Page 44 of A Song to Drown Rivers
But I always remembered again.
“I brought wine,” I said, crossing the distance between us.
He surveyed the tray in my hands, his eyes bright with a rapid quickening of interest. Then he glanced up at the windows, where fat squares of daylight streamed in. “At this hour?” he asked. “I’m meeting with a few ministers soon—it’s important, according to them anyway.”
I know, I thought to myself as I smiled at him with utmost indulgence. That was why I’d come. Yesterday, Xiaomin had overheard Wu Zixu preparing for the meeting. “It’s only a few sips,” I said, pouring the yellow wine out into a deep goblet. “It’ll help you relax. And besides, I’ve already warmed it for you.”
“It seems quite unwise,” he said, but he was already reaching for the goblet, as though his mouth and body were divorced. Heswished the liquid around a few times, took a careful sip, then a long swig. I quickly refilled it again and held it up for him. “You are my weakness, you know that?” he murmured, but drank obediently, eyes fluttering closed.
I watched the rolling movement in his throat and felt a flicker of anticipation. He was always more pliant when he was drunk, easier to manipulate, eager to agree to anything. But all those years of drinking meant he’d built up a considerable tolerance for alcohol; it would take more than a few cups to achieve the intended effect.
“I was wondering,” I began slowly, filling the goblet until the wine was close to overbrimming, “whether I might join you in your meeting today. Just to watch.”
He turned to me, his brows raised in surprise, though there was no trace of suspicion in his expression. “Why? It’s terribly boring; I have trouble staying awake half the time, and the ministers are always busy yapping among themselves like dogs over the most ridiculous things. Most of their requests could be answered in a few simple words:Yes, orAbsolutely not, you utter buffoon, orCall the executioner.” He made an exasperated sound, as if it pained him just thinking of it, and downed the goblet in two gulps. “I wouldn’t want to subject you to that kind of torture.”
Spoken like a truly great king, I mused dryly to myself. But I met his gaze and lifted my lips into a coy smile. “I know very well how boring it is for you—that is why I’m here. To keep you entertained.”
He tilted his head up, studying me over the polished edge of his cup.
“After all,” I went on, “it would be cruel to leave you to such tedious affairs by yourself.”
He wrapped an arm around my waist, drawing me close to him in one swift movement, the action so abrupt his wine threatenedto spill over. He barely seemed to notice. “Entertained, you say,” he repeated. “How so?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. Steeled myself. If I wanted to sit in on this meeting, I would need more than just wine to soften his mind. “Like this.” Then I pressed one hand slowly to the flat planes of his chest, lifted my head, and kissed him.
He made a small, surprised sound with the back of his throat; perhaps he had not expected me to be so forward. But soon he was kissing me back without restraint, his hand curving against the nape of my neck, fingers tangled in my hair. He smelled like sweet wine and cold smoke; he tasted like treachery. I could feel his heart drumming under my palm, hard and fast as a sparrow’s wings. His every sharply exhaled breath echoed in that vast, empty, ancient hall.
I closed my eyes and pretended it was someone else. Someone with skin as cold as ice, hair as dark as a river at midnight. His lips would be soft, his touch light. He would be controlled and careful and precise, no matter how hard his heart hammered, and I would do everything in my power to test if I could make his heart beat even faster.
When enough time had lapsed and I broke free, Fuchai’s eyes were shining, his crooked smile barely suppressed, his crown tilting precariously on his head. Bright streaks of color painted his cheeks and neck. He looked already drunk. Perhaps he was. “So this is what they meant, in all the poems,” he murmured under his breath, half to himself, then laughed. “And I’d thought they were just over-sentimental fools, exaggerating. Now I understand. It has never been this way, before.”
With difficulty, I pushed all thoughts of Fanli from my mind, and stared up at the king of Wu. I had not withdrawn my hand yet; my fingers curled around the front of his robes. “Don’t you agree that things are more fun when I’m around?”
He took another swig of his wine and dabbed absently at his lips. “Yes. Yes, indeed.”
When the ministers filed into the hall, in all their stiff court finery and somber silence, they found me curled up next to Fuchai, sharing the seat of his throne. I was serving him another drink; he had drank more goblets than I could count by now, and the flushed color in his face had spread to the tips of his ears. When he spoke, his speech was slurred. “Don’t just mill about; take your places.”
The ministers were well trained enough to control their expressions, but I’d been trained better to read the most subtle flicker of emotions. In their eyes I saw the unspoken passages of shock, exasperation, resentment, contempt. There were ten of them in total, and I recognized the men standing at the front: Wu Zixu, with his cold eyes and lifted chin; Bo Pi, with his beefy neck and stout frame, who’d long ago started accepting bribes from Fanli and had provided us with valuable intelligence. And General Ma. I felt a sharp lurch of resentment on Zhengdan’s behalf. Now that his face was no longer obscured by a heavy helmet, and he was not charging down the streets on his steed, I saw that he was good-looking, but hardly good-looking enough to carry himself with the smugness he did.
“Your Majesty.” Zixu stepped forward, then hesitated. “Are you… drunk?” There was the faintest, upward curl of distaste to his words, the question more like an accusation, but Fuchai did not seem to notice it.
“No, not at all,” he slurred, the redness in his cheeks rising. “Just having some refreshments. Surely I am allowed to keep such simple pleasures for myself? Or must every court meeting be so dull as to leave me with a headache?”
A muscle twitched in Zixu’s jaw, but he dipped his head low. “Of course, of course, Your Majesty. And as for Lady Xishi…”
“Is there a problem? I wish for her to be here,” Fuchai said witha dark, steely look that threatened death to anyone who disobeyed. Yet his hands were still gentle around my waist.
General Ma shifted forward too. Even though the meeting was indoors, he was still dressed in armor, the bronze plates on his chest and shoulders creaking and clanking together when he moved. It was not for necessity, I observed, but a mark of honor, to remind others of his position. “Your Majesty. Forgive me for being presumptuous, but… do you really believe it’s appropriate to have Lady Xishi listen in on this meeting? For one, she is a woman—”
“Yes, believe it or not, I’m very well aware of the fact,” Fuchai said dryly, his goblet dangling between his thumb and forefinger, the wine swirling within it.
General Ma looked wildly uncomfortable, but pressed on. “Still, the topics are—highly sensitive, not for just anyone to be involved in, and should any information fall upon a foreigner’s ears…” He had said too much. He seemed to realize this even before Fuchai glowered down at him from the raised throne, the air around them deadly still with the king’s power.
“Xishi is no foreigner,” Fuchai snapped. “And she’s certainly not justanyone.”
I remained strategically silent, my face blank as I resumed pouring out wine.
The ministers exchanged a few uneasy looks, but after a silence, Bo Pi cleared his throat and spoke up. “Your Majesty is right. Any concubine of the king’s is a valued and trusted member of the Wu Kingdom. Let us proceed with today’s agenda, regarding our current military stance toward the Yue Kingdom…”
