The Dragon and the Pearl (6 page)

‘You shouldn’t be left alone. Not after what happened.’

What happened? ‘I wasn’t in any danger from anyone besides you.’

He didn’t answer for a long stretch; she was afraid she’d been too bold.

‘Accept a peace offering, then,’ he said finally.

He lifted a bundle wrapped in canvas on to the table. She stared at him in surprise as he beckoned for her to open it. Theirs was the oddest of acquaintances. She couldn’t decipher what Li Tao was to her. Adversary, protector, companion. Madman.

Perhaps she was mad as well. Why else would she be tempted to accept the tainted protection he offered? She could hide away in the cover of the bamboo forest.

Her message to the Emperor was already travelling toward the capital. Even if Li Tao wasn’t so unpredictable, she couldn’t stay. When Emperor Shen came for him, she could be implicated as a co-conspirator even though she had been brought there against her will. Or worse, they would come with swords and arrows with no pause to sort out who was who.

She reached for the bindings, but hesitated, remembering another package she’d opened in his presence.

‘It’s not a trap,’ he replied when she looked to him.

The image of the fifteen daggers haunted her. She was afraid to ask about the strange delivery, as if the mystery would hold her captive if she uncovered it.

She untied the knots while Li Tao leaned back to watch her. His offering was somewhat awkward given the circumstances, yet oddly earnest because of it. The canvas peeled away to reveal a lacquered case inlaid with abalone shell. She gasped when she lifted the lid and saw the musical instrument inside. The arrangement of the silk strings over wooden bridges sent a flutter of delight through her. She’d left her
qin
by the river with the rest of her abandoned belongings.

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘The instrument maker told me this was his finest work,’ Li Tao said. ‘But I have no eye for such things.’

She ran her fingers over the polished surface board, teasing the strings. The clear notes rose in the air with a sense of freedom.

‘You’re glowing.’ His tone held its own hint of pleasure.

She looked to him and wished that she hadn’t seen the quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He was focused on her. Always on her.

‘Did you ever hear me play, Governor?’

‘I never had that honour.’

‘Madame Ling taught me. She taught me everything.’ She lifted the instrument from its case and set it carefully on to the carved legs. ‘In Luoyang, I would play in the front room for an hour each night,’ she said, bubbling with excitement as she adjusted the tuning knobs. ‘Only one hour, nothing more. I would close my eyes and play and all of those men would fall madly in love with me.’

His mouth curved the tiniest bit upwards. ‘Every single one?’

‘Every single one.’

In the entertainment district of Luoyang, she would sit behind a sheer curtain to build an aura of mystery. Wealthy patrons struggled to catch a glimpse of her through the gauze. Some would offer to pay for just a look.

Unless the offer was exorbitantly high, Madame usually refused, laughing at her own cleverness. ‘The picture of you they have formed in their minds is more beautiful than you could ever be.’

Her parents had forfeited her in name and body, thinking she would be betrothed to some merchant. They hadn’t known the well-dressed servants were actually kidnappers who supplied the entertainment quarters. Her den mother, Madame Ling, had given her the surname that would later become known throughout the empire.

Li Tao settled comfortably in his seat as she positioned her fingers over the strings. Suyin attached the ivory guards over her fingers and plucked out three notes, letting herself sink into the sound and vibration.

‘What song would you like to hear?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know any.’

The way he watched her made her heart ache with anticipation. He folded his hands before him, his demeanor relaxed and indulgent for once. The intimacy of the moment struck her—to be playing for him for pleasure with nothing between them. No curtain and none of the artifice of Luoyang.

Except there would always be deception between them. She was plotting her escape and he was looking for some way to use her.

‘You’ll like this one,’ she promised. She looked down to the strings as if that was enough hide the lies. ‘It’s about a battle.’

Lady Ling had the most exquisite hands. They moved in waves over the strings, one hand pulling at the silk strings to test them, the other adjusting the wooden bridges. The scattered notes floated through the air, not yet forming music. Her expression took on a tranquil look. She tilted her head to listen to nuances of tone that were beyond his ears. Maybe that was how she read people so well, catching the subtle meanings hidden in voice and inflection.

