Hua Che drifted back to himself by degrees. He pressed his fingers to the warmth Hua Shu had left behind on the bedding. A rueful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
The first time he had ever seen her — he was nine, and she was four years old. A tiny thing, just brought in from outside the palace. He had stared at her out of pure curiosity. She had stared back without blinking, wholly unafraid.
Consort Zhen had swept the child into her arms, tears streaming. "Poor thing. From now on, Auntie is your mother."
The tiny girl had patted the Consort's face with both small hands. "No crying. No crying."
The Emperor lifted her up. She immediately seized his beard in both fists and yanked, delighted.
The Emperor laughed — bright, unguarded, the laugh of a man briefly relieved of all formality. He stroked her cheek. "This one has nerve. She will not stay small for long." He dipped his brush and swept a single character across the page: Shu.
"Che'er — do you know this character?"
Nine-year-old Hua Che answered with proper composure: "Shu. It means beauty. It means radiance."
Consort Zhen knelt and pressed her forehead to the floor. "This servant gives thanks on Shu'er's behalf."
The Emperor drew her gently to her feet. "From today, Shu'er is a princess of Da Qi." He turned to Hua Che. "Take your sister."
* * *
Hua Che walked fast on purpose. He had no intention of playing nursemaid to a toddler. The little girl scrambled after him, then fell behind, then gave up entirely and sat down on the path. He came back around to find her nodding off where she sat.
He crouched in front of her. How does a child manage to look like a new year painting?
His legs went numb. She finally woke.
He put on his sternest face. "Why did you fall asleep here?"
She spoke very slowly and very seriously. "The big brother said don't move. He said he'd take me home."
Hua Che laughed in spite of himself and ruffled her hair. "I never told you to sit on the ground." Then, with conspiratorial gravity: "My Mother's kitchen makes the best lotus osmanthus cake in the palace. Shall I take you?"
Her eyes went wide. She was trotting after him before the words finished. Hua Che walked slowly this time. What a ridiculous little creature. Fine. I'll look after her.
* * *
In the tenth year of Jingyuan, two matters shook Da Qi.
The first: the Crown Prince's betrothal. Hua Che refused a full consort, leaving the position of principal wife conspicuously vacant. Speculation churned through every level of court.
The second: Consort Zhen died. The Emperor commanded three days of national mourning.
* * *
Hua Che found her under the table. Red-eyed, voice barely holding together: "Crown Prince Brother — I have no Mother anymore."
He had to drag a smile out from somewhere that didn't look like grief. "Shu'er, don't cry. My Mother is your Mother now."
Fifteen-year-old Hua Che took ten-year-old Hua Shu's hand, and seven-year-old Hua Ling's, and walked them to Changchun Palace.
Hua Ling was too young to understand what death meant. Eldest Princess Hua Yao, daughter of Consort Li, crouched down to enlighten her. "Your Mother died. She's never coming back."
Hua Ling's face crumpled. She tugged at Hua Shu's sleeve. "Sister, is it true? Is Mother never coming back?"
Hua Shu said nothing. She dropped Hua Ling's hand and stormed toward Shanglin Palace — kicked the door in, grabbed the nearest cup, and hurled it to the ground at Hua Yao's feet. "Hua Yao. Say one more word like that near Hua Ling, and you will regret it." I am the older sister. I protect Hua Ling in Mother's place.
It was the first fight Hua Shu had ever picked. She lost.
Hua Yao came with reinforcements — the Third Prince and the Second Prince — and they closed in on Hua Shu in a circle. "Your Mother died. Father doesn't love you anymore. You deserve to be trampled under our feet."
Hua Shu stood her ground, face white, eyes dark with hate.
Hua Che arrived at a run. He put himself between Hua Shu and the ring of them. "The next time I see any of you bully her — I tell Father. Anyone who says Father doesn't love Hua Shu is wrong. Father told me himself. She is his favorite."
When the others had gone, Hua Che studied the marks on Hua Shu's face with careful eyes. "Don't fight them yourself anymore. You have me. I am your shield now."
