Page 22 of The Cinders
‘No, I do not wish to pray,’ Lim replied.‘But I hope you don’t mind me waiting until you have finished with your devotions?I have brought something for you.’
‘For me?’
‘Yes.’He held up the box.‘May I come in, your highness?You need not be polite to me, if you’d rather be on your own?’
Xian shook his head.‘I have no prayers to offer, and do not wish to be on my own.’Though it had always been true before now.He’d grown used to solitude, grown to rely on its quiet and untroubled company.That is why he found Mercy so soothing; she wanted nothing from him, nor sought to take anything.‘I would like to see what you have brought, Song Lim.’
‘Good,’ he declared with great cheer, and a hint of relief.‘Because they have no other owner but you.I knew it, the moment we met.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIM ENTEREDthe shrine, his fingers digging into the wood of the shoebox.He was neither reserved nor shy.But now, as he entered the warm room, with the looming presence of the Goddess of Mercy watching his every move, Lim thought he’d never been so overtaken with nerves.
Not because of any goddess’s judgement — he was no man of faith — but because he feared the prince would not share his enthusiasm for the gift he brought.
What if Xian thought them garish?He sensed that the prince, despite the wondrous gown he wore now, did not fit well into his spectacular clothes; wearing them through duty and not preference.That was simply Lim making assumptions, of course; he barely knew the man after half a day in his company…but it did not feel like such a short time.
Lim could have stayed there in Heng’s kitchen for hours in the presence of the softly spoken man.
Which made no sense at all.Lim was not one for conversations, unless they centred on his craft, or talk of a new town to visit where his shoes may be appreciated, or perhaps seductive words to use on a lover who’d not yet fallen into his bed.That last one was not as frequent as it had been.Now, at thirty-two years, his desire for brief interludes had faded.
Lim spied a pile of cushions in a corner, intended for worshippers’ knees.He grabbed them with his free hand and piled them near the kang; where the heat coming from the platform was most pleasant, and the light of the butter lamps would be favourable.
‘Have a seat, your highness.’He patted the cushions, whose short tower swayed beneath his touch.‘Is it warm enough here?Or too warm?’
‘I think it is quite perfect.’
The prince seated himself, Lim itching to offer his hand, but he’d seen how touch affected the man.Xian had made it clear he preferred a distance to be kept.
‘Would you lift your gown, only a little.I need your feet.’Lim groaned inwardly.‘I mean, I need to lift your feet.’
Superb as they were.This scarring people spoke of, that kept Xian covered so heavily, certainly did not hinder his fine, narrow feet, with their perfectly graduated toes, and carefully trimmed nails; his heels smooth and rounded as peaches, his slender ankles like the neck of a gazelle.
‘Is this enough?’Xian asked.
Lim coughed, embarrassed at the lofty internal praise he was heaping on the poor man’s feet.But, the crux of it was Prince Xian had a pair of the loveliest feet Lim had ever seen.And what sort of shoemaker did not have an unhealthy fascination with feet?
‘That is exactly the right amount.’He glimpsed a hint of white makeup, a shade too bright against Xian’s natural paleness, where the yellow-grey bruise had marked his shin.Lim’s grip on the box was tight now for far different reasons than before.It was enough the prince had a violent mistress to contend with; now there was that pig of a man from Manhao to bother him.‘Now, just hold that a moment.’
He slipped the latch on the box.
‘What do you have there, Master Song?’
‘Lim.I’d prefer you call me Lim.’
‘Alright,’ Xian paused.‘What do you have there, Lim?’
The name sounded rather nice, coming from the prince’s tongue.
‘Can I tell you their story, before I show them to you?’
‘Of course.’
Lim licked his lips, wondering why he felt so compelled to speak of an event long since past.The only other time he’d spoken of how he’d found the material for these slippers, he’d been laughed at, and told to throw out his opium pipe.
‘I’ll make it quick…,’ Lim began.‘Many moons ago, I met a pedlar on my travels to the far western reaches of the Middle Kingdom.He had come from a place called Bhutan.At least, that is what he told me, but anything can be said on the road.’Lim frowned into the memory.‘Strange man.Stranger hair.I could swear to you it was silver, like…actual silver strands.Worn long, because he was not made to wear a queue, as we are here for our Imperial Majesty.’He glanced at Xian, hoping he’d not sounded too disapproving of the royally mandated hairstyle.The prince watched him; those unusual violet eyes like a field of lavender in the light of the butter lamps.So exquisite.
‘Go on, Master…Lim.’