Finally she straightened her shoulders and poised her fingers over the span of the strings. She inhaled, gathering herself, and began to play.

The legend was that Ling
Guifei
had charmed the August Emperor with her music. She commanded the universe when she played, the trees and the stars. That part was poetic nonsense, but the music pulled at him inside and out. The rhythm sent his blood rushing through his veins.

She played with her eyes closed. He closed his own eyes, joining her in the darkness. She had said the song depicted a battle, but nothing of the sort came to mind, no lofty images of horses and banners waving or battalions clashing over hills. Only darkness and a pure sound that filled him, creeping into spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

Desire flooded his body, the dull throb building to an acute pain that would not let go. His hand tightened on the arm of the chair.

Ling Suyin was exactly the sort of person Lao Sou would have recruited: talented, resourceful and cunning. He wanted her regardless—the warmth of her skin, the reluctant willingness of her mouth. He even wanted her detachment and her defiance. Would the Old Man have predicted that as well?

As the final notes struck, he opened his eyes.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ She played on. The second song flowed over his mind like cool water, but did nothing to ease the ache in his body.

‘You play well.’

‘Such ardent praise,’ she reprimanded lightly. Her fingers continued to walk along the strings gently.

‘Don’t you tire of compliments? Look at Jun over there. He won’t blink for fear of losing the sight of you.’

She laughed and the sound puffed up his chest. At the other end of the courtyard, Jun slinked further behind the shrubbery, realising he had been caught. Li Tao couldn’t fault the boy. Greater men had found themselves helpless at this woman’s feet. The music lulled him into the first sense of peace he had allowed himself in long time. He wanted to sink into the dream and accept where it took him.

‘Where do you go every day?’ she asked in a tone of disinterest.

‘Nowhere you would find entertaining.’

This must be how she was able to pry secrets from the most powerful men in the empire. He had no skill for filling silence with conversation, but he found himself wanting to do so. To reciprocate the moment she had created.

‘I received another imperial summons to appear before Emperor Shen in Changan,’ he stated. Nothing secret about that, it being an imperial proclamation.

The gentle music faltered before continuing. The notes took on a hint of shrillness beneath the soft warmth.

‘Then you must go and make peace with Emperor Shen.’ Suyin stared down at the instrument.

Was that concern he detected?

‘Once they have me in Changan, it’ll be the death of me.’

‘If you don’t go, they’ll hang you as a traitor.’

‘They behead traitors, Ling
Guifei
,’ he replied mildly.

She flattened the strings with her hand to stop the sound. ‘Why do you insist on calling me that?’

‘To remind myself that you are not mine.’

Silence hung between them.

‘But you don’t want me,’ she said, her tone cutting. ‘Other than for one night.’

‘One night can last a very long time.’

The blush in her cheeks caught him off guard. He had assumed such flirtation was second nature to a seasoned courtesan.

‘I don’t wish to see you hanged…or beheaded.’

‘Not without a fight,’ he promised.

‘War and death. That’s all men like you know.’ She pushed the instrument aside and sank back as if it no longer held any joy for her.

‘This summons is an ambush. The imperial court has all the power in Changan. I’ll face whoever comes for me here, on my own terms.’

Suyin fell silent. She tapped her fingertips thoughtfully against the tabletop as she struggled with her next words.

‘Please reconsider,’ she said finally.

‘There’s nothing to consider. Gao has the court in his palm,’ he said.

She made an impatient sound. ‘I told Auntie you wouldn’t listen to anyone.’

That left them at a standstill, staring at each other across the field of battle. But she wasn’t quite the enemy. He traced the shape of her mouth and the curve of her throat. Suyin’s breathing quickened in response. No one else dared to suggest that he back down. Certainly no one had counselled him regarding his own welfare.

She was beautiful.

She was complicated.

There wasn’t a thread of trust between them, yet he still wanted her. Discipline and caution meant nothing when she was near.

‘Tell me one thing,’ she said. ‘What does the dagger mean?’

‘It’s a reminder.’

‘Of what?’

‘Shibao.’

‘The siege against Tibet.’

Of course she knew the history. She had been Emperor Li Ming’s consort for fifteen years. She’d shared the sovereign’s bed. Resentment flowed like poison through Li Tao’s veins. Jealous of a dead man. There wasn’t a more worthless emotion.