Something in Hua Shu's chest pulled tight. She looked up at him. The hatred faded, slowly, from her face.
* * *
In the second year of her life at Changchun Palace, Hua Shu heard from Xiao Tao that common folk celebrated the Lantern Festival with great fanfare — and immediately decided she was dying to see it for herself.
The longing in her eyes was enough. That night — Lantern Festival, fifteenth night of the first month — Hua Che filled the Eastern Palace with strings of colored lanterns in every shape imaginable. Hua Shu covered her face with both hands and wept. She was not sad.
He tucked a peony bloom behind her ear, then leaned close and pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead. He caught — for just an instant — a flash of something in her startled eyes before it vanished.
"Brother..." She stepped back. "...older brother."
"I'm not," he said. The words were unfinished. She did not know what they meant.
The Emperor appeared in the doorway — no one had heard him come. His face was the color of old ash. He looked at Hua Shu in a way no one had ever quite seen before. Then he took only Hua Che.
* * *
The Emperor's fury broke against Hua Che's cheek — the first time the Crown Prince had ever made his father angry.
"Shameless. Hua Shu is your sister."
"Hua Shu is only Consort Zhen's niece. Why should that matter?"
The Emperor shook with anger. "The Crown Prince is old enough. It is time to take a consort."
"Father." Hua Che fell to his knees. "I want no one but Hua Shu."
The Emperor's voice dropped to something cold and final. "If you persist in this foolishness, I will ensure you never see Hua Shu again."
* * *
In the fifteenth year of Jingyuan, Xiao Limo — Young General of the Xiao Family Army, born to command, cold as winter iron — lost his mind.
Hua Che understood. The Emperor was rigid, suspicious. "War is a matter of vital national importance — the realm of life and death, the path to survival or ruin. It must not be left unexamined."
Lord Xiao Zhong was old and no threat. Xiao Lifeng cared only for his books, harmless in a time of strife. But a man who could conquer the battlefield — a man like the old Xiao Limo — such a man made emperors lose sleep. Now that Xiao Limo had broken, the Xiao family was safe — but Da Qi paid the price. The northern frontier ground on with uncertain blood, and without its Young General, morale would crack.
In the sixteenth year of Jingyuan, the Emperor gave his most beloved daughter in marriage to a fool. The court reeled.
Hua Che wanted to rage. He knelt before his Mother in Changchun Palace instead. "Please — help us."
The Empress sat with her eyes half-closed. The prayer beads between her fingers spun faster and faster. Snap. The string broke. Beads scattered across the silent hall.
She opened her eyes and looked at the beads rolling away from her. Her voice was very soft. "Originally there is not a single thing — where, then, could dust gather?"
Hua Che moved closer on his knees. "Mother. Please."
The Empress washed her hands and smiled serenely. "Che'er. The empire and the woman you love have never been able to stand in the same room. Do you need me to explain this?"
"Mother — this is Hua Shu. Not just anyone. This is Hua Shu."
"Tell me — who is the most favored person in this palace?"
Hua Che did not understand where she was going.
"Your father loved Consort Zhen. When Zhen gave birth early and her body was destroyed by it, where was he? He was at the summer palace with Lady Liu, daughter of General Liu. He loved Zhen — but even that love had its walls. The only exception he ever made was three days of national mourning after she died. Nothing more. Che'er: can you do as much? Can you be that kind of emperor? Your father is carving out the piece of your heart that can't belong to you. Without Hua Shu's marriage, how will you be the ruler Da Qi needs — the stern, self-possessed kind, the only kind that works?"
Hua Che crumpled to the floor. His father's voice — cold as the stone it had been carved from — rose in his memory.
"You have been given power over life and death. What you lose is only sentiment."
"An emperor holds the world in his chest — not a woman's face. You may indulge her. You may not love her."
...
Hua Che pressed his palm to his temple. His head was splitting. The blood had soaked through the bandages again.
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