Page 126 of The Poet Empress
If I had learned anything during my time in the palace, it was that if we wanted to send Blessings home—to our families, our villages, our clans—the only way was to write them ourselves. And even if it meant confining ourselves to the Azalea House, even if we had to endure being called to an emperor’s bedside and being planted for a son, at least our cries would now be heard.
Isan’s stare burned into me, brows furrowed, lips downturned. It was easy enough to forgive one girl for her literomancy, but to endorse it for many was nothing short of heresy. By accepting my last condition, he would be going against hundreds of years of law and tradition. A move that would no doubt make him many enemies in court.
A necessary move,I thought.
To grow a tree was not easy, the wait until it bore fruit long. But if the seed was not planted in the first place, nothing would ever grow.
And there was nowhere better to plant a seed, I knew, than the fertile soils of the palace. A place lush despite the famine, strong despite the wars, constant even over generations of empire changing hands. A lot of things began at the palace.
The silence between us stretched ripe and long.
At last, he said, “Agreed.”
70HOME
It was evening when I left the palace through the side entrance. The stars hung gentle overhead as the nightbirds whistled a familiar song. The branches waved with blossoms. Even the crisp mountain air came to tussle at my hair, its own kind of farewell.
A horse with a summer mane stood waiting for me. Next to it a red carriage was parked, containing what little belongings I had chosen to take. An assortment of pretty gowns, some headpieces I had grown fond of, some powder, blush, and eyebrow ink. I had finally learned how to paint my face properly, and was excited to teach the Rui sisters. The remaining space was filled with bags of haw candies, mung bean cakes, sweet gao, and other treats for the village children.
With the reins tight in my hands, I cast one last glance at the Azalea House. At its striking vermilion walls, its beautiful pillars inscribed with poetry, its ornately curved eaves. A soft stirring whispered in my heart; it really was a place worthy of the stories.
After today, would I remember it well? Would I remember the silk in its chambers, the cold lattice of its windows, the wet of its courtyard grass under my feet—or would the red palace become only a distant dream?
The gates clanged open, startling me.
A eunuch, old and white-haired, appeared at the entrance. One sleeve leaned on a cane; the other hung loose like a ghost’s.
“Hesin,” I said. I could not guess at what business he wanted with me.
“His third son emperor, Wei. Not his second nor his first. Muzha could never have predicted this outcome.”
There was no resentment in Hesin’s voice. No anger for my framinghim, no loathing for my causing him to lose his hand. I supposed he had practice with notresenting. He had served Jinzha, whom he had disapproved of, then Muzha, whom he had deemed wicked, then Terren, whom he had despised.
I wondered if Hesin had paid a large enough price for his misdeeds. I wondered ifJinzhahad, joined by all seven of his sons and now two of his grandsons. Had whatever he borrowed from the future been repaid? Was he swimming under the moonlight again, wherever he was, laughing as joyfully as he had in life?
And Muzha…
“Who did he really want on the throne?” The question came out unbidden. It did not matter anymore, but searching for answers had become something of a habit. “Why did he change his heir so suddenly, just last year?”
The emperor naming Terren, in one of his last coherent moments, was what had prompted the selection in the first place. My becoming Empress-in-Waiting, the prince’s wife, his killer—everything had followed only after.
To take on our enemies in the north,Ciyi had once led me to believe. But now I was certain it was not that simple. Truth in the palace, I had learned, was rare and doled out only sparingly.
Hesin’s expression turned grave. “He always meant to make Terren heir. Always. Ever since the night we heard about the second son’s sigil: a military one, one that can conquer nations.Hesin,he told me in private,now I will finally be worthy.He had always been so ashamed while he was alive, of how the borders of Tensha had shrunk during his reign instead of grown.With the amplified Dao sigil fighting for my legacy,he told me,I will finally become immortal in the ballads.”
“But he did not name him heir then.”
“No.” Sorrow creased the lines on his face. “He wanted to wait until the last possible moment. He did not want his sons to know it was decided.”
I remembered Maro leaning his cheek on the windowsill, dreaming of leading the nation with integrity, with pride. How hard he had worked for Tensha. How he had bled for it. And Terren, too—the war, the suffering, all those broken years in Tieza. None of it had mattered.
Are you so sure the emperor will keep you as heir?Hesin had snapped atMaro once, the night Taifong had been killed. The eunuch had known, all those years, what lay in wait for them at the end of their road—even as the princes themselves remained oblivious.
A cruelty, perhaps. But I was no longer in a position to judge.
“He wanted them to fight,” I said quietly.
Hesin nodded. “Would the West Palace have worked so desperately to build those roads, if they never believed they had a chance? Would the East Palace have fought so hard for Tieza, if everything was already decided? Muzha was not a good man, Wei, but he was clever.Put a mountain before a man,he once told me,and if he is worth anything, he is certain to climb it.”
