Jade Fire Gold(32)

The first time I ate with my father and a couple of minor court officials, I had to hold down my anger at the amount of food that was left unfinished. Later, Linxi told me the attendants would sometimes sneak the leftovers back to the servants’ quarters, and only then did I feel a little better.

“Let’s try again,” says Linxi now, patient as ever.

I mentioned offhand to my father that I liked Linxi, and immediately, she was assigned to attend to me. While I can’t get used to the idea of having a lady-in-waiting, it’s comforting to have a friend.

I huff and try to stand. The new shoes I have on are square-toed with pretty whorls all over the fabric and a stupid two-inch clog heel that rests in the center of the sole. Clumsily, I teeter up and down my room.

“How am I supposed to run if I need to?” I complain. “Or climb a wall?”

“You won’t be running in the palace, and you definitely won’t be climbing any walls.”

“But what if someone tries to murder me again?” I say, half joking.

“Then you can clobber them with your heels,” replies Linxi archly. I laugh, grateful that she is here with me. Born to a farmer in a far-off province, she understands the hardships of life outside the capital in a way the gentry does not.

“I guess they do look pretty deadly. I could give someone a concussion.” I lift my skirts to glare at the wretched shoes. “How do women get anything done in this contraption?”

Linxi tugs my skirts back down firmly. “With practice.”

I sigh and walk around the room again. I made the mistake of eavesdropping on some court ladies on my second day in the palace, only to hear cruel words about my missing formal footwear. At first, I was ashamed and embarrassed, but that turned into a dogged determination to prove my worth.

My father had the ear of Emperor Gao Long, and he will have the ear of the crown prince when the boy takes the Dragon Throne. He is an important man, and I will not bring shame on my family name.

I continue to practice until it’s time to go to my father’s private study. He has requested for my presence before noon today. Unusual. So far, we have met for either dinner or tea after as he is busy with state affairs in the day. Through our conversations, I piece together bits of my childhood, forming a kind of mottled painting of my early existence. He likes to share news from across our land, too. Every day, there’s a report of a farm that lost its crops overnight, a river that dried up . . .

The Tiensai’s dark magic is spreading. If nothing is done to stop the land from dying, our people will starve.

Your magic is different. And that is why the Tiensai want to kill you.

Leiye’s words return to haunt me. Was what he said true? Am I the Life Stealer? Could the sword of light really cure the disease inflicting our land? My father hasn’t said a word about this matter or about my magic, and I’m too cowardly to bring it up on my own.

I dismiss Linxi from her duties and venture out alone. The palace is growing familiar to me and I try to keep a mental map of the various parlors and courtyards and rooms I’ve been in.

Outside the study, I smooth my fingers over my hair to neaten it, glad that Linxi opted for a simpler hairstyle today. Half of my hair is braided and curled into a bun secured by pearl pins and turquoise enamel hair combs while the rest waterfalls down my back to my waist. Once I feel tidy enough, I knock smartly on the door.

Moments later, it opens. It’s not my father but someone else dressed in ivory robes with only an emerald ribbon in his hair to identify his Qin lineage.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. The scar on my leg itches, reminding me of the mark he left on me.

Leiye shoots me an irritated look. “The premier wanted to talk to me. Come in, he’s waiting for you.”

I enter, noticing how familiar Leiye is with this private space that I naively thought was special to me and my father. I haven’t seen Leiye since the day he brought me to the palace. Only the Heavens know what ghastly things he’s been up to.

The study is large and filled with books stacked tightly on shelves and old maps hanging on the walls. An imposing table piled high with parchment sits in the middle of the room. My father looks up from his desk in the corner and I greet him with a bow.

He beckons me over. “I want to discuss an important matter with you today, Ahn. Your magic.”

My muscles tense. Somehow, I expected this, but part of me refuses to accept it. I don’t want to talk about my magic or even think of it. But from the look on my father’s face, I know I can’t avoid it.

He touches a knob along the side of a tall cabinet and slides the door open, removing something bound in red silk. Carefully, he unties the ribbons. The book that emerges is old and worn at the edges, bound by faded blue cloth. He stretches the parchment and the manuscript opens horizontally like an accordion.

“Look.”

I scan the writing, trying to decipher its meaning. I did learn to read as a child, but in my village, school was a collection of broken tables and chairs and a teacher who spent most of his days snoozing in the shade. These words in the book seem to be in a different language.

“I don’t recognize the characters,” I finally admit.

“That’s because it is written in the ancient script,” says Leiye.

“The dead language? No one has used it in centuries.”

“Some scholars and historians still study it here in the capital. I have been fortunate to learn from one of them.”