The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(19)
And then Lu found it was she who was smiling.
She stood and clapped once to call attention. The sound resonated loudly against the red earthen walls of the Heart, stark in the silence. There was a muted shuffle as a half thousand bodies turned to acknowledge her.
“Welcome, my dear cousin; honored Hana guests!” she called to them. “We are delighted to host you. Please, approach.” She gestured them forward.
Annoyance flickered across Set’s face. According to the traditional Betrothal Ceremony, it should have been he who controlled the movements, his actions that held significance, while she just sat there like a stupid little fool and waited for him to steal her throne.
Lu’s grin widened. Unbalance your opponent’s footing and take control of the fight . . . She would need to thank Shin Yuri for his wisdom. Instinctively, she sought him out in the crowd but did not see his face among the gathered shins.
Her cousin grudgingly dug his heels into the sides of his massive gray destrier to urge the beast forward. He was a handsome sight, a Hu soldier’s studded black leather vest emblazoned across the chest with the symbol of the First Flame fitted over a silk Hana-style jacket of deep, moody blue. Around his neck, he wore a thick chain bearing a single charm: a palm-sized chunk of crystal.
Set’s retinue followed him, clearly as unnerved by her unexpected appearance as their leader: three hundred men on horseback looking nervous as little boys on their first day at the Imperial Academy. Lu smiled internally, then directed her attention to the unfamiliar old man riding at her cousin’s side. He was small and meekly hunched, garbed poorly in drab heather gray, astride a discordantly handsome chestnut courser. At first, Lu took the old man’s robes for cotton, or even burlap, but as he came closer she saw they were made of raw silk—soft and subtle.
So, this must be my cousin’s so-called mystic, she thought scornfully. The magic monk who had broken Set’s addiction to poppy tears. Supposedly. Could her cousin truly be abstinent, now? Many believed once addiction set in, it was nearly impossible to free oneself.
Aside from a spare white brow, the monk’s head and face were completely hairless, like an infant’s, but his eyes were canny. He would have to be clever to manipulate himself into such a high position. He was a person to watch, then.
Set reached the foot of her dais, the retinue stopping with him. He was close enough now that she could see his gray Hana eyes more clearly. Just like her mother’s and sister’s—the color of storm clouds and smoke—but his stare was even more penetrating than the empress’s, and held within it was a fury the likes of which Min was incapable. He glowered at Lu with those eyes, as though he would have liked nothing better than to tear her down from where she stood.
She smiled placidly. He was welcome to try. It hadn’t worked when they were children, and she was no child now.
“Welcome,” she repeated to the Hana men. Then, opening her attention back to the rest of the courtyard she announced, “All of us gathered here today are familiar with the components of the current Hu Betrothal Ceremony: the bride-to-be upon her pedestal, and the three actions of the suitor:
“The slaughter of the tusked stag with the suitor’s own blade, symbolizing his physical prowess,” she listed. “Then, there are the recitations from the Analecta, symbolizing the intellect of the future emperor, and finally, the call-and-response of the bride’s three riddles, to reflect the suitor’s wisdom of the heart.
“Each of these acts represents a treasured part of our collective Hu and Hana histories, demonstrating the worth of an imperial suitor. However, we live in dire times. Our need for a Hu emperor of strength, intellect, and wisdom is greater than it has been ever before. My cousin Lord Set of Family Li stands before you now as a candidate who may well possess these traits”—she paused for a moment, breathing hard—“as do I!”
A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd.
Lu ignored it. She must not lose her confidence for even a heartbeat. Right now she had a captive audience following her lead because she had thrown all of them off their footing. She had to keep them moving, clinging to her sure grasp, her certain rhythm.
“In the days of old, Hu kings were chosen through rigorous contests of strength, intellect, and wisdom. These contests insured we chose the very best, the strongest and smartest among us, rather than merely relying on the inertia of bloodlines and a token good word. These contests are what made us warriors—conquerors. And emperors.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. Conquerors of the Empire of the First Flame, the silence thundered. Your conquerors. Your emperors.
Galvanized by the thought, Lu snarled with a passion that surprised even her, “And what have our traditions become? What have we degenerated into? This!” She thrust an accusing hand toward the tusked stag’s makeshift pen. The three men tasked with guarding it started.
“This!” she repeated, making it a scoff. “ This dumb, domesticated beast, bred for appearance alone. Yes, its wildly curling tusks—far larger and more ornate than those of its wild cousins—make it fearsome to look upon, but were it to try to run, it would fall upon its face! Generations of safety and comfort and inbreeding have made its natural weapons utterly cumbersome and useless in practice. Like a sword so heavily set with jewels and adornments it cannot be lifted.”
As though sensing the attention turned upon it, the stag looked up, its eyes patient and docile, chewing on a fistful of hay.