My Fair Concubine (16 page)

‘It’s better for you this way,’ he said, keeping his tone even.

Yan Ling pulled away. There was nothing left to do but watch her go.

She paused before stepping out into the courtyard. ‘You speak of boundaries between us, my lord.’

His breath caught as he looked at her. She drew herself up and faced him without wavering and Fei Long realised that they hadn’t taught her a thing. Yan Ling’s poise and strength came from within.

‘We’re not master and servant, but you and I will never be equals,’ she said with infinite sadness. ‘These boundaries between us exist because you insist that they must. It is impossible for you to see any other way.’

Chapter Fifteen

Y
an Ling opened the door to her chamber and slipped quietly inside. She wanted to close her eyes and be alone. She wanted to sleep and sleep so this could be over and the hurt would be done. There was no use fighting against the stars and the moon. Fei Long wouldn’t be Fei Long without his rigid sense of responsibility.

She gasped when something moved within the dark of her room.

‘It’s me,’ Dao whispered.

A single flicker of light appeared behind the painted screen. There was a shuffling sound as Dao came out from the sleeping area. She carried a single candle upon a holder, which she set upon the tea table.

‘I’m so glad you’re back.’ Dao took hold of both of her hands, squeezing them tight.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Promise me. Promise you won’t fall in love with him.’

Love.

She’d never dared to even think of it, but her pulse skipped at the mention of the word. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, don’t pretend.’ Dao glared at her, irritated, but still concerned. ‘Fei Long and the way he looks at you.’

Yan Ling started to deny it again, but she would only be met with scorn. How many hidden glances had they exchanged? How many times had she pondered and ached for him? So many lost moments that amounted to nothing.

‘There is nothing between us, Dao,’ she said, resigned.

‘Is that true? Really?’

‘Yes. Nothing.’

She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. Dao released her hands and let out a breath. For a moment, Yan Ling considered that Dao might have been jealous, as fervent as her warning was, but the girl had never shown any special feeling for her master. No one could hide her emotions so well.

‘Why are you so worried suddenly?’

‘I know how these things always end.’ Dao pulled Yan Ling onto the couch beside her. ‘These noblemen. They’re cultured and refined. They say all the right words to lure you into their beds, whispering promises of security and marriage. In the end, you’ll have nothing but scandal and ruin.’

Doubt crept into her. Dao’s warning seemed to echo Fei Long’s words. There was something there—a pain buried deep.

‘Dao, are you telling me…?’ Could she have been so wrong about Fei Long? She was horrified, but she had to know. ‘You…and Fei Long?’

‘No!’

Relief flooded her.

‘Not Fei Long.’ Dao lowered her voice. ‘The elder Lord Chang…and my mother.’

Yan Ling sat stunned.

Dao turned away, blinking rapidly. ‘Fei Long doesn’t know. No one knows.’

‘You mean Lord Chang never recognised you as his daughter?’

Dao shook her head. ‘He allowed us to remain in his home, which was generous. Do you know how many servant girls are forced out by jealous wives when they’re discovered to be pregnant?’

Yan Ling had no memory of her parents. She didn’t know if they had abandoned her deliberately or had come upon some misfortune. Dao had known her father, yet she had grown up with the shame of his denial. Even Fei Long tended to overlook her.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Yan Ling said, her heart in every word.

Dao sniffed once. ‘That is all past. It doesn’t matter, but I can’t bear to see this happen to you. You must know how fortunate you are.’

Yan Ling kept on hearing these words. This was best. She was fortunate. Her future was bright. Everyone believed so but her.

‘Fei Long wouldn’t shame me like that,’ she argued. ‘He’s been nothing but honourable.’

Too honourable, except for the one moment of precious scandal when he’d kissed her as if he’d die if he didn’t have her. They’d both been wrong together and it had been
magnificent
.

‘Oh, Yan. It won’t be a sinister seduction like some lurid play. Lord Chang will be handsome and charming. He’ll woo you.’

If Dao only knew how much she had longed for exactly that, but Dao was right. It was only an illusion. She could be nothing more than an affair. Fei Long had told her as much. His own father had had a proper wife and a concubine, but that hadn’t been enough. Why, Fei Long was practically a monk for refusing her, protecting her from his desires as well as her own.

