Wingrove, David - Chung Kuo 02 (44 page)

Nan Ho lifted
his head and met her eyes. "My Lady, I ..." She smiled. "Is
there some secret, Master Nan? Something I should know?" He
bowed his head, then backed away, clearly upset by her insistence.
"Please, my Lady. Follow me. But remember, I am but the Prince's
hands."

She hesitated,
her curiosity momentarily tinged with apprehension. What could have
flustered the normally imperturbable Nan Ho? Was it some awful thing?
Some aspect of Li Yuan he wanted to keep from her? Or was it,
instead, a surprise present for her? Something that she would spoil
by insisting on seeing it?

For a moment she
wondered whether she should draw back. It was not too late. Li Yuan
would hate it if she spoiled his surprise. But curiosity had the
better of her. She followed Master Nan, waiting as he unlocked the
great double doors again and pushed them open.

She walked
through, then stopped dead, her mouth fallen open in surprise.

"You!"

The two girls
had risen from the couch at her entrance. Now they stood there, their
heads bowed, their hands folded before them.

She turned, her
face dark with anger. "What is the meaning of this, Master Nan?
What are these creatures doing here?"

Nan Ho had kept
his head lowered, bracing himself against her reaction. Even so, the
savagery of her words surprised him. He swallowed and keeping his
head low, looked past her at the girls.

"My master
said to bring them here this morning. I was to . . ."

Her shriek cut
him off. "Do you expect me to believe that, Nan Ho? That on the
morning of his return my husband would have two such—
lout
sorts brought to him?" She shuddered and shook her head, her
teeth bared. "No ... I don't know what your plan is, Master Nan,
but I know one thing, I can no longer trust you in your present
position."

He jerked his
head up, astonished, but before he could utter a word in his defense,
Fei Yen had whirled about and stormed across to where the two girls
stood.

"And you!"
she began. "I know your sort! Turtles eating barley, that's what
you are! Good-for-nothings! You hope to rise on your backs,
neh
?"

The last word
was spat out venomously. But Fei Yen was far from finished.

"You! Pearl
Heart. . . that's your name, isn't it?"

Overwhelmed by
the viciousness of the attack, Pearl Heart could only manage a slight
bob of her head. Her throat was dry and her hands trembled.

"I know why
you're here. Don't think I'm blind to it. But the little game's over,
my girl. For you and your
pimp
here." Fei Yen shuddered,
pain and an intense anger emphasizing every word. "I know you've
been sleeping with my husband."

Pearl Heart
looked up, dismayed, then bowed her head quickly, frightened by the
look in Fei Yen's eyes.

"Well?
Admit it!"

"It is
true, my Lady . . ." she began, meaning to explain, but Fei
Yen's slap sent her sprawling back onto the couch. She sat, looking
up at Fei Yen, her eyes wide with shock. Sweet Rose was sobbing now,
her whole frame shaking.

Fei Yen's voice
hissed at her menacingly. "Get out... All of you . . . Get out!"

Pearl Heart
struggled up, then stumbled forward, taking her sister's arm as she
went, almost dragging her from the room, her own tears flowing freely
now, her sense of shame unbearable. Li Yuan . . . How her heart ached
to see him now, to have him hold her and comfort her. But it was
gone. Gone forever. And nothing but darkness lay ahead of them.

* *
*

BACK IN HER
ROOMS, Fei Yen stood looking about her sightlessly, the blackness
lodged in her head like a storm trapped between high mountains. For a
while she raged, inarticulate in her grief, rushing about the room
uncontrollably, smashing and breaking, the pent-up anger pouring out
of her in grunting, shrieking torrents. Then she calmed and sat on
the edge of the huge bed, her respiration normalizing, her pulse
slowing. Again she looked about her, this time with eyes that moved,
surprised, between the broken shapes that lay littered about the
room.

She wanted to
hurt him. Hurt him badly, just as he had hurt her. But a part of her
knew that that was not the way. She must be magnanimous. She must
swallow her hurt and pay him back with loving kindness. Her revenge
would be to enslave him. To make him need her more than he needed
anything in the whole of Chung Kuo. More than life itself.

