Page 15 of The Cinders

‘I see no scars.’

‘They should have him remove those veils.’

‘Probably not even the emperor’s son.’A snort of derision.‘Just the Governor up to his usual dramatics.’

‘Is it true he was made a eunuch by that fire?No balls nor cock, I’ve heard.’

That came from Official Park, from where he stood to the left of the dais, nearest to the marchioness.To Xian’s great horror, a smirk tweaked the corner of her lip before she raised her hand to cover her mouth.

Xian dragged in a breath and looked away, only to glimpse the captain watching him again.A prickle ran across his skin as he glimpsed something dark in the man’s eyes.Xian raised his chin, lifting his gaze to the ornate ceiling, painted with a scene of a crane taking flight over a golden pagoda.

How he wished he were that bird, soaring far and high from this sordid place.

Xian waited as the musicians, assembled at the back of the hall, changed their instruments for the yayue.Silence fell across the room, the crowd now hushed, their vicious tongues held still.

The panpipe began, joined shortly after by the first mallet strike of thebianqing, a rack of sixteen stone tablets, each with its own unique chime.

Xian’s body came alive with the first note.Trepidation was torn away, his blood ran faster, his heart matching the beats of the regulated, and slow-paced melody.

The dance stole him, made him light as air and just as free-flowing.He bent his body like a willow, swept his arms as if they were high clouds caught by the wind.He moved as though in a trance, in the most desirable of dreams, free as that crane that watched from above.

His gown was as much a part of his performance as he was, and Xian was nimble with its mastery, handling the pearl white overcoat and earthy red layers as though they were extra limbs.Every seam, every fold, heeded his command as his slippers marked the intricate pattern upon the polished wood.The bamboo flute drew him onto his toes, his arms lifting higher to the heavens.

When Xian danced, he was alone in the room.The instruments played themselves; no one watched him.Perhaps only the gods.He felt touched by them when the music cradled him, as close to Heaven as possible for a man whose feet were more often in the dirt and ash.

The lighter chime of the stones was joined by the bianzhong, the brass bells signalling an uplift in the tempo.

Xian never recalled how long he danced; time stood aside, letting him weave a story with his body, and did not interrupt until he was done.He sank to one knee, and his russet gown spread around him like the surface of the Red River.The ache of the bruise on his leg made itself known, and he was taken by a sudden memory of the shoemaker’s face; his shock when he’d glimpsed the mottled skin.

Xian wavered, slipping from his contentment, and rising to his feet as he regathered himself for the last movements of the meticulous dance.

He swept back the overcoat, and held the topmost layer of his qun in each hand, guiding the red silk skirts into high sweeping motions, as if they were a tremulous fan surrounding him.It felt as though he stood at the heart of a storm, and he relished how hidden he was when he performed this move.Through the swish of fabric, and between the ethereal notes of the panpipes, soft gasps of admiration filled the room.

His slippers hushed against the wood, plain but useful.What shoes might Song Lim make for him to dance in?

Distracted, Xian’s heel caught on a layer.He faltered.A disgraceful misstep.

A hushed cry rose from the gathered audience.

Xian’s heartbeat, already raised by the vigour of his performance, gathered speed.He threw himself into the final stages of the dance, keeping his thoughts aligned to the performance alone.

The last beat of the drum sounded.The echo filled the hall as Xian went to his knees for the last time.An approving murmur ran through the crowd.He bowed before the dais; beneath the piercing gaze of the marchioness, and the snide look of disgust from the Lady Tian.The marquess, though, held a gentler expression, one that many in the audience shared; the mesmerised look Xian saw so often when he danced.

‘In honour of Heaven and Earth,’ said the marquess, rising from his yoke-back armchair, ‘all is done, and all will be.By the grace of the Jade Emperor, we seal this agreement, here and now.’

He bowed to the envoy, and the four men bowed to the Governor of Kunming.The captain, the bullish man whose gaze flew like daggers, only bothered with a shallow bow.

The gong was rung out; eight times for luck and wealth.

Xian’s panting breath shifted his veil gently.He remained on his knees, his head bowed, at the very centre of the room; waiting on the word of the marquess to rise and return to the dais.

He could not do so without such permission.

And it did not come.

There was a restless shift of fabric further back in the room, and from the yard came the twitter of sparrows rushing to their nests as the evening settled in.Sweat gathered at the nape of Xian’s neck, beneath the damp strands of his hair, and his clothing draped like unwelcome blankets upon him.

‘Let us celebrate this prosperous day with a feast and fine wine,’ Marquess Tian announced to a room thrumming with delight.‘Come, our attendants will show you the way, and you must arrive with your bellies empty and your thirst dry, for both shall be satisfied tonight.’