Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 3, July 2013 (5 page)

Ten days later, Mung-laan was beaten for allowing me to so openly consort with a man in public. Never mind anything that might have happened in the private room at Madame Wu’s, though my maids had been in earshot the entire time and Sek-fung had not leaped to my defense. Jing-lung was sent away to fight on the western frontier. Imperial Father did not punish me himself. He knew what had happened to Mung-laan and Jing-lung would hurt deeper than any blow.

On the day of my twenty-sixth birthday, Eunuch Lei dared to suggest to the Emperor that it was time for me to marry. Unlike a son, my reproductive years were limited, and as a woman I could not increase my chances for a child by taking concubines. Imperial Father silenced him with a glare so sharp Eunuch Lei fell to his knees and apologized for his impertinence. I had no doubt the Emperor was very aware that a held daughter could only wait so long before she was no longer of any use for the purpose she was held.

For a period of time, Imperial Father had hope that he would no longer need me. When one of his concubines became heavy with child, the geomancers prayed daily around her, asking the Five Gods to deliver a healthy boy, but the palace was soon graced with a sixth princess, much to the chagrin of the Emperor. I could feel his black mood just walking past the door to his study.

“What do you think of Minister Wing-gat’s son Chi-ji?” he asked me one night as we pored over a new proclamation.

“He is quick to speak,” I said, “and like a charging bull he does not easily stop, but he has a sharp mind. We can use him.”

Imperial Father nodded with approval of my assessment, but I thought I saw a shadow darken his face. Perhaps he had not been considering a government appointment and instead a son-in-law. But Chi-ji was not fit to be the consort of a
wongdai
. An empress must let her husband rule, and so must any consort of mine should I be formally named heir. It was a reversal a man would find difficult. Some men answered to their wives regardless through force of personality, but for me, my husband would answer as well to the Daughter of Heaven.

“How about Magistrate Chung-ping of Ying Ga?” said the Emperor.

“The Ying Ga corruption was investigated by him, but I have heard that he was a part of the scandal and covered his involvement by turning against the officials beneath him.” I grimaced. “And he already has a wife.”

Imperial Father gave me a sharp look and I realized I had spoken out of turn. Magistrate Chung-ping was surely not for me. A
wongdai
would never be concubine to another man.

Jing-lung married during this time, and though I was disappointed, I knew it would happen. His family would not allow him to remain unmarried forever. He had redeemed himself out on the frontier and come back with victories enough that Imperial Father named him sub-commander to the General of the West. He was a man to be proud of, but when I next saw him in the palace I found I didn’t want to ask him about his campaign, or hear the story from his own lips, about how he had saved the wounded General Song from the barbarians and rallied his undermanned battalion to hold their fort.

So when I saw him, walking out from the audience hall and into the courtyard, I just asked him, “Are you all right?”

And I watched him standing there, knowing who I was, but uncertain of himself. He looked splendid in his formal robes with the lion insignia of his rank emblazoned on the front, and I thought the red and black felt cap of an official suited him especially well. He lifted his arms, then dropped them to his sides and bowed. “Fourth Princess.”

“Please rise.”

He could not hold me as he had in the shadows of Madame Wu’s where we had gone to eat lotus cakes. It was not that a man was forbid another woman. Gossip thrived on the stories of a man who neglected his wife in favor of the concubine he truly adored. But I was still Fourth Princess and a held daughter. Jing-lung would not make the mistake that had sent him to the frontier a second time.

“I am well,” he told me.

“Will you be in the capital long?”

“Through the new year, then I will return to the west.”

“How dangerous is it out there?”

“Better than it was, Fourth Princess. The barbarians have been beaten back and they lick their wounds. We will probably not hear from them for a while, but the border must be secured to discourage them from returning.”

It was the appropriate response, from a soldier reporting to the royal family, but it was not what I wanted to know. I wanted to know how dangerous it was
for him
, to know what his chances were for returning another time. I turned away, not wanting my feelings to show. We were in the courtyard, and there were too many people who could see.

“Fourth Princess,” said Jing-lung, “I will be careful. When you are Emperor I will be there to lead your army.”

I sighed. “Don’t say such things. You are not yet a general, and Imperial Father has not given up.”

“You are right, Fourth Princess, but the flow of a river cannot be stopped. I am certain the Emperor is aware.”

By the time I was twenty-eight, most of the palace maids I’d known as a child had been freed from service to marry and begin families of their own. I had a new set of maids, but they still marveled at the held daughter, and gossiped about how long I would wait.

Jing-lung told me not to worry, and I was happy that he still had words for me. He was often away from the palace, but he never forgot me. I liked to spend time with him in the imperial garden, in a pavilion surrounded by the empress’s favorite lilies, where we would watch the mandarin ducks as the pairs swam together in the perfect image of married harmony.

My new maids did not know of my history with Jing-lung, so they obeyed when I shooed them a respectful distance away, but because we could never be sure who would hear, Jing-lung and I only talked about the situation at the border; details about army strength, patrols, supply lines.

I did not know if he had children, what he thought of his wife, or how much time he spent at home. I wanted us to be the ducks in the pond, bonded for life, but that possibility had already passed us by.

I was twenty-nine when Imperial Father finally announced that I would take the role of Crown Prince. My youngest sibling could also have been made prince, but by now the Emperor had invested so much in me that he was loath to have to teach a second heir. I suspected with his growing age that if he had sired a boy yesterday he still would not have changed me for the babe. He was done with children now and warmed himself with the thought of grandchildren.

