Page 11 of The Cinders

Embarrassment ran hot over Xian’s skin.He shook his head.‘You startled me, that is all.’

‘I’m a bèndàn, is what I am.’He took the coat from his shoulder, and offered it to Xian.‘Here, I’ll let you put this on yourself.’

But it was Xian who was the stupid egg.Jumping like a rabbit in front of this man, who, he imagined, would barely have blinked if the Marchioness’s guards all rushed into the kitchen right now.

Xian took the proffered coat with a nod.‘Thank you.’

As he slipped it on over his ruqun, the shoemaker turned away.His expression more thoughtful than troubled now.

‘I’ll tend to the stains on your hems.They aren’t near so bad as the shoes.It won’t take long, the mud’s not dried, you’ll be gone from here before I can finish another cup.’

He picked up the cloth and bowl of ash coloured water that Heng had brought, and once again went to his knees before Xian.

‘Stay on your feet if you don’t mind, your highness.’

Trying to appear only half as fragile as he was, Xian laughed lightly.‘I don’t mind at all.I am well used to being on them.’

He leaned forward, pushing the folds of the overcoat back to keep them out of Song Lim’s way.

‘Stand up straight now, no shifting about.’Lim planted his hand against the fabric over Xian’s left thigh.He bit down on his lip, and stifled the urge to pull away.There was no way the shoemaker could feel Xian’s scars; there was too much fabric.‘Good, good.That’s it.Thank you.’

Song Lim took his hand away, with no apology.So focused, he’d forgotten already Xian’s professed aversion to touch.

He worked in silence for a few moments, then cleared his throat.‘Might I ask you something, your highness?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do they make you tend to the rooms, instead of joining in on the feast?’

Xian’s mouth opened, then closed again, in something of an imitation of Mercy’s own; and like the carp he had no words.Song Lim glanced up at him, and Xian quickly lifted his chin so the veil would sit flush against his face, revealing nothing.

‘I don’t…I am not…’ Xian’s huangjiu-fuddled mind tried to shape a decent lie.‘I am most trusted, among the household.Her grace, Marchioness Shen, prefers I am there to oversee the servants when they attend the rooms of our most prestigious guests.’

It was the lie he’d been told when he’d first questioned the need for him to be set amongst the maids and houseboys, those who tended the day-to-day chores of the manor household.But as the years had passed on, more and more of the tasks had been left to Xian alone.Peace of mind was the reason given when he’d dared ask such questions; a son of the emperor was above thievery or laziness, even one so unwanted.

‘Right, I see.’Song Lim squeezed the cloth, letting the water drain.‘It must be rough work, considering the bruises upon your legs.I suppose that one upon your right shin comes from a knock against a table, or a dropped piece of wood when tending the fire?’

Xian stayed perfectly still.He’d intended to conceal the mark when he was dressing, but his panic had chased the thought from his mind.

‘I did not take care moving around the horses, when I was last in the stables.’

The bruise, the size of his fist, was a few days old, yellow tinged around a grey-green centre; from a kick delivered by Yu Ming, when Xian had dropped her hand stove; delaying the warming of her hands whilst he ran to find a replacement.

Song Lim grunted softly.‘Better your leg than your head, I suppose.’He looked up from his careful cleaning of the hem.‘Easier to conceal than a bruised cheek or blackened eye, I imagine.’

Xian’s pulse fluttered.The shoemaker knew.He kept his gaze fixed over the man’s head and nodded.‘Yes, I imagine it would be.But I had forgotten all about it.It does not hurt me.’

Song Lim still looked up at him, despite Xian’s pleas to the goddess Guanyinthat he did otherwise.

‘That is good to know, your highness.Though it must have pained you greatly when it was first delivered.’

The goddess of mercy and kindness was clearly too busy to bother with a feckless prince; Song Lim would not let things be.

‘How long have you been in Kunming, Master Song?’

Thankfully, the shift in conversation sent the shoemaker’s attention back to his work.‘Not long.A few weeks, I suppose.With far too many days spent fixing soles on old boots and straw sandals.I prefer to create, rather than simply mend.’

Xian dared a glance down.Song Lim’s shoulders were wide, almost too much so for the shortness of his build.A man not afraid of toil, Xian imagined; built strong by his trade and travel.