She shuddered,
then gritted her teeth, forcing down the pain she felt. She would be
strong. As she'd been when Han had died. She would deny her feelings
and will herself to happiness. For the sake of her sons.

She went to the
mirror, studying herself. Her face was blotchy, her eyes puffed from
crying. She turned and looked about her, suddenly angered by the mess
she had made, by her momentary lapse of control. But it was nothing
she could not set right. Quickly she went into the next room,
returning a moment later with a small linen basket. Then, on her
hands and knees, she worked her way methodically across the floor,
picking up every last piece of broken pottery or glass she could
find. It took her longer than she had thought, but it served another
purpose. By the time she had finished she had it clearly in her mind
what she must do.

She took the
basket back into the dressing room and threw a cloth over it; then
she began to undress, bundling her discarded clothes into the bottom
of one of the huge built-in cupboards that lined the walls. Then,
naked, she went through to the bathroom and began to fill the huge,
sunken bath.

She had decided
against the new silks. Had decided to keep it as simple as she could.
A single vermilion robe. The robe she had worn that first morning,
after they had wed.

While the water
streamed from the taps, she busted herself at the long table beneath
the bathroom mirror, lifting lids from the various jars and sniffing
at them until she found the one she was searching for. Yes . . . She
would wear nothing but this. His favorite.
Mei hua,
plum
blossom.

She looked at
her reflection in the wall-length mirror, lifting her chin. Her eyes
were less red than they'd been, her skin less blotchy. She smiled,
hesitantly at first, then more confidently. It had been foolishness
to be so jealous. She was the match of a thousand serving girls.

She nodded to
her image, determined, her hands smoothing her flanks, moving slowly
upward until they cupped and held her breasts, her nipples rising
until they stood out rigidly. She would bewitch him, until he had
eyes for nothing but her. She remembered how he had looked at
her—awed, his eyes round in his face; she laughed, imagining
it. He would be hers. Totally, utterly hers.

Even so, she
would have her vengeance on the girls. And on that pimp, Nan Ho. For
the hurt they had caused her.

Her smile
softened. And after she had made love to him, she would cook for him.
A recipe her grandmother had left to her. Yes, while he slept she
would prepare it for him. As a wife would.

* *
*

LI YUAN YAWNED
and stretched as the craft descended, then looked at his personal
secretary, Chang
Shih
-sen, who was gathering his papers
together, softly humming to himself.

"We've got
through a lot of work in the last four days, Chang," he said,
smiling. "I don't think I've ever worked so hard."

Chang smiled
back at him, inclining his head slightly. "It is good to work
hard, my Lord."

"Yes . . ."
Li Yuan laughed, feeling the craft touch down beneath him. "But
today we rest, neh? I won't expect to see you until tomorrow
morning."

Chang bowed low,
pleased by his master's generosity. "As the Prince wishes."
He turned back, looking out the portal at the activity in the hangar.
A welcoming committee of four servants, led by Nan Ho, was waiting to
one side, while the hangar crew busied themselves about the craft.
Chang was right. He felt good despite his tiredness. He had spent
more than eighty hours scanning files and interviewing, and now all
but two of the places on the Project were filled. If his father
agreed, they could go ahead with it within the week.

For one day,
however, he would take a break from things, set all cares aside and
devote himself to Fei Yen.

He looked down,
grinning at the thought of her. Life was good. To have important
business in one's life and such a woman to return to; that, surely,
was all a man could ask for.

And sons . . .
But that would come. As surely as the seasons. He heard the hatch
hiss open and looked back at Chang
Shih
-sen. "Go now,
Chang. Put the papers in my study. We'll deal with them tomorrow."

Chang bowed his
head, then turned away. Li Yuan sat there a moment longer, thinking
over the satisfactions of the last few days, recollecting the great
feeling of
ch'i,
of pure energy, he had experienced in dealing
with these matters. Unlike anything he had ever felt before. It made
him understand things better, made him realize why men drove
themselves instead of staying at home in the loving arms of their
wives. And yet it was good to come home, too. Good to have that to
look forward to.

