Page 29 of A Song to Drown Rivers
“What am I to you, Fanli?” I whispered. It felt illicit, saying his name without the title, without any kind of address. As intimate and impulsive as if I were to reach out and stroke his hair.
His eyes flashed, then flicked down to my robes. My wedding robes. What I would wear when I greeted his greatest enemy—the same man who had humiliated him and degraded him and overseen his torment, the one responsible for the scars on his back—as my own lover. Fanli seemed to be holding his breath. His fists were clenched so tight I could see the bones of his fingers. “Why—” he managed, his voice shedding some of its usual neutrality. “Why are you doing this?”
“I want to know,” I said. My fingers trembled against his face. The polish was starting to rub off from my performance. I cared too deeply to affect nonchalance. To act as if my heart were not straining against my ribs, as if it did not hurt to be this close,this close, and know that I could not go any farther. “I have to know. Before we leave. Everything will be different and—” I stopped talking before my voice could waver. I had been trained better than that. “You will never get to look at me like this again.”
“Xishi,” he said, voice low. “I cannot—”
“Speak to me normally,” I demanded.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me…” I dropped my hand, keeping my gaze level with his. “Tell me what I am to you. Please,” I added when he began to protest, to maneuver his way free from the conversation. “Am I your greatest weapon? Or something else?”
He inhaled. Seemed to steel himself. Then he made that sound again, that half laugh, with its undertone of incredulity and self-mockery. “So this is how it feels,” he murmured, almost under his breath, “to be cut by your own blade.”
The candles flickered. Everything felt pressed close, warm, like air cupped inside a palm. I could see our shadows splashed acrossthe magnolia-patterned folding screen; the trick of the light made it so they looked closer than we actually were, our faces touching. Even now, after all that has passed, I can visualize the scene in fresh, intimate detail: the guqin set beside his desk, the way the gold and crimson threads of my robes gleamed, the jar of ointment lying open on the floor, the silhouette of the plum blossom trees just outside the window. In the days to come, when I was alone, I would wonder what might’ve happened if I had been a little braver, a little more selfish, a little more reckless. If I had pulled his shadow to mine until our hearts collided, if I had just spoken outside our silent glances, acknowledged what blazed between us in those brief, quiet moments together. Perhaps then, all would be different. But these things tend to make sense only in fantasies, in memory. In reality we were just two mortals, bound by our respective roles in history, and whatever flickered between us felt so terribly fragile compared to the immovable weight of mountains, of kingdoms, of war.
He shifted forward, lifted a hand to my hair. Stopped. Up close, his pupils were blown wide, black as bottomless pools in the deepest winter. Very slowly, as if afraid I would disappear right before him, he touched one fingertip to the jade hairpin. The pressure was no more than a butterfly landing on a petal, but I felt it travel down to my bones. My heart thudded harder, my mouth dry with everything I could not say.
Then his gaze hardened, and he withdrew his hand. A flash of fabric. Just like that. The shock of it was like bursting through water after a long, long swim. The empty air stung my skin.
“You should get some rest,” he said, twisting away, denying me his face. His voice was cold again, curt, removed to a place I could not reach. “It will be a long journey.”
CHAPTER NINE
Our departure was a quiet affair.
A carriage had been prepared outside the cottage gates, with a scarlet veil draped over the windows on both sides and the raised roof decorated with intricate blue-and-green carvings. Luyi was already at the front, dressed in leather armor and adjusting the horses’ bridles.
“Do you have everything?” Fanli asked as I climbed into the carriage after Zhengdan. He did not look at me as he spoke, but rather seemed fixated on a small scratch in the door. His lips were pale, and when I snuck a glance at his face, I saw the dark gray shadows under his eyes. Perhaps he had not slept well.
“Yes,” I said, my voice as stiff as his. I patted the satchel hanging across my shoulders. It was far heavier than it’d been when we first arrived at Riversong Cottage, now stuffed full of different robes and powders and pretty ornamental things.
He nodded, still without facing me. “Good.”
The door snapped shut.
I sighed and leaned back in the cushioned seats, only to find Zhengdan staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Did something happen between you two?”
“What do you mean?” It came out sharper than I intended, and a treacherous flush rose to my cheeks.Iwishsomething had happened, I thought to myself. But it was a forbidden thought, not meant to be shared with any soul, no matter how I trusted Zhengdan like my own sister.
“He’s been rather…” She paused, then lifted the veil an inch to watch Fanli through the round window. He was saying something to Luyi too quiet for us to hear, but Luyi’s back snapped straight, and his free hand flew to the sword at his belt. “… on edge this morning,” she finished, brows arching. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“It must be the trip,” I said, dodging the question as best I could. “It’s a lot of pressure, after all. If anything happens to us, he will have to take full responsibility.”
Zhengdan let the veil fall back down and snorted quietly. It was one of the many things Fanli had warned her against when we reached the palace; it was not considered ladylike.Why does it seem to me that the court’s idea of a lady is a beautiful, dull shell who has no personality and makes no sound, Zhengdan had complained to me afterward.They would be better off marrying a statue.“Typical of you.”
“Hm?”
“If anything happens to us, I would be concerned first and foremost with getting kidnapped or killed, not the consequences someone else must bear.”
The carriage lurched into motion. Soon the steadyclip-clopof hooves and occasional swish of the whip reached our ears, and the song of the river grew fainter and fainter. It was an uncomfortable ride, stretching on and on for what seemed like forever. Even withthe cushions padding the seats, I felt every stone and twig crushed under the wheels, every jolt of the carriage when we turned a corner. I could not tell what was worse: the sheer boredom, or the undercurrent of dread that ran beneath it. It was like being forced to lie paralyzed on the ground while your enemy approached you slowly with a blade raised. The only times we left the carriage were when night fell and we needed to find an inn to rest; then, in the morning, the journey continued again. More than once, I considered shoving the carriage door open, running far away, and never coming back. Such a quick, simple movement. But my fingers remained clasped and clammy in my lap.
When the sky started to darken beyond the carriage curtains, Zhengdan rested her head on my shoulder and dozed off, her breathing deepening into snores. I was amazed she could fall asleep so quickly, or at all. My muscles were so tense that the idea of sleep seemed absurd. As my thoughts ran ahead to the looming palace in its faraway land and the king I loathed but would have to pretend to love, I could not imagine myself ever sleeping again.