His first three daughters and the fifth had children, and he would read about them in letters from their husbands and visit them if time and distance allowed, but I had yet to marry. Imperial Father decided he would fix that.

At the Green Dragon Festival we welcomed the spring, and in the lantern light of the evening banquet he called me before him and invited Yan-cheung of the Horse Clan to join us. The empress praised how good we looked together and the Emperor nodded in agreement. It was no whimsical decision, I knew, but a way to politely present us in public together for the first time.

Yan-cheung was tall and thin with oversized hands, but he had a scholarly look to his face that spoke of wisdom. He was not as old as I, but that was to be expected. Most families did not hold their sons from marrying.

He was an eldest son as well. His family was eager indeed to relinquish their best for the future
wongdai
. I would have to be wary of them. If I was not careful they would seek to control me through their son, and Yan-cheung might have plans of his own as well. His father was already a favored minister of Imperial Father, so plainly his family would seek to keep the power they already had.

I had not spoken with Yan-cheung before, but I knew him to be a promising official of good reputation and a geomancer besides. Being the eldest son of an already prominent family he was an elegant match worthy of a female
wongdai
. He was not Jing-lung, but he would do, and I would be charitable to him so long as he understood his place.

An auspicious day was chosen for our wedding, and many of the prominent officials and their families were invited. Jing-lung as well. I knew from the military dispatches that he would return from the border and be in the capital during the time of the wedding. I did not know what I would say to him, but as an officer of the third rank he could not in good faith refuse to come.

The Imperial Palace was festooned with red banners and crimson lanterns. The geomancers blessed the halls in the name of the Vermilion Bird of the South, lighting celebratory fires with no spark but the touch of their hands, and the women wore feather-shaped hairpins of red jade in their headdresses.

My maids wove my hair tight and carefully pinned the winged wooden frame atop my head, beaded tassels hanging down to either side, and over that they draped the red veil of my wedding dress. Traditionally the groom would remove it once he joined his bride at her bridal bed, but I determined I would remove it myself. I would not be his. He would be mine. It was into my family he was marrying and our children would bear the name of my clan. I would be
wongdai
.

Yan-cheung was gracious throughout the ceremony and at the banquet that followed. He did nothing, said nothing, to tarnish my reputation as heir, but how could he with Imperial Father still alive and attending? I knew the Emperor’s concubines made plays at power, my own mother among them, trying to sway Imperial Father’s opinions if he was willing to listen. Fairly or not, I could not discount the possibility that Yan-cheung would think he would have my undivided attention.

As the banquet wore on I realized that I had yet to see Jing-lung among the guests. Concerned that I had missed him, I asked one of my maids if he had come at all, and she had not seen him. Disappointed, I wondered if he had been so heartbroken he would risk the Emperor’s disfavor rather than see me married to another.

I learned the answer a few days later when apologies arrived that General Syun-hoi’s household was in mourning. Jing-lung’s wife had died of illness.

He was free again, but I was not.

My first son was born when I was thirty-two. Imperial Father, now in ill health, was thrilled to see that our dynasty would continue. He rarely left his study anymore and no longer traveled to see our brethren in the north. If not for my son I would have traveled in his place this year. Instead I sent Yan-cheung, who I found I could trust, even if I could not love.

The palace geomancers offered to make me twin sachets, bonded together so that the two people who wore them would know the feelings of the other even when they were far apart. The geomancers would fill them with herbs and dried flowers, scents that would remind me and Yan-cheung of our time together, so the fragrance of the sachets would know that they belonged to each other, would share feelings with one another, after the geomancers prayed upon them and bestowed the blessings of the Green Dragon of the East. They believed the sachets would ease my parting from Yan-cheung, especially in this time while our baby was young. But I knew I would not miss him nearly enough for that, and I could think of no scent that would remind me of Yan-cheung. I thought only of lilies and ducks in the imperial garden.

Jing-lung came by the next time he was in the capital and I took his report in the Emperor’s place. By now he was an officer of the first rank, and Imperial Father said he would soon name him the new General of the West. Jing-lung would be a general to lead my army once I became Emperor, just as he promised.

After my servants brought tea to my office, I dismissed them and bade Jing-lung sit in one of the chairs along the wall. I had no difficulty in following the army movements he discussed. By now, I had a good head for both military and political affairs, even if I should never set foot near an actual battle myself. Jing-lung did not try to pass failure for success either. Some less scrupulous officials hoped that I in my womanhood and Imperial Father in his dotage would not catch the mistakes or even outright corruption on their part, but I had to be ruthless. No one could question my right to the throne.

When all news had been given, we sat in awkward silence. Then I asked, “Are you happy on the border?”

He paused, gathering his thoughts, and said, “It is rough, but I have gotten comfortable there. Even the dust does not bother me as much as it once did.”

“Your family has pleaded otherwise. They say you have not remarried, and they fear it is because the border is not a safe place for a highborn lady. Would you like to be stationed closer to the capital?”

He clenched his hands and looked away. “Fourth Princess, why do you have to make such an offer? My parents, they have grandchildren through my brother so their line is safe, but my duty on the border is the only reason I have not to remarry. Father wants to arrange something for me, but I can tell him that I am making this sacrifice for the Emperor, because he trusts me, and I cannot care for a wife while I am so far away. Yin-jan, my departed wife, did nothing wrong, but I was never there for her.”

I reached out to him, wanting to hold him, but I only touched his shoulder. Jing-lung could never be
wonghau
to my
wongdai
. I already had my husband, now titled as a prince.