‘One of the worst defeats of the empire,’ he said.

‘But you were commended for your bravery. Everyone knew your name after that battle.’

‘It was undeserved.’ He wasn’t being humble. If she meant to appeal to his sense of honour and duty, it didn’t exist. ‘In the end, all debts must be paid. The message of the dagger is that no one can be careful for ever.’

If only she knew the truth behind the legends. He was no hero. He was tempted to tell her everything, but with the old empire falling to ruin around them, it made no difference any longer.

Chapter Six

Shibao, Tibet—
AD
745
14 years earlier

F
acing death on the battlefield was different from facing death in the dingy corners of the city. In battle, the sheer crush of bodies made survival unpredictable. Skill meant nothing in the thick of it. Planning, valour, strength…nothing. That was what made this task all the more challenging. He could come out alive or he could succeed in his mission. One or the other, but not both.

By now, Li Tao knew what the eve of battle felt like, knew the taste of it in the air. He’d been inserted into the growing forces of the imperial army for the last five years. In his first battle, he hadn’t even been issued a sword, but the Emperor’s continued excursions into foreign lands to gain territory had given Li Tao plenty of opportunity to climb the ranks. Today, he lined up shoulder to shoulder among the first battalion, stationed near the dragon banner on the fields of Shibao. In the distance, the flags of the Tibetan kingdom waved in challenge.

The August Emperor himself walked the line. This was no fattened monarch who watched over the battle from a hilltop in the distance. The Emperor would ride where the battle was thickest, urging men forwards with his will. To all who witnessed it, he was truly invincible, the Son of Heaven.

Li Tao had to admit the Emperor was a natural leader of men. He was at his best amidst the stamp of horses’ hooves and the clash of swords. His detractors scorned that he was far more comfortable on a saddle than on the throne. Several attempts on his life had been made in the imperial palace, but all had failed. His death today would be a kindness, a warrior’s death.

Like every other man, Li Tao bowed low as the Emperor passed by. Inexplicably, the Emperor halted. His face displayed weary lines from sleeping in the same tents as his men and eating by the same cooking fires. The studded bands of his armour were dulled with dust and blood.

‘What is your name, swordsman?’

He straightened. ‘Li Tao, Imperial Majesty.’

This seemed to please the Emperor. ‘We share our family name. Perhaps a hundred years ago, our ancestors were kinsmen.’

Li Tao raised his fist humbly to his chest. ‘This soldier can only hope to bring honour to our name today.’

As he expected, the corners of the Emperor’s eyes creased in a rare moment of good humour before battle. The ruling classes were slaves to lofty ideals of honour and glory. He could spout empty words and lure them like gulls.

Li Tao wasn’t even his true name.

‘May you wield your blade with honour today.’

The Emperor spoke the blessing and reached over to grip Li Tao’s shoulder. His fingers tightened briefly. With a nod, the Emperor continued down the line.

Li Tao followed the view of the Emperor’s back until the sovereign disappeared in a sea of leather and steel. An ill-fated twinge settled in his chest. The unwelcome gesture had been almost fatherly.

AD
759—Present day

Li Tao emerged through the pass with his sentry at his flank. In the shadow of the ridge, the bamboo stalks shot up through the loamy earth to form a corridor. The drift of the green canopy beckoned his return.

The bamboo sea had cloaked the troops he had amassed and trained over the years. This hidden army could very well be seen as a sign of treason, though the other
jiedushi
had done the same. They could anticipate the unrest that would follow the fall of a great Emperor. Men like Gao Shiming sought to capitalise on the instability to gain power while Li Tao fought to maintain order, even if he had to defy Changan.

Cool forest air surrounded him like a long, drawn-out sigh. His thoughts shifted from the tension of the barricades back to his infamous guest. Before he realised it, he was urging his horse into a gallop over the final stretch of road winding up to the mansion.

A constant restlessness had taken root within him. At night, he would lie on a pile of rugs in the nagging darkness of the barracks and conjure up a swirl of coloured silk beneath his eyelids. In the silent stretch before dawn, he imagined Suyin’s voice and the elusive scent of her perfume. All trace of her would disappear by the time the troops assembled in the morning and he would issue his commands without any thought to her. Then night would come again.

