“Osmanthus wine,” he told her, recalling my drink of choice.
Yet such consideration was irrelevant now; I needed something stronger to mask the bitterness of the star-lilies. My fingers brushed the cool skin of his wrist as I tried not to flinch. “I’m in the mood for something else. Plum wine, maybe?”
He nodded to the attendant, who bowed in acknowledgment before leaving. As the doors closed behind her, he took a step toward me, his gaze darkening with intent. My eyes darted around the room, seeking something—anything—to distract his thoughts. A qin lay upon a low table in the corner, a beautiful instrument, the red-lacquered wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“Do you play?” I asked. A stark reminder that I did not know much of him at all.
“A little.”
“Those who say ‘a little,’ usually mean ‘a lot.’ Are you skilled?” My voice rang with challenge.
The corners of his mouth tilted up. “A little.”
He lowered himself before the instrument, his forehead creased in concentration. His song began in a tantalizing whisper, soft and sweet. As he plucked the strings, his notes rose and fell with haunting beauty. He played with such intensity, such passion, that even with all I knew of him, his music moved me deep inside.
As the last note faded, I brushed my palms against my skirt. The crumpled petals of the star-lilies fell unseen to the floor, their juice squeezed into the wine the attendant had brought. Lifting the porcelain jar, I filled a cup with wine and offered it to him with both my hands. He accepted it with a smile, but when he lifted it to his lips, he paused.
I raised my cup to him at once, “To the days ahead.”
He accepted my toast, draining his cup. His expression was surprised, perplexed, even. Did he wonder at the taste?
“You play well,” I said, a little too quickly, hoping to divert his attention.
“Not as well as you play the flute.”
The only time he had heard me perform was at Liwei’s banquet, the song I gifted him. Wenzhi had never asked me to play before and I wondered, was it because of this? To buy precious time, I pulled out my flute, tilting my head toward him in an unspoken question.
“It would be an honor,” he said quietly.
I had not played in a long time. I blew several running notes to reacquaint myself with the instrument, sifting through my mind for the song I wanted. My breath slid into the hollow jade, measured and calm, the notes soothing and languid. As I played, I thought of the waterfall in the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility, the water falling onto the rocks as it lulled me to sleep. Of the moon in the dark sky, its radiance comforting countless mortals before their eyes closed in slumber. Of the star-lilies, crushed into Wenzhi’s wine, a sleeping draught more potent than a half dozen jars of wine—which even now, was racing through his blood.
His hand clamped over my flute, dragging it from my lips. My pulse raced as I shot him an innocent look. I wrenched my instrument free from his weakened grasp and dropped it back into my pouch. Hastily, I pulled the qin toward me, strumming the first song I could think of—a vibrant, lively melody. I was out of practice, less skilled than him, but it sufficed to drown his voice from the soldiers outside.
He blinked slowly, as though fighting the wave of fatigue which I prayed would soon drag him under.
“Xingyin, what did you do?” He slurred the words, his furious tone laced with hurt.
“Nothing less than you deserved.” My fingers slid over the qin, plucking out rippling strains that culminated into a triumphant crescendo, a mockery of his current predicament.
A strangled gasp broke from his throat, as though he was trying to call out to the guards—even as a new melody flowed from my fingers now, a mournful one with haunting, drawn-out notes which drowned his cries.
“Why?” he rasped.
I cast him a scornful glare. “Did you really think I could forgive you for all you did? That my promise to the dragons would be so easily broken? That I could betray those I cared for to fulfill my own ends? I’m not like you.”
He fumbled at his waist but there was no weapon by his side. Again, he tried to call to the guards, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper.
“This won’t change anything.”
“Maybe not,” I hissed, my fingers gliding over the strings without a pause. “But I know all about your trap for the Celestial Army. I had to do something or I’d never be able to live with myself.”
“They’re already here. It’s too late.” There was a hard set to his mouth as his eyes drooped. “I knew he would come. For you or the pearls. It mattered not which, but I knew he would come.” His voice dropped to a strained breath. “Just as I suspected you would go to him if you could. I had hoped, but . . .” He weaved where he sat, blinking rapidly before his eyelids sank shut and he slumped onto the floor.