Page 48 of The Poet Empress
But the grown-ups forced him to play a different game anyway, and Maro was still young enough that he had to obey. So he took Terren to climb the Century Peach instead.
One branch, then the next, then the next. Terren clung tight to his back as they climbed. Maro liked the weight of him. Carrying him made him feel powerful and big, like a river dragon.
“Ma-ro!” Terren chimed brightly, as soon as they were out of earshot of the grown-ups. “Wanna play ‘dueling couplets’? I have a first line.”
Maro grunted as he dropped from a branch onto the roof. He set his tiny brother carefully on the eaves, then took a seat next to him, legs dangling over the steep drop over the garden. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”
“Why?”
He crossed his arms and pretended to be fuming. “Because you’re boring. You keep not fighting me. You keep playing the game wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Say it three times and I’ll forgive you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m s—”
“Okay, I forgive you,” Maro blurted out. “What’s the line?”
Terren produced a slip of paper from his pocket. It fluttered in the wind, which came cold from the mountains.
His calligraphy was beautiful. Maro envied it.“The cat lives in pursuit of the mouse,”he read. “The tree grows in pursuit of the sun.Hmm. Let me think.”
It was a game literomancers often played with one another, to practice their art. A poet would come up with the first half of a poem, and their opponent was challenged with completing it. Some of the most famous classical poems had been written as a result of “dueling couplets.”
Maro looked out at the valley as he thought—at the thousand-li view,the far peaks, the Aricine River making its slow way towards the sea. Another wind from the mountain came rushing in, sending blossoms from the Century Peach swirling absolutely everywhere.
He brightened. “Ah! I’ve got it!”
The cat lives in pursuit of the mouse;
The tree grows in pursuit of the sun.
Are we the cat or the tree, pursuers?
Are we the wind, born only to run?
One day, Terren showed up to playtime very hurt. He often got himself hurt—he was little, Maro reasoned, and fragile—but this time, it was much worse than usual. There were bruises all over his neck and collar, and when Maro rolled up his sleeve, he found patches of blue and purple there too.
“What happened?” he demanded.
It took a lot of questioning, but eventually Terren admitted he fell off a tree.
“Show me,” Maro said, his hands balling into fists. When his brother didn’t move, he repeated,“Show me the tree.”
The fury in Maro’s words must have startled him into obedience. Terren led him, limping, to the Century Peach at the far end of the garden.
That one. Of course it’s that one.Maro looked up at the giant tree, taking in its towering height and ugly flowers, and then he started hitting the lowest branch. Hard. When that didn’t seem to hurt it, he jumped up and hung himself from it, kicking and kicking at its trunk. He didn’t stop until he heard asnap,and the next moment both he and the branch had thumped onto the ground.
“Ma-ro.” Terren blinked at him, looking very confused.
“I wanted to teach it a lesson,” Maro explained, still panting. “I wanted it to know what happens when someone messes with my little brother.” He extricated himself from under the branch, wiped his bleeding knuckles on his gown, and kissed Terren on the forehead. “We’re family. Family is for keeping each other safe.”
“He is not really your family,” Master Len said, correcting Maro’s fighting stance with a steady hand. “He may seem harmless now, but he is still young enough to not covet your throne. There will come a day when you are both older, and things will not be so simple.”
The Dawn Pavilion, where Lady Sky resided and Maro was raised, was always lively with birdsong. Bushes of golden trumpet flowers blew lush in the earth-winds of summer. At the far side of the courtyard, Maro’s friends—Mei Clan’s “Little Rain” and Song Siming—were sparring with their own tutors.
It was difficult balancing in the Crane Pose, but Maro was getting better at it. “Even when we’re older,” he said defiantly, “we won’t care about thrones. We’ll still play together even when we have white hair like you.”