He needed to be rid of her. The temptation was too great.

He needed to keep her close. The temptation was too great.

At the house, he dismounted and strode through the side entrance. The stillness of the interior pricked his awareness, the absence of footsteps or the murmur of voices. No one came to greet him in the front hall. Even on the slowest of days, he expected a measure of activity in the late afternoon as the servants completed their chores.

The minute jump in his pulse was followed by a chilling calm. He slipped the blade from beneath his sleeve and stepped soundlessly through the main salon, his weight shifting on to the balls of his feet. He searched the corners and scanned each dim corridor. At the portico, the lilt of a familiar voice floated to him.

‘Was that the sound of riders?’

With a deep breath, he slid the weapon back into its sheath and adjusted his sleeve with a sharp tug before moving out into the open air. The doors of the sitting room had been propped open to provide a view into the gardens. The last of the tension drained from him when he saw the layers of yellow silk wrapped in pink. Suyin glowed like a vibrant flame among the sombre guardsmen who lined along the walkway.

‘Governor Li.’ A sewing needle gleamed between her first and second fingers.

He had to be mistaken about the brightness in her tone. ‘Where is Jinmei?’ he asked.

‘Auntie has gone to Rongzhou for the spring festival. Everyone went with her except for the gardener, who is too blind to see the lanterns, and Cook because this worthless woman cannot even boil rice to feed herself.’

He started to ask her why she hadn’t gone with them, momentarily forgetting his strict orders to keep her in the house and guarded at all times.

He stepped through the garden doors to come up beside her. A swathe of dark cloth hung from her hands.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Mending, for Auntie. I am making use of the daylight while I still have it.’

She bent to her task. The silver needle darted in and out of the cloth, guided by her skilful fingers. He was surprised to see it was one of his tunics. She continued chirping away while she worked.

‘Auntie told me she used to be a seamstress. She is much slower now than she used to be. Her joints are swollen and her eyesight is not as keen as it once was.’

‘You do not need to do that.’

The elegant Ling
Guifei
shouldn’t be bent over such a menial task.

‘I am nearly finished,’ she protested. ‘It is not so different from embroidery… There.’

She pulled the end of the thread taut and bit through it in a tiny flash of teeth. His stomach tightened involuntarily at the careless gesture. He lowered himself on to the seat beside her.

Her gaze raked disapprovingly over the dust that covered his clothes. ‘You were gone for three days this time.’

‘There were urgent matters I needed to attend to.’

‘These urgent matters are keeping you longer and longer.’

Questioning him as if she were the mistress of the house seemed to put her in oddly good spirits. She perched over the arm of her chair and waited expectantly for an answer. She was becoming more comfortable in his presence while he was more on edge every time he saw her.

‘Did the August Emperor confess all his secrets to you like this?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied impetuously. She ran her finger along the sleek, polished wood. ‘Tell me all your troubles and I will nod and sigh until they float away.’

She demonstrated with a wordless, gentle murmuring in the back of her throat that caressed over him. He laughed and shook his head at her display.

All a lie, he reminded himself. A very pretty lie and he was charmed in spite of it.

‘Gao’s army is moving south,’ he began.

He watched her face as he continued. It remained a careful mask, clean of any emotion.

‘As well as the Emperor’s,’ he added.

Her lightheartedness faded. ‘You say this so calmly.’

‘This was inevitable.’

‘Is this what you wanted?’

‘No.’ That one word of confession was more than he had spoken to anyone about the inevitable battle before him. He passed a hand over his temples and the weariness poured into him as if the dam had cracked open. ‘I seem to want to tell you things I shouldn’t.’

‘Then keep the secrets you need to keep,’ she said gently. ‘Tell me the rest.’

It could be a ruse. It most likely was a ruse, but it sounded like kindness.

‘Emperor Shen wants to control the
jiedushi
out of fear of rebellion,’ he began. The tension wound tight around his chest like iron chains. ‘But without our armies, the borders will crumble.’

‘Yet you weaken the empire by challenging Shen.’

‘So a sovereign should never be challenged?’

She considered his answer for a long time, but said nothing.

