Page 115 of The Poet Empress
“I hate her,” I spat into the night. “I hate her husband a little too, if I am honest, though I do not really know why.”
Oh, wait, I did. I hated him for the same reason I hated all of them, ever since I was a little girl. Walking half a day to Guishan every New Year’s in hopes of receiving Blessings, being disappointed over and over again. I hated him every time there was no meat on the table for celebrations, and every time I had to bury a sibling from the famine, and every time Ma fell sick because she had given her share of rice to her family. I hated him before I’d even known him, and knowing him only disappointed me more.
“And besides,” I said, quiet now, “Iwant to be empress.”
It was true. I did.
I had not wanted it in the beginning, had perhaps loathed even the thought of it. But I had tasted power now—albeit because it was shoved into my mouth—and I had found that its taste was sweet. Those bathing men in Tieza, scrambling to put on robes to kneel for me, they had pleased me greatly. Aunt Ahma’s stammer as she addressed me, it had pleased me greatly. The alarm in Empress Sun’s eyes, when I told her I had stopped Terren from killing her, that had pleased me most of all.
Was it a weakness to desire it?
Perhaps, but I was no worse than the rest of them.
I took a deep breath, my gaze sweeping across the quiet graves, bathed in smoke from the incense I had placed at their bases. “All the same, it is hard to imagine myself letting Terren live. Forgiving him would not be fair to you. To any of you—everyone he has ever hurt, everyone he has killed. It is true, he has suffered, but if everyone who suffered became monsters, the world would be overrun with them.”
I remembered how my heart had stopped beating, that bloody, rain-misted dawn. I remembered how barely I was able to hold back from throwing my hands around his throat, just so I could feel the pulse of his neck-blood. Istillwanted to, but that was not practical; one could not always get what one wanted. Killing him from afar would have to do.
“So tell me,” I asked of those who had come before me, because withouttheir wisdom, I was going to get it wrong. “Tell me what I must do. The fate of a dynasty is in my hands, but they do not know I am just a girl.”
The cypress grove stayed silent, except for the gentle rustle of leaves. A nightingale crooned from somewhere amidst the canopy.
Then, movement behind me.
I spun around to find Du Hu, the elderly maid with no tongue, standing at the edge of the grove. I had no idea how long she had been here for. She must have had the same idea, to visit the graves on the day of the emperor’s funeral.
She held Wren’s scarf in her hand, the one that she had been mending for a long time. No, not mending, embroidering: she had woven a beautiful display of orchid-wrens onto its silk. She draped it around my neck—I had not realized I was cold until she did—and with a cypress branch, traced a few characters in the earth. An answer to my question. Wisdom that she had accumulated over her long life, that she had been waiting for a chance to share.
Remember who you are doing this for, and you will not be lost.
If I had a granddaughter, that is what I would tell her.
63TAMING OF THE DRAGON
The wind on coronation morning was relentless. It was as if the sky, itself torn, hungered to tear everything else apart as well.
Overnight and with stunning efficiency, the House had transformed the square in front of the Hall of Heavenly Supremacy from a white place of mourning to a bustling arena for the coronation. From between a sea of gray clouds, the angry rip in the sky bathed everything in red: the banners bearing the?/Dao sigil, draping from every rooftop and balustrade; the tapestries of past princes fighting their own dragons, billowing ferociously from the eaves; the cymbal-bearers, the auspicious bronze lion statues, the ten thousand guests crowding the balconies and the perimeter of the arena below.
It was hard for me to comprehend the sheer scale of the event. It was a scale greater than any I had seen before, even after having spent so long in the palace. Greater than the Selection Day, than my wedding, than even the emperor’s funeral.
I was in my usual seat, on the dragon rug on the top level of the terrace, my phoenix shawl wrapped tight around me. A guarded tent around me shielded the House’s most important people from the wind. A cadre of Sun Clan men, the empress, and Prince Ruyi sat in a far corner; Prince Kiran, Prince Isan, and their advisors took up another. Closest of all, not ten paces from me, was Prince Maro, Silian, and a scattering of West Palace men. Servants wove between us, pouring chrysanthemum tea, refilling plum wine, and setting out small plates of dates, soft candies, and cut fruit.
Terren was beside me on the carpet, behind a table carved withdragons. He did not eat anything, though he did take a few sips of his tea. The hand holding his cup was shaking.
“You’ll be fine,” I said to him, tritely. The heart-spirit poem I had memorized swam in my mind, truth and emotion hungering to be freed.
He stared into his cup. “Of course I will. I am very powerful.”
It struck me that this was possibly going to be the last time I spoke to him alive. I searched for something meaningful to say, but could only find another platitude. “Terren—good luck.”
He met my eyes. “Wei…” He paused, as if also searching for meaningful words, then—for all his prowess in poetry—settled on something equally mundane. “Thank you.”
A gong shuddered through the square.
It was time.
Terren took one last sip of his tea, set it down, and stood. His loose hair and plain gray robe billowed behind him as he made his way down the red carpeted stairs, from the top of the three terraces to the enormous square below. He brought just eight swords with him—perhaps opting for finesse rather than quantity—which floated beside him as he left us, around the swirling Aricine Ward.
All around the balconies, underneath the?/Dao banners and blazing torches and auspicious lanterns, the crowd of men leaned in eagerly to watch. They were all chattering excitedly, or perhaps nervously; it was impossible to hear their words over the roaring of the wind. Everyone seemed to know that no matter what happened today, the fate of the dynasty was about to change irrevocably.
