Page 70 of A Song to Drown Rivers
Everything felt suspended. Time itself seemed to freeze, to still. But it was the look in his eyes that speared through my lungs. There was longing, but also such deep, incalculable sorrow, as though he understood my rage, my resentment, all that I’d overcome alone. And in response, I let myself deflate. Let my façade fall away from me, my posture slip from its dancer’s frame. I gazed back at him without having to smile, to parade my beauty. In the darkness, he seemed to see me more clearly than anybody.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know this has been unfair to you. I know you want to go home.”
“I want more than that,” I said.
He cast me a pained look. “What else, then?”
“You.” The crude simplicity of my own words surprised me. In the palace, I had grown accustomed to polishing them into something unrecognizable, alluding to the moon’s reflection in the water when I meant the moon itself.
Fanli had gone very quiet, his expression so strained, so close to fearful, that I laughed out loud at him. It was my real laugh, deep and a little hoarse at the edges, rattling free from my lungs. “You act like you’re afraid of me,” I remarked.
“Iamafraid of you,” he said, the truth tumbling fast from his lips. His body was trembling, even as he held his spine rigid. “I’m afraid of what comes over me when I’m around you. I’m afraid of how tempting it is, to ignore my own rationale, of how many excuses I can invent just to be closer to you. I’m afraid of how much—how much I want. Of what I want. I’m afraid of how easily my self-discipline slips. How quickly my judgment falters. Wherever you’re concerned, I have to question myself constantly, evaluate and compartmentalize my own feelings, pick them apart and prod them for weaknesses. Did you know,” he said on a broken breath, “that Zixu had sent his men to try to capture me, to bring me to the palace?”
I shook my head, stunned.
“There must have been fifty of them. Multiple attempts on my life. It was quite the nuisance, but I escaped them without much trouble.”
“Then… how did he—”How did he bring you here? How did he overpower you in the end?I had questioned it often in the days after he left, wished we had more time together just so I could ask him, but no matter what scenarios I conjured, I could not produce a viable answer.
“He didn’t.” The corner of his mouth curled. “He sent a message, saying that you had been gravely wounded, and I came on my own accord. Even though I knew it was a trap. Even though I knew you were most likely fine, that my appearance in this kingdom would only bring trouble to us all. But just the thought—just the possibility, however slim and irrational, that something really had happened to you… It threatened to undo my sanity.”
“So you came for me.” It didn’t seem real. I reached out across the tight space, my fingertips grazing the place where the sword had pierced his flesh. Where I had bandaged his wound.
This time, he didn’t try to stop me. “Do you understand now?” he asked softly, with a tenderness that felt like death. “My discipline—my intellect—my judgment. Those are all the things I’ve come to depend on in life. They’re what pulled me out of poverty, what lifted me through the ranks, what led me to the king. But now, I cannot trust any of that.” His jaw clenched. “I cannot even trust myself.”
Distantly, as if from another kingdom, another life, I thought of King Fuchai in that great, cold hall of his, the lantern light cascading over the golden walls, everything shining and bright and false, wine sloshing over goblets and plates heaped with food passing from table to table. I wished to never return.
“You have to go back to him soon,” Fanli said, swallowing. How easily he read my mind. How well he knew me. “Go, before I lose the little control I have left.”
“Then promise me you will come back,” I urged, knowing it was childish, unreasonable, not the request of someone who had already left everything behind, entered the Wu palace as King Fuchai’s concubine, a girl forged into a blade.
It was not like Fanli to make such promises either. He was too practical for that. I waited for him to tell me so. At the end of the day our lives were not so dissimilar; we were both weapons to be picked up and put down at King Goujian’s will. We didn’t have the power to decide these things for ourselves.
But to my surprise, he nodded. “I promise,” he said softly, three fingers lifted to the dim air in a vow. “As soon as this ends, I’ll come find you, and we’ll sail the world together and live somewhere far from here, someplace we can be truly alone. And if my promise breaks… then let me suffer for as long as I live.”
I stared at him. Then, after a stunned beat, I hit his shoulder.
He made a small noise of protest, though there was amusement laced within it too. “I see you’ve grown violent in our time apart.”
“Why did you… I was only asking for a promise—I wasn’t asking you tocurseyourself—”
“I thought it would show sincerity,” he said mildly, gazing at me in the dark. “And besides,” he added under his breath, as though speaking to himself, “if for some reason I cannot see you again, then I shall suffer either way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Iclosed the doors behind him, careful to keepthem unlocked.
Then I stood with my back pressed against the cool wood, gazing up at the sky. The moon was especially clear tonight; scraps of gray clouds blew over it, outlined against its pearlescent glow. You could see every dark impression, every hollow. I remembered the myth Mother used to tell me before bedtime, about the girl who became a goddess, separated from her lover and forced to live on the moon with only her jade rabbit for company. I thought I could make out her silhouette in that play of light and shadow. I thought I could understand her loneliness.
But no point dwelling now. I shook my head, breathed slowly out.
It would be starting soon.
Instead of returning to the banquet, I followed the secret passageway Xiaomin had shown me, taking the shortcut to Lady Yu’s chambers. She was in the courtyard this time, sitting alone on theswing, rocking gently back and forth. She lifted her head at the sound of my footsteps; she did not look surprised to see me.
“Remember our agreement?” I asked, not bothering with greetings.
“Unfortunately,” she said, her voice weary. She continued swinging, letting the wind do most of the work. “What do you want?”