‘There was a time when Shen might have listened to me, but now…’ He closed his eyes and laid his head back.

‘What of the other warlords?’ she asked.

‘Too shrewd to take sides, but Gao is forcing the issue.’

A lesser man might attack the weaker positions first, but Gao didn’t want a drawn-out struggle. He’d take out the strongest first and watch the others fall in line with him. The old wolf had even managed to find a way to do it under the guise of serving the Emperor.

‘Gao has always known how to manipulate the court. With a thousand servants inside the palace, all he needed were a few under his control.’

He opened his eyes to see Suyin stabbing the needle into a pincushion. She folded the tunic into a neat square in her lap, smoothing out the corners fastidiously.

There was no need to ensnare her into the trap he was caught in. He could return her to her home by the river and wash his hands clean of her, but Gao still wanted her dead. She needed his protection whether she desired it or not.

‘Do you know there will be a full moon tonight?’ Her tone lightened deliberately. She set the folded square of cloth aside and sat back, looking out over the courtyard, past the rooftops. ‘Auntie tells me the household goes to Rongzhou for the festival every year.’

He nodded. ‘They stay for days until the celebration is over.’

‘You never go with them?’

He supposed he never had.

‘We would celebrate in the palace with elaborate lanterns,’ she went on when he didn’t answer. ‘And eat sweet sticky dumplings.’

She was making a valiant effort to distract him, but idle conversation wasn’t an art he had mastered. He followed her gaze to the darkening sky even though there was no moon yet to see.

‘I miss the lantern festival in Luoyang the most. The lanterns would be strung from balcony to balcony.’ She traced an imaginary line in the air with her hand. ‘Everyone would be out in the streets, packed close together.’

Her face lit with an unrestrained energy and he couldn’t help but recall the scene she described. How many times had he pushed his way through the crush of the crowd as a boy in Luoyang? He had craned his neck to watch the paper lanterns swinging overhead. All the colours glowing against the black sky.

‘The lanterns would burn all night in Luoyang,’ he said.

‘Have you been to the eastern capital?’ she asked.

She flashed a genuine smile at him. Her hand dangled over the arm of the chair and he was stricken by the urge to lace his fingers through hers. But if he did, he might frighten away the hopeful, bright-eyed girl who had emerged and the artful courtesan would return.

He stood abruptly. ‘Do you ride?’

‘I don’t know how.’

She stared at him, startled, but she took his hand when he held it out. For once she didn’t ask any questions and simply let him lead.

They were soaring through the forest, jostled and tossed at the whim of the black beast beneath them. Li Tao had his arms about her while she clutched at the front of his robe. Silk whipped about her legs. She held on as the earth pounded by. She prayed.

Li Tao had foregone the palanquin to set her on to the saddle in front of him, pulled up against the cradle of his hard thighs. Embarrassment was quickly replaced by abject terror as the horse surged forwards. An escort of ten soldiers rode along with them and the combined thundering of their mounts around her added to her disorientation.

‘Please slow down,’ she begged, then shouted it again when he couldn’t hear her over the pound of hooves.

He spoke over the top of her head. ‘You won’t fall.’

Impassive and stone-faced as always as if he could command away her fear. He handled the reins with ease as he leaned forwards, absorbing the impact of the ride. He must be revelling in the way she cowered against him.

‘Governor Li.’
She dug her nails into his chest until she connected with taut flesh beneath the rumpled cloth.

‘The town is close,’ he assured.

It was
not
close. She buried her face against his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut to escape the roar of the wind. The steady pulse of his heart sounded beneath her ear in contrast to the frantic hammering of hers. He threw a rough arm around her to steady her, a matter of necessity rather than any show of concern, she decided. She was going to be sick.

Finally they reached their destination and he pulled the horse to a stop. He dismounted first and closed his hands around her waist to lift her from the saddle. Her legs trembled like saplings as she settled on to the ground. They stood by wooden gates with a cluster of buildings before them and a babble of voices floated from the streets.

‘Rongzhou is too far, but there is a smaller festival here,’ he said.

She ventured ahead, the harrowing ride soon forgotten. The sound of drumbeats came from the centre of town accompanied by flutes and the crash of cymbals.