Page 39 of The Poet Empress
Those days were some of the most peaceful I can remember. Days when both the Inner Court and the Outer Court did not fight, and the future of the dynasty seemed prosperous.
I miss those days so desperately, Lady Yin.
One morning, Terren let himself into my office. Without a word, he placed a stuffed animal, white fur matted with mud and leaves, onmy desk next to the ink and open scrolls.Tiger.Then he set down the shell of an enormous, petrified snail.Niu Niu.Then a whistle made of cherrywood, carved to resemble a young bird.Little Sparrow.
Maro burst through the door behind him. “He wants you to keep his friends safe,” he explained. “We’re going to play hide-and-seek by the carp pond, and he doesn’t want to accidentally drop them.”
I watched as they left giddily out the door. It was the first time Terren had ever let go of his toys willingly, and I felt a deep and indelible stirring in my heart.
After that, the little prince asked me to look after his toys more and more often. One day, he didn’t even come back for them. Tiger, Niu Niu, and Little Sparrow stayed on my desk, forgotten.
“You can’t just stand there,” Maro declared with a huff. “You have to fight back!” He picked up the oakwood sword his brother had dropped and pushed it into his arms. “Come on. Again.”
Terren had to use both hands to lift the blade. His tiny fingers barely closed around its hilt.
“Ready? I’m going to come at you again. This time, raise your sword. Strike.”
I was sitting under a peach tree not far from where they were playing, pretending to read a scroll while watching them with one eye. Maro charged forward again—and this time, he bowled Terren over, sending both of them rolling in the grass.
“No, no, no!” Maro shook his head. “You’re playing the game wrong. Haven’t your tutors taught you anything? It’s easy. Just swing it like this.” He leapt to his feet and demonstrated.
Terren propped himself up and rubbed at his temples.
Lady Sky looked up from her embroidery. “Go easy on your brother. He’s a lot smaller than you. You could hurt him.”
“Don’t worry, Mother.” Maro grinned, pulled Terren up with both hands, and brushed off the blossoms still sticking to his gown. “Look, he’s fine. He’s not even crying.”
It was true, but the young prince did seem a little tired from Maro running at him all morning. I was relieved when his mother said, “Idon’t think he knows how to fight yet. Maybe you should play a different game.”
Maro pinched his lips into a pout. “Fine. A different game.” He swept his gaze across the garden—at the pavilions, the visitors sitting under the gazebos, the pond full of shining carp—and brightened when it fell on the biggest tree in the garden. “Hesin’s not looking,” he whispered to Terren, presumably believing I was out of hearing range. “That means we can climb the Century Peach.”
Terren’s eyes widened with excitement, which pleased Maro so much he laughed and grabbed his hand. “Come on!”
He led him all the way to the edge of the garden, by a pagoda with eight golden-roofed layers. Next to it stood the biggest and oldest peach tree in Tensha, huge branches spidering wide and into the sky. Its magic, according to an ancient legend, was what made it spring in the garden year-round.
It was not difficult to climb, and provided easy access to the top roof of the pagoda, with the view of a thousand li. I had made it there myself, with Jinzha and the other palace boys, when I had been young enough to be reckless. I did not forbid them, though I knew that the emperor would have wanted me to.
Instead, I pretended not to notice as Maro hoisted Terren onto his back. With his little brother clinging tightly to him, he climbed onto the lowest branch, then the second, then the third, until they were out of sight, somewhere safe above the canopy of blossoms.
Their close relationship filled me with unspeakable joy. The Yongkai Emperor might have killed his brothers to seize the throne—like so many other princes in eras past—but for the first time, it seemed the cycle would be broken. Perhaps the two Azalea princes, I thought, were the ones Muzha and I had been waiting for. The ones who would clean up the mess we had made of our dynasty.
A little less foolish, a little less wicked.
But I had no idea just how quickly things would fall apart.
It all started the day Terren wrote his first spell, at an age before most boys could even read.
He was—is—brilliant. That is no exaggeration, Lady Yin. All the Azalea House sons are gifted, necessarily—born to fathers who were emperors and mothers selected among millions, taught by the nation’s best tutors on everything from classics to calligraphy, to statecraft and music. But even so, even among the shining legacy of the Guan line, Terren was exceptional.
We did not know it for a long time.My brother is the cleverest,Maro kept telling us, but none of us believed him. How could we, when the prince spoke little, hid often?
“He-sin.” That wet and gray afternoon, Terren had wandered over to where I was sitting. Maro was ill and convalescing in his mother’s pavilion, and I supposed that was why he had come to me.
I looked up from my scroll. “Your Highness. What is it?”
His eyes glistened with tears. “He-sin.” He pointed to the pond. “Come see.”
I trudged after him as he led the way towards the water, mud and blossoms sticking to the soles of our shoes. He stopped over a bridge. Under it, a carp floated on its side, a bleeding gash across its golden scales. An animal must have gotten to it, perhaps a hawk or one of the palace’s many cats.
