Descendant of the Crane(19)

Today, though, her mother’s cheeks were flushed. Her breathing was heavy and laden with a scent that cut through the sweet varnish, something clear yet bitter, like ashes, like ice, like…

Sorghum wine.

“So,” said the dowager queen before Hesina could ask why she was drinking when the Imperial Doctress had explicitly forbidden it. “I hear you’ve set the Investigation Bureau on the case of your father’s death.”

Was this a trick? A test? Hesina wound her fingers in her skirts. “I have.”

“Foolish girl.” Her mother selected a long and slender opal pin instead of the white jade crane. “He’s finally gone. Why change that?”

The words came as a slap. Hesina’s heart stung, then tingled with confusion and horror. “Finally gone?”

The dowager queen hummed a melody.

“Father always said you were riveting. Whip-smart. Brave.” Hesina should have stopped. Apologized. Taken back her words. But she only made them quieter. “What happened to you?”

Her mother’s hand slipped. The hairpin slipped with it, a flash in the mirror as the tip jerked up and caught on skin. Pain exploded over Hesina’s scalp. She bit down on a cry, then gasped, “I thought you loved him. I thought you’d understand my actions for once.”

Unless she was imagining it, her mother’s breathing seemed shaky too. She lifted the pin again, gave Hesina’s hair a hard twist, and successfully inserted it. “What happened? It was his time. It was all our times. And yet, we lived. The world loved us once. It no longer does. One day you will know what it means to be forsaken.”

Hesina already knew.

But this time, she kept silent.



On the palanquin ride down the terraces, Ming’er redid Hesina’s hair. Hesina should have told her not to bother. No one would care about a lopsided chignon if the dowager queen didn’t show for her own daughter’s coronation. But in the end, Hesina let Ming’er do her work because it comforted the woman, even if it didn’t comfort her.

In the end, Hesina was also right. The people were too busy whispering to notice her hair. Hesina caught snatches of their words as she ascended the Peony Pavilion at the base of the terraces. What has the daughter done to offend her?

They would soon find out.

Every coronation since One and Two of the Eleven’s had been held outside and shared with the people. In the same vein of tradition, a selected commoner climbed the limestone steps after Hesina. Hesina lowered her head, and the commoner rested the Rising Phoenix over her crown. It was a boulder of a headpiece with spread wings carved out of red coral. Each time Hesina bowed to the setting sun and the rising stars, she worried it’d topple and crush her toes. Miraculously, it stayed.

She straightened to deafening applause. Members of the six imperial ministries prostrated themselves in koutou below the pavilion. “Wansui, wansui, wan wan sui!” The rest of the crowd followed in suit. “Wansui, wansui, wan wan sui!”

May the queen live ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand ten thousand years.

The Imperial Breeder released a flock of red-crowned cranes; they took to the sky, blotting it white and crimson. Ning and Ci emissaries swarmed forward, offering chests of diamonds mined from the bottom of Ning ice lakes and pearls fished from the Ci clay swamps. The Kendi’ans were missing, but that became the least of Hesina’s concerns as dozens of hands fell to her skirts and crying babies were shoved into her face. The people’s fervor squeezed like an ill-fitting girdle. Her tutors had all failed. None of them had prepared her for this; she was going to suffocate and die.

“Make way!” Silver flashed through the throng of bodies. “I come to the rescue,” Lilian whispered when she reached Hesina’s side. She was stunning in a sleek, metallic ruqun printed with black medallions. Commoners immediately streamed to her; they worshipped the twins as physical representations of the king’s benevolence.

“About time,” Hesina wheezed.

“Let’s discuss payment.”

“Payment? Shouldn’t you be saving me out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Yes, but I’m also hungry.”

“Have some rodent.” Coronation fare was humble, to replicate the days when the Eleven, as fugitives, had subsisted on much less.

“Bah, no thank you.” Lilian shuddered. “I’ll save the mice for cats.”

“I think it’s squirrel.” Or perhaps raccoon. Hesina thought she’d seen something bushy-tailed in the Imperial Buttery.

“Tell you what. I’ll give you a discount. I only require three baskets of candied hawthorn berries for my services today.”

“Five if you stay.”

Lilian grinned, to Hesina’s relief. “Deal.”

By the time they saw to everyone, the moon had risen. Palace servants carried braziers out onto the pavilion, and under the stars, nobles and commoners alike roasted wild fennel bulbs and squirrel. The imperial troupe put on a reenactment of the last relic emperor’s beheading. The imperial engineers revealed their latest fireworks: sun-bright peonies and azaleas bloomed and wilted in the night sky.

Everything was exquisite—or so Hesina assumed. It was hard to enjoy the entertainment when she was its centerpiece. The night was cool, but watching eyes warmed her skin. She willed time to move faster. It didn’t, but the moment nevertheless arrived.