Page 67 of The Poet Empress
When I woke up next, I was in the mountains, in the temple where we would spend our wedding retreat in only each other’s company.
39FLEETING FOOTPRINTS, LASTING CARVINGS
After the doctor’s diagnosis, Maro started going to the tunnel with only Master Ganji and nobody else. The fewer witnesses, they reasoned, the less of a chance somebody would figure out the truth behind his illness.
It had been easy to cover up. Since Maro was much younger than the age Heavenly Fatigue usually struck, and he didn’t have the more telling symptoms of confusion, nausea, or blood-cough, Doctor Shu’s explanation for why he’d fainted in the tunnel—“the prince has simply overworked himself”—was accepted without question.
After all, hewasoverworking himself.
He was so tired that he hardly had the energy to keep up with his daily journal. His entries grew sparser. Some he had to fill in afterwards. Others were written by Terren; I recognized the calligraphy.
I imagined the way Maro must have lain in bed at night, eyes closed and exhausted, murmuring instructions to his brother in the room they shared by lanternlight.
“Make sure to note that we had fresh persimmons for supper,” he might have said, one of the days. “That Governor Tun had sent them from Milong Province as a gift to us.” Or on another, “Write down that I’ve hit a stretch of really hard rock. That I don’t think I’ll make much progress for a while.”
Very rarely, when he had energy to spare, he would ask Terren to compose poetry with him. “Give me a line. I want to play ‘dueling couplets.’”
“Okay.”
“It better be good.”
“Okay!”
It is easy to make fleeting footprints in the snow;
It is hard to make lasting marks in the stone.
Shall I dance ten thousand steps, unwitnessed?
Shall I make one carving, forever known?
Just like Hesin had said, Terren gained his magic while in the mountains, at the age of nine. It happened while Maro was at the tunnel. When he returned with Master Ganji that evening, he found the entire fortress in celebration.
Rice wine was being passed around like stories; bone flute music swirled in the air like snow. Colorful lanterns bearing the?/Dao sigil lit up ice and stone, and banners carrying the red azalea flapped defiantly against mountain winds. The entire imperial delegation of hundreds was laughing, feasting, or drinking.
And, at the center of it all, Terren.
Master Ganji’s face had turned a dark mask of anger, but Maro could hardly contain his excitement. He even forgot his exhaustion as he dashed straight for his brother, nearly bowling him over with a hug. “Terren! I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
It was the eunuch An Sui, one of Terren’s advisors, who answered for him. “We did send someone to the Salt Road, but the guards turned us away. They said you told them not to disturb you for any reason, however important.”
Maro laughed sheepishly. “Well, that’s true.” He then turned to his brother. “How do you feel? Do you like your new power?”
Terren started to reply, but his attention was promptly pulled away by General Wu. “Your Highness.” The broad man fell to one knee before the second prince. “Heaven has been kind to us, that an Azalea son’s power should be the exact one we need most. Please accept my pledge of loyalty.” Behind him was a large crowd of military men, all waiting for a turn to speak with the dynasty’s newest seal-bearer.
Maro was too tired to stay long. “I’ll see you tonight,” he told Terren, though he wasn’t sure if his brother had heard. Then he pulled the hood of his cloak up and started back in the direction of his bedchamber. He wove through the bonfires, through clusters of men singing, celebrating,and reciting poems. They were roasting lamb skewers and frying savory pancakes over the fire, and the smoky smell of them made him sick. He had very little appetite these days.
Pieces of their conversation rose above the fire’s crackle. “With the second son’s power, will we finally vanquish the Lian?”
“At long last, we can take back the rebel provinces.”
“Perhaps our armies will be as fearsome as in the days of the Shouyuan Emperor.”
And then, far more insidiously: “His power is better than his older brother’s.”
Maro couldn’t help but overhear the whispers. They were everywhere.
“The Yongkai Emperor values conquest and military achievement. Yet the crown prince has not made a dent in recapturing lost territory.”
