Page 65 of The Poet Empress
He was brilliant, I thought, but he was the wrong kind of brilliant.
He might know poetry and words, but that was not the same as knowing the hearts of people. Especially people like me, who could never make themselves heard in books. Why bother to know our hearts when it was far easier to make us afraid?
I supposed that was why he needed Hesin.
“This past year,” I said quietly, “I’ve kept your secret, haven’t I? I have always lied for you against Sun Jia and the other concubines. The empress keeps prying and threatening me, but still I have not told her a thing. And don’t you remember in summer, when the rumors came? I saved us from the doctors then.”
It was obvious now why he’d chosen me as his wife, the one person he could call upon exclusively without raising eyebrows. He hadn’t wanted the position to fall to Sun Jia, or Kang Rho, or anyone else from a distinguished family‚ been forced to summonthemaccording to the whims of the moon.
He couldn’t threaten anyone else to keep their mouths shut about his condition—not without risking retaliation from a Great Clan—but me, he could torture however he wished.
And besides, with my low status, nobody would believe me even if I did tell.
“None of the things you mention were for my benefit.” His voice dripped with disdain. “Each time, you were only trying to save yourself.”
“Maybe so, but they still prove that I am capable. Capable of helping you, defending you. Fighting for you. And I will continue to do so from now on, even if I don’t need to save myself, because you are my husband and I have made a pledge.”
He started to reply but swayed forward suddenly, unsteadily. His hand flew to his temple as he grimaced. “Ahh…”
“Terren.” I made my voice gentle. “Do you need me to get you something to eat?”
He shook his head, though there was a sheen of sweat on his face.
“Some tea might help.” I thought of all the drunk men I’d seen in Guishan late at night, in the gambling houses, their wives coming with ginger tea and angry words to drag them home.
“No. I only need…” He looked around, found his half-empty jar of wine, and downed the rest of it in one long, disgusting gulp. Then he sank heavily onto his pillow and closed his eyes.
I went to get him the tea anyway. I would have prayed that the wine would kill him while I was gone, except I was pretty sure the Aricine Ward protected him from that too.
By the time I was back, he still hadn’t moved. I set the still-steaming pot on the bedside table and said, “Try to have some when you have the chance. It will help you feel better in the morning. I also got some mung bean cakes as well, to soak up the wine.”
“Wei,” he murmured. His eyes were still closed, his knife still on the bed next to him, folded in lilies and vines.
I sat close to him. “What is it, my prince?”
“I am beginning to suspect,” he said, in barely a whisper, “that you are not afraid enough of me.”
His sigil glowed without warning. From its bed of flowers, the knife shot up and plunged itself into my chest.
38RED
At first I felt nothing. I only saw the knife going into my body, like looking at a water-painting. The bloodstain on my chest grew like pomegranate blossoms, as red as everything else in the room—the curtains, the lucky lanterns, the azalea petals scattered across the bed and carpet.
Then the pain did come, and it came all at once and everywhere.
For a while I just lay there, gasping for breath. Red was fading to black. I tried to grasp at my throat, to open it and let more air in, but it wasn’t working. Then my arms became tired, and I let them drop onto the sheets. There was nothing to do but stare at the ceiling, muraled with fearsome dragons, watching my vision darken. I did not cry, but only because I was too weak to do anything at all.
Wei, think.
It was hard, through the agony and the slow haze of my mind, but I forced myself to do it,think.
The wound in me had been made by a blade. I knew mending spells, for blades.
In the corner of my eye, I could see the movements of Terren’s ward slowing. He was falling into a wine sleep. He would not notice if I traced a Dao mending spell on the ground, closed my wound, and saved myself.
But then what? I closed my eyes, imagining it. Terren would find out I was literate. He would kill me anyway.
I could mend myself and then run, just like Pima had. I could hide in the storerooms until I was well, and then find my way to the capital. I could keep running from Terren and his inevitable search armies—because he was definitely vindictive enough to go after me—and hope I made my wayto Lu’an in time to warn my family, because he would definitely go after my relations too.