"A balance
. . ." he said softly, then laughed and climbed up out of his
seat, making his way down the short gangway, the three servants
standing off to one side of him as he passed, their heads bowed low.

Nan Ho came
forward as he reached the bottom of the steps, then knelt and touched
his head to the ground.

"Welcome
home, my Lord."

"Thank you,
Master Nan. But tell me, where is Fei Yen?"

Nan Ho lifted
his head fractionally. "She is in her chambers, Prince Yuan. She
has given orders for no one to disturb her. Not even her
amah.
"

Li Yuan grinned.
"Ah . . ."

"My Lord—"

But Li Yuan was
already moving past him. "Not now, Master Nan. I must go and see
her."

Nan Ho turned,
his extreme agitation unnoticed by the Prince. "But my Lord—"

"Later, Nan
Ho . . ." Li Yuan called back, not turning, breaking into a trot
as he crossed the flagged pathway between the hangar and the northern
palace.

He ran through
the palace, past bowing servants, then threw open the doors to her
apartments.

She was waiting
for him, sitting on the huge bed, her legs folded under her, the
vermilion robe she had worn on their wedding morning pulled about
her. Her head was lowered in obedience, but there was a faint smile
on her cherry lips. He stood there in the doorway, getting his
breath, drinking in the sight of her.

"My Lord?"
she said, looking up at him, her eyes dark like the night, her voice
warm, welcoming.

"My love .
. ," he said, the words barely a whisper, the scent of plum
blossom in the room intoxicating. Then, closing the doors firmly
behind him, turning the great key, he went across to her and sat
beside her on the bed, drawing her close.

He drew back,
looking at her again, seeing at once the reflection of his love,
there in her eyes. "I've missed you . . ."

In answer she
shrugged the thin silk robe from her shoulders, then drew his head
down into the cushion of her breasts, curling her legs about him.

"Make love
to me, my Lord, I beg you."

Afterward he lay
there, next to her, staring at her in wonder.

"My love.
My darling little swallow ..."

She laughed,
then drew his face close, kissing him gently, tenderly. "Now you
know how much I missed you."

"And I you
. . ."

She pushed him
back and sat up. "But you're tired, husband. Why don't you sleep
a while. And when you wake I'll have a meal ready for you."

"But my
love, you needn't..."

She put a finger
to his lips. "I want to. Besides, I am your wife."

He started to
protest again, but she shook her head. With a brief laugh he lay back
on the bed, closing his eyes. Within a minute he was asleep.

She studied him
a moment, laying her hand softly on his chest, feeling the soft rise
and fall of his breath, then gently covered the soft fold of his
spent manhood. She shivered. He was still such a boy.

She went into
the tiny pantry and busied herself, preparing the ingredients she had
had brought from the kitchen only an hour before. It would be two
hours before it was ready. Time enough to bathe and change again.

She lay there a
long time in the bath, soaking, looking through the open door at his
sleeping figure on the bed. He was no bother really. Such a sweet
boy. And yet. . .

As she floated
there, she found herself remembering the sight of Tsu Ma in the
water, his chest bared, his hair slicked back, the presence of his
boots planted so solidly on the earth beneath the table, the deep,
warm vibration of his voice.

Tsu Ma . . .

She opened her
eyes again. The boy was still sleeping. Her husband, the boy.

She shivered,
then stirred herself in the water. It was time she dressed and saw to
his meal.

* *
*

when he WOKE it
was to find her sitting beside him on the bed, watching him. He
turned his head, glancing at his timer, then yawned. He had slept
more than two hours.

He sat up,
breathing in deeply. "What's that? It smells delicious."

She smiled and
turned away, returning moments later with a bowl and chopsticks. He
took it from her, sniffed at it, then began eating, holding the bowl
close to his mouth, smacking his lips in appreciation.

"This is
excellent. What is it?"

She was kneeling
by the bed, watching him. "It's a recipe of my grandmother's.
Wolfberry stewed with beef. A tonic for
yang
energy . . ."
She laughed at his frown. "An aphrodisiac, my husband. It
enhances strength and endurance."