Page 73 of The Cinders
One of the mandarin’s many peacocks let out a cry, and Xian jerked so hard he almost tore the curtain from its hooks.He pressed a finger to his ear, trying to rub away the high whine left behind by the bird’s call.
First his hearing, then his sense of smell, now his vision appeared to have intensified; arriving unannounced and uncontrolled.
His senses were fine-tuned beyond those of any other man.
Xian let go of the curtain, pressing back into the room.Amancould not claim these abilities…but what of a fox?
The vulpine’s ears were enlarged to enable acute hearing, its nose delicately made for testing the air, its eyes large and set forward, seeing in darkness and for great distances.
Xian’s pulse ran quick as a hare, his mouth dried by his thoughts.
‘Sir William, you will not leave me like this,’ he whispered.
He’d go mad before midnight.
Two days ago, the daemon had stripped Xian down to his true self, declaring the profound moment little more than amusement.Then he disappeared, talking of lust as if it were tangyuan he craved.
But syrup-drenched rice balls were not what he hungered for.
Xian shuddered, thinking on the Englishman’s lust for lust itself.He’d been quick to abandon Xian, eager to sate himself.And had remained out of sight ever since.
Surely he was satisfied by now?Feng’s was not a conservative court; if any such court existed.
Xian turned to leave his room once more.If he must be assaulted by his senses, then he’d make use of them to track the Englishman down.The man was brash, so he’d be loud enough, and his lavish clothing more lace-trimmed and vibrant than anyone else in the court; Xian wouldn’t need enhanced sight to spot him.
Purpose chased away trepidation.Xian moved with a lightness in his step now, ignoring the harsh clip of his cup against the water bowl as he filled it; drinking to ease the dryness in his throat.
His hands were clammy, his pulse reckless, but he’d not hide away in his room waiting for someone else to, yet again, decide his fate.
Xian fixed his hair, pulling back the strands that had loosened when he danced.He regarded himself in the bronze mirror above the water bowl.
Dark lines lay beneath his eyes, his scars a distorted smear in the reflection.Helookedno different.Perhaps more tired, his cheeks sunken from too many days with barely a meal eaten, his deep blue ruqun not fitting his shape so well as it once had; the tincture had given him relief, but it had stolen his appetite too well.Xian re-affixed the loose bun at his nape with the bone clasp.He let his arms fall to his side, staring at himself.
He’d not thought of the tincture since that night.Nor did the thought of the foul-tasting liquid stir in him a desire to reach for the bottle.
Every nerve simmered beneath his skin; he felt…alive.And frightened and exhilarated…and…disappointed.
Song Lim would never see this side of him.He’d only know the bruised man, so liable to panic, who’d stood with him in Heng’s kitchen.
He glanced away from the mirror, abashed by how readily his thoughts went to the shoemaker; the man’s steady hand upon his ankle, his quick wit and brazen manner.
But even a fearless man like Song Lim would surely balk at the changes in Xian.A good thing he was far from here.Xian would never have to explain himself to the man; never fear revulsion appearing in his deep brown eyes.
Xian stepped towards the door and then paused.
A compulsion drew him back to the window.The need to keep the shoe close swept through him like the heat of baijiu on the first sip.He glanced about, making sure he was unnoticed before reaching to retrieve the slipper from its hiding place.
The clunk of the pot on the floorboards and the scrape of the overturned box had Xian’s ears ringing, while the waft of the daphne caused his eyes to stream.
But he’d endure far worse so long as the slipper was with him.It was all he held now of the shoemaker.A talisman to carry as he found his true path.
He tucked the slipper into the hidden pocket in the wide drape of his crimson-edged sleeve; a pocket once intended to hold treats for an ever-hungry carp in a pond bulging already with decent things to eat.He feared the shoe would prove too large and fall free once he moved.But by the time he’d crossed the room, his worries had vanished.
The weight of the slipper was barely felt, the snugness of the fit holding it fast.He felt he could have danced an entire yayue, and he’d not have lost it.
Xian smiled, sending a silent thanks to Mercy and her insatiable hunger for treats.His grief was gentler now as he thought on the carp, with Song Lim’s slipper filling the space her loss had left behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR