Page 102 of The Cinders

The tempo raced with him.He arched his back, letting the length of his hair dip towards the floor like a flow of black ink.His free hand took up his skirts, sweeping them back and forth, letting the gold overlay play with the light, challenging the slippers for brilliance.

Free.Free.Free.

The energetic movement stirred the fox spirit, waking it from the quiet place where it had drifted.

Xian whirled and swayed, and felt his heart gallop to keep up with the punishing pace.The golden chains on his costume whipped about, wrapping at his waist one moment, threatening to catch at his sleeves the next.His calf muscles ached, unused to dancing with the subtle heels.Lim had been right to warn him.To ease the pain, he spent more and more time upon his toes; now they too complained at their treatment.

Run.Run.Run.

His spirit grew restless once more.

‘Yes,’ Xian breathed.‘Patience.’

Each twang of the jinghu, every pluck of the strings on the yueqin, ran through him like tiny strikes of lightning.Yearning played through his reverie.He longed to have Song Lim here, watching this dance that poured from Xian’s heart.

Sweat dampened his skin, and Xian panted with the exertion.He’d never been so lost in the music, in the way it took hold of his body and shaped it.

Time.Time.Time.

The last note played.

Xian’s knees buckled, landing him amid a pond of gold and white; his skirts spreading out dangerously close to where the lanterns flickered.

‘Brava!Brava!’

Sweat stung his eyes, and his ribs ached with the need to breathe.He’d landed facing towards the musicians on the side of the stage.He was not the only one breathing hard, worked ragged by the vigour of the dance.Their faces were masks of astonishment and confusion, as though they too had been swept away by the perfect unity of melody and dance.

Xian turned his head towards the growing swell of applause.Sir William led the cheer, rising to his feet, assisted by his companion, who giggled as she held him steady.Many of the Westerners joined him, along with a few from the Middle Kingdom, where such displays were rare.

All stared at Xian as though he were the emperor himself.

Mandarin Feng stood to the side of the stage, his jaw working but his expression dazed.For once, he had little to say.He joined Sir William in clapping, which enticed more in the gathering to show their appreciation in a distinctly foreign way.

Xian bowed his head, though it was less a gesture of humility and more to do with being drained.He’d given his all, and the dance had taken everything he offered.Determined to get to his feet before the mandarin made a show of assisting him, Xian rose shakily.With his head still lowered, he caught sight of the toe of the left slipper; the shimmer there was no longer crystalline and pure, but carmine.

Xian bled into Song Lim’s masterpiece; turning diamond to ruby.

The applause grew.Some knocked their cups against the floor, beating the wood as a sign of their appreciation.There were shouts for him to continue, which caused one musician to sob, and a stone chime to clatter to the floor.

He understood the man’s anguish.Neither he nor they could have performed again if Longwang, the King of Dragons, had demanded it.

‘My honoured guests, my friends.’Mandarin Feng stepped onto the stage, waving his hands to herald quiet.‘Did I not promise you a spectacle?’

Xian stood with every joint aching.

‘All the gold in my mines for a private dance with the prince,’ came a bawdy cry, a roar of approval following.

More offers were thrown towards the stage, each more outrageous than the other.And Mandarin Feng simply laughed, goading his visitors on, asking for chocolate and saffron and opals, never once declaring that Xian could not be bought — only that he was not yet for sale.

Xian edged back, looking to Sir William, seeking…what?He knew now that the man would not aid him.

The Englishman raised his glass, a dark liquid spilling over the edges.‘To an auspicious start to the New Year.’

Somehow his voice carried above the din, and the manic attention shifted from Xian, cornered on the stage like a trapped animal, to where the Englishman leaned against his grinning companion.

‘To a momentous year,’ he called into the quietening room.‘And if it is only half as thrilling as watching a near-naked prince weave us all into a rapture with his spellbinding skills, then I declare it shall be a good one!’

His sentences were clumsy, his usual adeptness for Mandarin sloshing about like the liquid in his cup.Another great cheer went up.