The sound of the bell reverberates through the cavern, signifying the change of day. I realize I have to return to the palace for the evening meal, or I will be missed.
“We should go,” he says, but he looks out at the water, shadows under his eyes.
I do the only thing I can think of. I lean over and cup his face, kissing him with gratitude. For holding me while I cried, for saving me from drowning, and for chasing those shadows of guilt away. The bell rings above our heads again and when we finally separate, he looks dazed, but he is smiling.
We return to the palace, the taste of him still lingering on my lips. Yet his answers conjure more questions that worm their way through my mind.
Just like the palace itself, tunnels upon tunnels, leading nowhere, and no exit in sight.
* * *
I worry Lian may be waiting in our residence, wondering where I am, but there are only the two maidservants. They make no mention of my damp clothes as they assist me with drawing a bath. While I’m drying my hair, Lian strolls in with grass in her braid and her glowing skin a shade darker, grinning from ear to ear.
“The sun was bright today, perfect for riding,” she declares through the wooden privacy screen while she changes, tossing her dirty clothes over the side. She seems to be in an excellent mood.
“Where were you?” she asks. I hear a splash of her entering the tub. “I tried to find you after the proclamation, but you were nowhere to be found.”
“I hid in the library,” I say, telling her the first place I can think of.
“We all have our distractions, I suppose,” she responds.
“Do you think the competition will be postponed?” I ask.
“I would venture a guess and say the princess is meeting with her closest advisers tonight.”
“What do you think will happen now that the emperor is…” I cannot even make myself say it; the words sound too much like sacrilege.
“The Court of Officials love their ceremony,” Lian says, unperturbed. “The astronomers will be consulted, then an auspicious time will be chosen to prepare for the rise of the new empress. I am certain they will continue with the appointment of a court shénnóng-shī, as well as whatever other titles they can bestow.”
How many of these officials and nobles will be forces moving against the princess, doubting her capability to rule?
That is all the other competitors discuss at the evening meal, speculating about how long the princess will wait before the ascension ceremony. How messengers have been dispatched to all corners of the empire to inform the regional officials of the news.
Even though the current political situation is dire, it means there is less attention on me after my confrontation with Shao last night. When we rise to retire for the evening, Lin Wenyi—the monk from Yěli?—and his companion, Hu Chengzhi, give me nods of acknowledgment, and I give them one in turn. It seems that I may have misinterpreted his words; perhaps he was defending me, not taking part in Shao’s ridicule.
Small steps forward. That, at least, I am capable of.
When we return to our residence, my eye catches a glint of gold on the lion statue in front of the building. A complex embroidered knot, with a jade pendant in the center.
I have been summoned.
I already knew I was being watched, but the prickling feeling of discomfort still follows. I wish I could have all the rumored abilities of the shénnóng-shī, able to see through walls or reach into dreams, instead of blundering about, almost dying in the process.
A long, thin box sits on the table, my name written on it in an unfamiliar scrawl. I tuck it into my sleeve before Lian notices, afraid it relates to the princess and her impossible task.
* * *
Later I lie in bed, with only my thoughts for company, waiting until Lian’s breathing slows to a familiar rhythm. I realize I have become accustomed to the sounds of the palace, the tap-tap of the tree branches hitting the rafters, the distant murmur of voices. I am now used to the silk covers that slide against my calluses without catching, being able to eat until I’ve had my fill without my stomach feeling uncomfortably full from the richness of the dishes. Just like Steward Yang said, it is too easy to live this pampered life, this fantasy.
I pull out the mysterious box, wanting to see what the princess has left for me. It is the length of my arm, made of nondescript wood. I slide open the top panel and find a small dagger waiting for me inside. I pick it up and feel its weight, noting the rippling design that appears like waves carved into the decorated sheath. I pull the dagger out, its sharp edge catching the light. At the base of the hilt, an inset black pearl glows with its own luster.