Jade Fire Gold(43)

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, fiddling with my mother’s jade ring. It’s the only thing adorning my hands. The only thing that feels like me.

“Absolutely. I specialize in transforming peasant girls into beautiful princesses.”

“I’m not a princess,” I say sharply. Linxi tuts and helps me into my new shoes, another dreadful contraption of brocade and blisters. “Aren’t we in mourning? This seems . . . a bit much.”

“Oh, Ahn. Don’t be naive. The mourning ended with the funeral. Everyone in Beishou is dying to wear their pretty clothes and throw parties again. There will be a new emperor soon. Someone else for them to fawn over.”

“But the funeral—I’ve never seen so many people wail and cry in public before. Are they all really moving on so quickly? Was it all for show?”

She shrugs. “It is what it is: a cyclical game the wealthy nobles have been playing for centuries.”

And it’s one you must play if you stay here. Revulsion pushes back against that thought. My empress-imposed duty to entertain the crown prince seems more like a chore than anything else. But I’ll do it because she has been kind to me, and because my father is the premier.

“I have to amuse His Royal Highness tonight.”

Linxi replies tartly, “So I hear. That’s why I’m dolling you up.”

“What is he like?”

“Let’s see: spends a lot of time with his books and flute, interested in the healing arts, isn’t one for military strategy, can’t hold a sword to save his life.” Linxi stops ticking off her fingers, grinning. “But he’s awfully good-looking.”

“We’ll see about that,” I mutter to myself.

She adds a touch more powder to my cheeks. “There, all done. I’ll walk with you to the hall, if you like.”

“It’s all right. You have the night off, don’t you? Go meet your girlfriend early. I know you’re dying to.”

She claps her hands. “Thank you, Ahn. I owe you.”

“And I owe you for making me presentable. Let’s hope I don’t make a fool of myself with that awfully good-looking prince.”

“You’ll be just fine.” She squeezes my hand lightly before leaving the room.

With time to spare, I meander my way to the great hall near Mu’an Lake, walking near the domed pavilion by the water. My ears prick as melancholic notes float through the air. The flutist must be there again. Captivated, I stand and listen. I don’t know anything about music, but this must be how celestial poetry sounds.

The music stops abruptly, and a slender figure strides out from the pavilion with a dízǐ in his hand. Long sleeves fluttering as he approaches me, he’s dressed in a simple unadorned hànfú, the white fabric stark against his surroundings.

I see his face as he comes close. My breath catches. It’s as if the gods themselves had a personal hand in sculpting the precise cut of his cheekbones and jaw. His eyes are large and intensely dark and his lips feminine in their lushness. But it’s the sadness in his expression that draws me to him.

He notices me and tilts his head quizzically. “Good evening.”

“Sorry, I—I didn’t—I was just, you were, you are—” I give myself a mental kick and try again. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. You play so beautifully, I wanted to hear more.” I gesture awkwardly at his slim bamboo transverse flute.

“Thank you.” The single red gem set in the center of the thin gilded headband around his forehead flashes as he bows with a flourish. “I could play another song if you like. It isn’t often that I find an appreciative audience.”

“That’s hard to believe when you play so well.”

“I assure you it is only because I was playing inside that pavilion.” He waves a hand at the structure behind him. “It was built specially to enhance the musical qualities of any instrument; the placement of each slab of stone in the inner wall was carefully calculated for acoustics. Here, let me show you.”

He holds the flute horizontally to his lips. It’s the same song, but it sounds different. Less rich, less magical. But I can still hear the loneliness in the notes.

“It’s just as lovely,” I say when he finishes, unable to tear my eyes from his hauntingly beautiful face.

“You are much too kind. Pardon my memory, but I don’t believe we have met. I’m Tai Shun. And you are?”

Ten Hells.

I should have recognized him after seeing his portrait hanging on the palace walls. The plain white robes and that sad light in his eyes make sense now. His grief over his father’s death would last longer than forty-nine days. A father who carried out terrible deeds, but still, his father. That twinge in my chest whenever I think of my mother returns.

Hastily, I lower my head and curtsey, burning with embarrassment. “I do apologize, Your Highness.”

“Please don’t stand on ceremony. What is your name?”

“Zhao Ahn.”

“The premier’s daughter?”

“Yes, I was on my way to the banquet. I heard you’ll be attending.”

“Right. The banquet.” Tai Shun’s shoulders seem to sag. “I suppose I must.”

I can’t help but feel that I’ve upset him in some way. “I won’t hold you up. I’m sure all your friends are waiting for you.”