppy to truly be.

Hesina couldn’t speak. The last time she’d seen Akira had been in the throne hall. Half a month had passed since then. Would she ever be able to redeem herself?

She’d start with an apology, one of many she owed.

“I-I’m sorry about your flute,” she stammered when she reached him. He turned, and she looked away even though he couldn’t see her through the veil. I’m sorry about more than that.

The air on her cheeks cooled. Her gaze swung back to find the veil lifted, and Akira beneath it, sharing the headpiece’s wide brim.

“I decided it wasn’t a flute after all,” he said.

Did he realize how very close he was, those eyes gray as stone a breath’s space across from hers?

“Just a rod,” he said.

Did he realize how much she wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go?

What was stopping her?

“And a rod is very replace—”

He broke off as she hugged him tight. Then, just because she could, she raised herself to her toes and kissed him. It might have been the most awkward kiss in the history of kisses, complicated by extraneous veils and not-so-extraneous noses, but she didn’t care because this time, Akira kissed her back. It lasted for all of a second before Rou rejoined them and squeaked, “Ready?”

Hesina inspected her flimsy costume. “Is this enough?”

The consort’s ruqun was just silk, her headpiece just wood and gauze. And Akira, even with the cap that Rou handed him to hide the topknot, didn’t look like any page in Hesina’s palace.