The Dragon and the Pearl. Jeannie Lin
garden.
They emerged through the circled archway and her attention centred on to Li Tao. He stood beneath the shade of the cedarwood pavilion. Stood rather than sat. He never paced, never made any unnecessary movements. He turned and studied her as she approached. His feral side was held in restraint; at least she hoped so. Her pulse quickened.
‘Lady Ling.’
He invited her to sit with an outstretched hand, but she stopped short of the pavilion and refused to come any closer. Jun stood by her side, looking confused.
‘It is difficult to be gracious when you held a knife to me the last time we met.’
Li Tao’s steely expression transformed into a frown. He dismissed Jun with a wave of his hand and the boy backed away, kneeling to some task behind the shrubbery.
‘I frightened you,’ Li Tao said. ‘I apologise. Please sit.’
His façade of civility didn’t reassure her. She ascended the wooden steps into the pavilion and noticed the faint shadow over his jaw as she glanced up at him. He looked unkempt, as if he’d just come from the road. She moved past him to take her seat on the stone bench.
It wasn’t only fear that caused her heart to race. His nearness stirred her blood, urging her to tempt fate. That made him more dangerous than Gao and all of the other interlopers who had ever plotted against her. When he seated himself across the table, she was grateful for the barrier between them.
‘Ru Shan is away,’ he said. ‘I will need to assign another guardsman to your care.’
She smoothed out her sleeves and folded her hands together on the surface of the table, using the casual gesture to mask her nervousness. She knew exactly why Ru Shan was away. He had used the ruse of visiting his ailing father.
‘Are you afraid I’ll escape, Governor Li? I would lose myself in this bamboo sea before I found the road.’
‘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