‘It won’t happen,’ Yan Ling assured.

‘Don’t forget that, all right?’ Dao chewed on her lower lip as she waited anxiously.

Yan Ling would go to Khitan as they’d planned. Fei Long didn’t want her. It didn’t matter now where she went, did it? This was always what he had wanted. He’d made her promise from the beginning to see the plan through to the end.

‘I promise.’ Yan Ling tried to imagine herself fleeing far enough away for the ache inside to fade. ‘I won’t forget.’

* * *

A day went by in agony.

And then another.

There were no more lessons to occupy her afternoons. Yan Ling had haunted the front part of the house and dawdled in the parlour. One of the chairs at the end of the sitting room had a view to Fei Long’s study, so she had sat there to struggle through a book of poems even though the light was poor and she could only understand a few of the words.

She had caught only Fei Long’s dark silhouette as he went through the door. Of course she had hoped he would look into the sitting area and see her intent on her book. He’d pause and then come to her simply out of courtesy—or because he was irresistibly, uncontrollably drawn to her.

He had done none of those things.

She could still hear his harsh tone as Fei Long declared there could be nothing between them. Her heart would shrivel all over again, but then the kiss. The kiss! The fragments of her memories refused to fit together.

It was a silly game and she had known she was tormenting herself, but she had wanted it to hurt, if pain was the only feeling she was permitted to have. She had become hopelessly tragic.

By the next day, Yan Ling’s stomach was in knots from the moment she woke. By the time she sat before her dressing table, the knots had transformed into a swarm of butterflies. Would Fei Long ever speak to her again? The uneasy, burdened silence between them had been preferable to this. At least she could see him and hear his voice.

‘I need to do something,’ she moaned as Dao pulled a comb through her hair.

‘Don’t you have wedding gifts to sew?’ Dao suggested pointedly, her eyes growing sharp in the mirror’s reflection.

Yan Ling decided she’d liked Dao more before her bolder nature emerged.

The two of them separated as Dao went to see to her duties at the front of the house. Yan Ling went about collecting the sewing basket and embroidery thread with a good deal of ill humour, even if no one was there to hear her slam the drawers in the storage closet. She didn’t need Dao’s protection or not-so-subtle reminders when Fei Long wouldn’t even look at her any more.

Traditional wedding gifts were items of clothing a bride would present to the groom’s family to show her skill with a needle. She wondered if the true
heqin
princesses deigned to embroider the shoes and robes themselves, or did they have their army of handmaidens do so?

The bolts of cloth had been stacked onto the shelf above her reach. She positioned the footstool and searched through the sewing basket for a pair of scissors. Needlework would be good for her. It was time-consuming, meticulous work and a perfectly acceptable excuse for sitting in her lookout spot in the parlour.

She balanced herself on the stool and reached up to unravel a length of black cloth from the bolt. All she needed was a square of it for the embroidered design.

‘You should get someone to help you,’ a deep voice spoke from behind her.

She started, but a firm hand pressed against the small of her back to steady her. Fei Long. Heat flooded through her from the point of that one touch.

‘Scissors, Yan?’ he admonished.

‘I was just—’

‘You could fall and hurt yourself.’

His broad fingers closed over hers to remove the iron shears and set them on a lower shelf. Her heartbeat raced and she was afraid to turn around as he guided her down from the step. Only Dao had ever called her Yan, but the effect was so, so much different when Fei Long did it. She couldn’t control the quickness of her breathing when she finally did turn to face him.

Fei Long didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he reached past her, stretching overhead to retrieve the bolt of cloth himself. He was close enough that the edge of his sleeve brushed against her.

‘There,’ he said, depositing the cloth in her arms.

His manner had retreated back to formality, but he was still there. Watching her. She imagined… No, she
wasn’t
imagining. There was a touch of colour to his face that she’d only seen once before.

When he’d kissed her.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ His breath hitched slightly beneath the brusque tone.

Her eyes darted to the shelves, searching for something else to ask him for. As if she could rationally keep him there by fetching things.

‘Dao told me I should be preparing wedding gifts,’ she began. ‘I thought I would embroider something. You had mentioned that many officials of the Khitan court have adopted Han clothing. Perhaps a pair of shoes?’

