Lady Meiling’s father blanched. It would be a terrible humiliation to be struck off the list and there would be endless gossip as to why his daughter had been found wanting. “Please forgive her, Your Highness,” he implored. “My daughter would be a true flower to grace your court, should she be fortunate enough to join it.”
A bold idea formed in my mind. Audacious even, but I might never have such a chance again. To no longer be at the mercy of a capricious mistress, to study with Prince Liwei, to learn to harness my powers . . . my mouth went dry at the thought. Perhaps then, I could help my mother.
I sank to my knees, performing a clumsy bow. “Your Highness, please don’t withdraw Lady Meiling’s invitation. But—” The words stuck in my throat like a firmly lodged fish bone.
He waited, his patience calming my scattered nerves. My tongue darted over my lips as I gathered the courage to say, “I wish to participate, too.”
Lady Meiling and her father spun to me, their eyes bulging. To them, I was nothing, undeserving of such an honor. I wanted to sink through the ground, unused to putting myself forward this way—but Prince Liwei’s opinion was the only one that mattered.
He blinked, seemingly taken aback for the first time since I met him. “Why?” he drew out the word.
Lady Meiling’s father had hoped to knit closer ties with the royal family. There was even talk of her winning the prince’s affection. I cared little for all that. It crossed my mind to flatter him, but I decided to speak from the heart. It was what I had done before I knew who he was. “Your Highness, it would be an honor to be in your company, but that is not why I want this—”
He tapped his chin, his lips twitching. “You don’t want to be in my company?”
“No, Your Highness. I mean, yes! Yes, I do want to be in your company,” I stammered. “But more than anything, I want to learn with you, from the greatest masters of the kingdom.” Silently, I cursed my fumbling words. He would refuse, I thought in despair. But it would have been worse not to have tried.
He stilled as though weighing my answer. Finally, he said to Lady Meiling’s father, “I will allow your daughter to keep her place, on one condition: that you sponsor this attendant’s participation as well.”
Hope soared in me like a kite swept up by the wind.
“Your Highness, she is just an attendant,” Lady Meiling’s father protested.
“What we do is not a reflection of who we are.” Prince Liwei echoed my earlier words, his gaze steely beyond his years. “Sponsor them both or none at all.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Lady Meiling’s father bowed, as Prince Liwei walked away, disappearing into the bamboo forest.
A tense silence followed his departure. I picked up my things, intending to make myself scarce when Lady Meiling’s father waved me over.
“How do you know the Crown Prince?” he demanded.
“I only met him today,” I replied honestly.
He squinted at me, stroking his beard. “Why is he so interested in your well-being?” he wondered aloud, observing nothing in my appearance that might have prompted the Crown Prince’s defense.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Lady Meiling’s face, still red from fury and humiliation. Reluctant to salt her wound, I chose my words with care. “He saw me crying and I think he felt sorry for me.” It struck me, then, this was probably the truth.
He nodded, dismissing me with a flick of his hand. Pity for someone like me was something he could comprehend.
I bowed and excused myself, my steps lighter than a gliding feather. I was no deluded fool; it would take a miracle for me to win. But there was a deep satisfaction in reaching out to grasp this opportunity. Even if I lost. Even if I was turned out of the Golden Lotus Mansion. This sliver of hope was a breath of fresh air in my stagnant existence. Spurred by new resolve, I walked back with my head held a little higher. I was no longer a child willing to drift with the tide—I would steer against the current if I had to. And if I won, by some miraculous stroke of luck, I would never be helpless again.
4
I found no rest in sleep, my mind plagued by visions of failure. Throwing the covers off, I rose to ready myself. All the candidates had been given a set of garments and a sandalwood tablet engraved with our names. I slipped on the apricot silk robe, tying the yellow brocade sash around my waist. Then a diaphanous coat, the shifting hues of dawn. Flowing sleeves grazed my wrists, the skirt coming down to my ankles. My fingers ran over the material, light and soft, with a subtle shimmer in its threads. I had not worn such fine silk since my home. Lacking the skills to try anything more elaborate with my hair, I pulled it into a tail that swung across my back.