Page 66 of The Poet Empress
That would be unspeakably shameful.
And not only because I would have to tell my family I ran. I knew, by now, that Ma loved me enough to not want me hurt or killed. Besides, I was a girl; unlike Pima, I could be forgiven for trying to save myself.
No, this shame was a whole new kind of shame. It was the shame of knowing I had once been in the position to kill Terren and save the nation from a tyrant ruler. To change things, really change things, the way girls in villages only dreamed of—and knowing I hadrunfrom it.
I could not mend myself. I could not run away.
Despite the agony, the resistance in every muscle, I pushed myself up. My head felt like it was floating. I tore one of the curtains from its post and wrapped it around my chest, biting my lip to stop from crying out. Though it probably would have been fine even if I did scream; likely no servant would have come to check on me either way, assuming it was a part of the childmaking act.
I bound the silk as tight around me as I could, around the knife, and hoped it was enough to slow the bleeding. Then I leaned back against the bedpost and tried to focus on staying awake. I had only to make it until morning. Terren would mend me then. I knew he would.
I knew because I had not died immediately. Even drunk, he was still precise with his magic. He’d doled out his torture to Sima Zhen so carefully, during his selection in the Hall of Divine Harmony, avoiding her vital organs until the last possible moment to prolong her suffering; she had died only a few arm’s widths from the gate. Terren could have sent that knife directly into my heart, but he didn’t.
I knew because I still hadn’t told him what I had been doing in the West Palace. If what I knew of him was correct, he was curious enough that he would not let me die before I did.
My mouth was full of the copper taste of blood, and it was gagging me. It was getting hard to breathe again.
But dying would not be so bad,a distant part of me thought.
The whispers of the Ancestors below—I could hear them now—were gentle. If I went to them, I was sure I would be welcomed warmly.
Larkspur was there. I could see her on the dawn hill, playing among the larches and wild poppies. My two older brothers were there as well—I could hear their voices—as were the ones who died after them, a boy and a girl, all laughing as they called after me—Sister! Come join us!Grandma and Grandpa, and the other elders in our village who came before us, they were all there too, smiles tugging their cheeks into a sunburst of wrinkles.
Dying would not be so bad. Instead of being among wicked princes, inside a palace full of those who wanted me dead, I would bethere,among the mists, not scared. I could braid Larkspur’s hair and chase her through the rice paddies for as long as I wished, and then I would be reborn again, in another place and another time, better ones.
But I could not, of course.
I could not die, because if I did, who would stop Terren from taking the Crown?
There were people counting on me now. The servants in the Cypress Pavilion, who were afraid but could not leave. Silian, who believed in me. Other people in Tensha who didn’t even know my name.
And my family. My parents and my brother, and everyone in Lu’an who had given me a piece of their hope to put in my offering basket. In the beginning I had come to save them from the famine. Now I was going to save them from a wicked emperor as well.
All night, I refused the call of the Ancestors, over and over again.
When dawn came, it came slow and tired. I became dimly aware of Terren’s blurry shadow over me, of a vague warmth around my chest. I smelled lilies. Then the knife became dislodged from my ribs and fell onto the bed, along with the blood-soaked curtain, and I knew he must have mended me.
“Get up,” he said. “It is time to go on our wedding retreat.”
I did not have the strength to move.
“Get up,”he said again. Louder, angrier, more panicked.
I supposed I knew the reason for his panic. Terren might delight in hurting people, but he was strategic about it. He might be willing to torture a palace servant or a commoner whenever he wished, but he rarely harmed anyone of higher status without an excuse.
He would not be able to find an excuse this time. He could have killed me any other day and perhaps explained it away, but stabbing his bridehalf to death at his wedding? On a day sacred to both Heaven and the Ancestors? That was too much of an ill omen, even for a prince known to be cruel. If word got out, I had no doubt that superstition would turn almost all of Tensha against his leadership. Even a ruler as powerful as Terren could not easily deal with a nation in revolt.
He was pacing the room now, pulling at his hair. He seemed to know he’d made a grave mistake, one he would never have made while sober.
“Terren,” I said, hoarse. “Calm down. Listen to me.”
He stilled, though he was breathing fast.
“Fetch some servants. Tell them I’ve had too much to drink and need to be carried to our retreat. If anyone asks later, I will corroborate it.” It hurt terribly just to speak. “That empty wine jar on the bed, put it beside me so it looks like I’m the one who finished it. Put my phoenix shawl on me so they will not see the knife’s tear in my gown. Light some incense to cover up the smell of blood.”
He was lucky that the room was already so red. The bloodstains were not visible unless you looked closely, and I knew Hesin would be able to deal with them.
What Terren did in the end, I never found out, since I fell unconscious not long afterwards.
