Page 67 of A Song to Drown Rivers
“There is… one thing,” I began, sitting up.
“What?” Fuchai pressed his lips gently to my exposed collarbone, his eyes meeting mine from under his long lashes. Warmth rushed through my skin at the same time a chill shot through my bones. “I wish only to take your pain away.”
I took a deep breath. “What do you say about holding a banquet?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The peach trees were finally starting to bloomagain. The palace had been cleaned and polished so that you could run a finger over any of its walls or lanes and find not even a single speck of dirt. The winds became gentle, and the grass that had withered in winter grew back again, lush and green as new jade. More lanterns were strung from the curved roofs, their pearl-white light illuminating the ponds and the paths between chambers. Mornings were announced by birdsong, the sun rising earlier and earlier. Spring had come, and the air was fragrant, carrying the heady scent of flowers from Lady Yu’s gardens and spices from the royal kitchens.
Inside the great hall, everything had been transformed as well. Gold and silver hangings shimmered from the walls; all the goblets were freshly washed. Two large banquet tables extended from one end to the other, leaving space in between for the dancers and flutists.
“What do you think?” Fuchai asked me with the shy, excitedtones of a student showing his final work to his master. “Is it to your liking?”
I stared around the vast room. The banquet was already in motion, guests beginning to stream in through the doors. We had worked on the guest list together, inviting princes and princesses from distant lands, noblemen and distinguished scholars from the most prestigious families, kings and ministers from neighboring kingdoms. The public purpose of the banquet was to celebrate the completion of the new canal; the private purpose, to lift my spirits. But of course Fuchai did not know the true purpose of what he had helped arrange.
“Everything is wonderful,” I said, smiling to hide my nerves.
It was impressive; even I could admit it. The food alone was mouthwatering. Fuchai had demanded the very best cooks be brought in to prepare for this evening, the raw materials gathered from the highest mountains and widest plains, where the soil was tender and the water tasted sweet. There were plates upon plates of dessert: steamed fermented rice cake, the sticky layers rich with the aroma of wine; gaotuan of every shade mixed with red bean paste and salted nuts and sesame, shaped to resemble gold ingots, magnolia leaves, flowers blooming; oil-glazed mooncakes engraved with floral patterns and the characters for peace and prosperity. They were all so beautiful and intricately made it seemed almost a pity to eat them. But therealdishes were only just arriving. Servants came bearing clay pots of braised pork, cooked until every slice was golden brown, the lean and fat meat perfectly proportioned, dripping with soy sauce. Eggs had been added to the dish as well, with four clean slices down the sides to let the flavor in.
As the guests took their seats, a bell chimed. The servant stationed at the gates called out, “King Goujian and Minister Fanli of the Yue Kingdom have arrived.”
I felt a sudden tightness in my chest, like somebody had gripped my heart. With great effort, I tried to ward off the shaky sensation threatening my body, all rising emotion, hope and panic and fear woven together. I rubbed my arms, faced the gates.
They entered according to their respective roles: Goujian first, dressed in kingly finery for once, and Fanli just behind him. My eyes went only to Fanli. He seemed to have recovered from the sword wound. His movements were fluid, light, his head up. He was dressed in dark navy robes that rippled when he walked, like the surface of a river in a breeze.
He met my eyes, expressionless save for the slight pull of his lips. My pulse throbbed.
“Thank you for the kind invitation, Your Majesty.” He and Goujian took their turns greeting Fuchai. Reluctantly, I pulled my attention away from Fanli and focused on the king of Yue instead. He was smiling at Fuchai like they were old friends, but he smiled only with the skin of his face; beneath it, there was a chilling look in his gaze.
“Of course, of course.” Fuchai laughed, not noticing. “It has been so long—how good it is to see your face again.”
Goujian’s smile sharpened. “The sentiment is mutual.”
“We had fun, didn’t we? Ah, I recall you were quite the helpful stable boy.” It was a testament to Fuchai’s arrogance—and perhaps his misplaced sense of immortality, believing himself immune to any harm—that he could make such jests without worry of being stabbed in his sleep.
Even I, watching this exchange silently, felt my palms sweating.
“I could never forget,” Goujian murmured.
“Well, do sit.” Fuchai pulled them over to the seats across his—and mine. I was facing Fanli directly from the opposite end of the table. “We should all have a drink together, for old times’ sake.” He snapped his fingers, and like magic, a servant appeared with ajug of sloshing wine. Goujian seemed to take note of this. Of everything. His black eyes raked over the halls, every blatant sign of wealth and opulence and comfort.
Then he brought his eyes back to the king standing before him, generously offering a goblet of wine like a gesture of peace. Something flickered in his expression. He took it, downing the liquor in one swig, and flipped his goblet over to show it was empty. “May the king live ten thousand years, and ten thousand years more.”
Pleased, Fuchai quickly motioned for the servant to refill the goblet, then clinked his own cup against it. Then he repeated it with Fanli.
“No hard feelings?” Fuchai asked, glancing briefly at Fanli’s chest, the place where Zixu’s sword had drawn blood.
Fanli smiled, toasting him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stood, my eyes darting between them. It felt like some nightmare playing out in real life, everything about it wrong, every world of mine, every side of me—all my greatest wants and fears—colliding. I fought another swell of hysteria, controlled my breathing. This was necessary. And soon it would be over.
When they had each downed at least four full goblets of wine, Fuchai came over, laughing, his face framed by the black of his hair, and laced his fingers through mine. In my peripheral vision, I saw a tightening in Fanli’s features. “Come,” Fuchai said, tugging me toward the other guests.
As I followed him from table to table, faking smiles and uttering false niceties, I couldn’t help snatching glimpses of Fanli. He remained in his seat, composed and polite, the perfect representative from a foreign kingdom. Occasionally he would turn and speak to Goujian in low tones, impossible for a third person to make out. He refilled his wine on his own, drinking goblet after goblet.
I tried not to let my surprise show. I had never seen Fanli drink before; for someone who prided themself on their self-discipline, I’d always assumed it was a vice he avoided.
The banquet was soon in full swing. The dancers moved from sequence to sequence, swishing their long sleeves, the bracelets on their wrists and ankles jangling. The air grew warmer with noise and activity and food, the dishes cleared away and immediately replaced by well-trained maids. There seemed no limit to the wine and lavish food that flowed within the halls.
