Jade Fire Gold(40)
A dark, narrow room just a few paces wide reveals itself. The palace is ancient; there must be areas that have fallen into disuse and are lost to memory. It smells musty in there and it looks empty. I doubt my father even knows this room exists. I pull the cabinet back into place and the wall panel slides shut.
Quickly, I rewrap the books and place them back where I found them and return to my room. I could tell my father about everything I saw. If he told Leiye to take that book, then all would be fine. But if he did not . . . Maybe I should keep tonight a secret. That way I could find out what Leiye’s true motive is.
I remember Linxi’s warning from my first day in the palace. Be careful who you trust. I don’t trust Leiye. And I won’t fall for his tricks.
15
Altan
I should not be here.
The capital is too dangerous for a fugitive like me—a prince who is supposed to be dead.
Yet, here I am. Unable to resist the temptation of witnessing the spectacle of my enemy’s demise.
I should feel elation. Some kind of joy, even if it is a twisted one. I search for it but come up empty. Perhaps I am disappointed it was not my own two hands that put Gao Long in his grave. His untimely passing is a hitch in my plans. But, I can be patient.
When your list of enemies is as long as mine, you learn how to be.
The crowd lines the streets of Beishou as far as the eye can see. Many cling to their silk handkerchiefs, but most eyes are dry. The familiar lilt of Shi accents, the subtle mannerisms and gestures of my people, the gilded roofs of temples and pagodas, the miniature gardens that surprise at every corner . . . They greet me in a hollow embrace like long-lost friends who have moved on. It has been ten years since I was last here. Little has changed, but nothing remains the same.
Mourners stand in wait for the emperor’s funeral procession to pass by. I’m dressed to blend in to this sea of white. Absent are the vibrant garments so well-loved and displayed in the capital and prosperous towns across the Empire. A display that reflects our nation’s wealth, so rich even the lower merchant class can afford to dye their fabrics in a spectrum of colors not found in nature. To me, those colorful robes are a constant reminder of what we paid in blood for the spoils of war.
The deep thunder of a gong reverberates and a hush drapes over the crowd. Beside me, Tang Wei tenses. Once again, she came along despite knowing the risk.
The head of the funeral procession appears shortly. A large contingent of Imperial guards clad in crimson-and-gold armor followed by a hierarchy of nobility and ministers of the Inner and Outer Courts walk by with a solemn air. From this distance, most of the ministers are unknown to me. I want to move closer, to find the one they call the Emperor’s Shadow. But someone bumps into me and tugs my robes.
“Where’s the prince?” whispers a little girl. She stares at me with eyes big and round, a doll clutched in her hand. She looks about eight years old—the same age my sister was when I last saw her.
“I don’t know,” I whisper back, exchanging a glance with Tang Wei.
The little girl’s mother shushes her, but she pulls my robes again. “Is the prince our emperor now?”
“Prince Tai Shun hasn’t come of age yet, so Empress Zhenxi will help him rule for now,” says the mother. “Stop bothering this dàgē. He isn’t from here.”
The woman smiles at me briefly, apologizing for her daughter’s questions. I smile back, relieved she thinks I’m a foreigner.
I turn my head in time to catch a group of people clad in rust-orange robes walking sternly by. Priests. The little girl gives a small cry and clutches my sleeve. Not wanting to frighten her further, I try to relax, dampening the pulsating fire burning in my chest.
Next comes the bevy of royal consorts and concubines, their wails pealing. Are they crying from grief or fear? Zhenxi is likely to send them away after today.
A murmur flutters through the crowd and dead silence takes over. Heads lower and bodies bend. I force myself to bow, to partake in this show of respect.
Carefully, I angle my head up, glimpsing the back of a young man in white silk with a gold coronet around his topknot.
My stomach curdles, pulse racing like the wind.
Him.
“Is that the prince? Can you see him?” whispers the little girl, excitement trilling in her voice. “Mother, lift me up, I want to see him! Mother—”
I grit my teeth, swallowing rage corrosive as acid.
I have seen enough.
The crowd thins after the procession, but I linger for reasons unclear to myself. I was not present at Father’s funeral ten years ago. Was it as grand as Gao Long’s? Were the tears that fell genuine?
Father’s body lies encased in an armor of white jade and gold silk in the Royal Mausoleum north of Beishou. The ancient Spirit Way lining the path to the tombs intrigued me as a child with its sculptures of old gods and creatures from our legends. As did the royal tombs, each varying in size and splendor, some more imposing than others.
The most magnificent remains are that of my great-grandfather, Yuan Long. His empty coffin sits in a vault filled with thousands of terra-cotta soldiers, horses, and servants to serve him in the spirit world. The emperor who, as our history books will have you believe, united the Shi Empire. It reminds me that if I fail in my task, future generations of Shi children will never know the truth about the horror of his reign.