His eyes glazed over as she babbled on. Fei Long had no interest in these womanly concerns, but she flushed happily from having him so near after he’d avoided her for so long. The space of the closet shrunk to enfold them and she never wanted to leave.

‘Whatever you think is best,’ he said.

‘Did you sleep well?’ she blurted out as Fei Long started to dismiss himself. All those lessons on etiquette and clever conversation—worthless!

‘Well enough,’ he replied stiffly.

He didn’t appear to have slept well at all. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave them a sunken look.

Pining, her heart insisted. Thinking of me.
Me
.

Silly, torturous thoughts again.

He gave her a small nod of appreciation. ‘Thank you for your concern.’

‘Are you quite busy today?’

There wasn’t really much more she could do to delay him. They were stowed away in a storage closet and the door was open. Soon Fei Long’s rigid sensibilities would take over and she dreaded the moment. Until then, he had come in there on his own to be with her, hadn’t he?

‘I have some business to attend to, but…’ He paused, as if considering those boundaries he spoke so dearly of. ‘I think the outcome will be good.’

Fei Long never spoke of his business affairs in anything more than a passing comment. He certainly never spoke of his hopes.

‘I’m sure you will find success,’ she assured dutifully, but she meant it deep in her heart. It was so hard to speak to one another like this. Whispering across so many walls and hoping that some meaning carried through.

‘Thank you,’ he said again, while he looked upon her with a controlled expression that she could read to be anything: thoughtful, doting or indifferent.

He backed out of the closet and stood aside as she slipped out past him. The rest of their conversation was nothing more than a few murmured farewells. Just sounds with no meaning, but her heart still clung to each word.

Out in the parlour, she cut out a small portion of cloth and set it into the embroidery frame. Fei Long retreated into his study while she sat and tried to work out what she should
create, while at the same time trying not to think of the impending wedding or her nameless, faceless husband-to-be.

She would do a tiger. There was an exquisite painting of one in an art shop in the East Market that she had fallen in love with. In her mind, the colours would be striking: orange-and-gold pelt against dramatic black stripes. The tiger in the painting had looked ready to leap off the scroll. Grace and power curled through every stroke, from the glint in its eye to the tip of its curved tail.

After holding the image for a moment in her mind’s eye, she threaded the needle and began in earnest. She was too impatient to sketch out the tiger and the needlework accomplished the task of keeping her hands busy, though her mind wandered quickly to Fei Long as she stored away every touch and look and the indolent warmth of being near him in that little closet.

At the end of the hour she looked down to find that the last ten stitches were miserably jagged. She’d have to cut them out and redo them. Her tiger was looking a little skimpy as well. It wasn’t nearly as glorious as she’d imagined. The only sewing she’d ever done was mending her own clothes. Perhaps a tiger was a bit ambitious.

There was a brief rest for the midday meal, which Fei Long conspicuously took in his study. A tray of food went in and an empty one was carried out. Yan Ling stabbed her thumb while watching the attendant open and close the door.

Many hours later, the study door opened again. She paused from sewing to see Fei Long leaving with a large wooden case under his arm. He didn’t see her this time…or didn’t want to see her. She watched, unacknowledged, until he disappeared out into the courtyard.

* * *

It was late. Very, very late.

Dinner had been hours ago. Afterwards, she’d taken her position in the parlour again, listening for sounds in the courtyard to indicate someone had arrived. Her skinny tiger with the crooked tail was nearly done and she was beginning to fret. Actually, she had begun to fret hours ago. She went to seek out Dao, who had just retired to her room.

‘He must be out at a teahouse or something,’ Dao said irritably.

‘Are you certain?’

‘No, I’m not
certain
. But it’s not my place to wonder where Lord Chang is at every hour.’

Like you’ve been doing
, came the unspoken reprimand.

Dao glared at her, but Yan Ling was too worried to be intimidated. Fei Long never told anyone where he went, but he usually wasn’t gone so late.

Perhaps he had decided to go to one of the entertainment pavilions of the North Hamlet that night. He had seemed hopeful about his business deal. Maybe it had gone well and he was now celebrating in a cloud of wine and courtesans. Jealousy tore at her with scarlet-manicured nails, but her anxiety far outweighed any thoughts of other women.

‘I’m worried,’ she told Dao.