with a glower for his escorts, lumped in with the emperor, “treating an old man this way. You, go and find him some dry clothes. You, fetch food. Hot food, he needs heat. Will someone, anyone,” addressed to the room at large, “bring him a cup of tea at least? Oh, never mind. I’ll do it myself …”
Old Yen stood quiet. This really wasn’t about him, it all lay between Mei Feng and the emperor. Who quieted her with his fingers on her lips, who spoke into her silence: “Hush, you will not. You will lie down and speak to your grandfather, tell him the news you have. I thought you might like to do that, which is really why I sent for him tonight.”
Disarmed, she was utterly ungracious, unrelenting. “He still wants a cup of tea.”
“And he shall have one. I will make it myself.”
“You? Do you know how?”
He laughed, and kissed her at last. “I do. Yu Shan has taught me.”
Mention of Yu Shan brought another fleeting shadow to her face. But she held her hand out to Old Yen and settled him among her cushions, curled herself up beside him.
News
, the emperor had said, but she didn’t share it yet. She seemed to cast about rather for something else, anything else that she could say instead.
“I am sorry that you had to make that climb, Grandfather. We weren’t up here for the storm, we took shelter in the jade store and that would have been an easier walk for you, only the river wouldn’t stop rising and the emperor wouldn’t let us stay,”
he wouldn’t let me stay
she seemed to mean, “so we all had to troop up here where even he could be absolutely sure the water would never reach us …”
She was hiding something. It might be how she had contrived to come here from Taishu: had she begged a ride from the dragon,perhaps? A ride on the typhoon? Or it might be why she had contrived to come, what absurdity had brought her in chase of her man. If she was so keen not to tell, Old Yen was at least as keen not to hear it; but the emperor was frowning over his kettle and his teapot, which was nothing to do with the complications of making tea, and he would preempt her if she didn’t hurry up.
The scruffy cat had come back to her and she was fussing with his fur, unteasing mats with her fingers. “Grandfather. I’m, I’m going to have a baby.”
Which made him a very old man indeed, he realized with a rush of delight. Very Old Yen: a great-grandfather. And part of the imperial family, great-grandfather to a dynasty …
He was still absorbing that when the emperor brought him a cup of tea. Imperial tea, fine and extraordinary, not at all the harsh brew he drank himself; and the emperor was sitting at his feet all unexpectedly, for all the world like a son-in-law looking for advice.
“Grandfather, you know more about the goddess than anyone except perhaps her priestesses. And you know the dragon too, you believed in the dragon when perhaps nobody else did.”
Well, of course: the one implied the other, you couldn’t have the goddess unless you had the dragon too, her prisoner.
Her escaped prisoner.
The emperor said, “We need to know how to fight the dragon, how to chain her again.”
one
a Lin had her daughters back.
Those two who were still living, at least, she had those. The third in a way had never left her. Little Meuti’s body might lie unmarked and overlooked between the paddy and the road, in some bare scrabble of soil that even Ma Lin could not find for certain; her ghost was a presence intermittently,
tug-tug
at Ma Lin’s trousers.
For a while she’d been all that Ma Lin had of daughters, and welcome so.
But now the girls were back, the living girls, Jin and Shola. Insofar as Jin ever could come back, which was not very far, perhaps, not far enough. Sometimes she was not there at all, and the goddess lived through her. Which might be Jin’s own choice, but Ma Lin didn’t think so.
She didn’t like to think about her elder daughter’s choices, nor her
Old Yen stood quiet. This really wasn’t about him, it all lay between Mei Feng and the emperor. Who quieted her with his fingers on her lips, who spoke into her silence: “Hush, you will not. You will lie down and speak to your grandfather, tell him the news you have. I thought you might like to do that, which is really why I sent for him tonight.”
Disarmed, she was utterly ungracious, unrelenting. “He still wants a cup of tea.”
“And he shall have one. I will make it myself.”
“You? Do you know how?”
He laughed, and kissed her at last. “I do. Yu Shan has taught me.”
Mention of Yu Shan brought another fleeting shadow to her face. But she held her hand out to Old Yen and settled him among her cushions, curled herself up beside him.
News
, the emperor had said, but she didn’t share it yet. She seemed to cast about rather for something else, anything else that she could say instead.
“I am sorry that you had to make that climb, Grandfather. We weren’t up here for the storm, we took shelter in the jade store and that would have been an easier walk for you, only the river wouldn’t stop rising and the emperor wouldn’t let us stay,”
he wouldn’t let me stay
she seemed to mean, “so we all had to troop up here where even he could be absolutely sure the water would never reach us …”
She was hiding something. It might be how she had contrived to come here from Taishu: had she begged a ride from the dragon,perhaps? A ride on the typhoon? Or it might be why she had contrived to come, what absurdity had brought her in chase of her man. If she was so keen not to tell, Old Yen was at least as keen not to hear it; but the emperor was frowning over his kettle and his teapot, which was nothing to do with the complications of making tea, and he would preempt her if she didn’t hurry up.
The scruffy cat had come back to her and she was fussing with his fur, unteasing mats with her fingers. “Grandfather. I’m, I’m going to have a baby.”
Which made him a very old man indeed, he realized with a rush of delight. Very Old Yen: a great-grandfather. And part of the imperial family, great-grandfather to a dynasty …
He was still absorbing that when the emperor brought him a cup of tea. Imperial tea, fine and extraordinary, not at all the harsh brew he drank himself; and the emperor was sitting at his feet all unexpectedly, for all the world like a son-in-law looking for advice.
“Grandfather, you know more about the goddess than anyone except perhaps her priestesses. And you know the dragon too, you believed in the dragon when perhaps nobody else did.”
Well, of course: the one implied the other, you couldn’t have the goddess unless you had the dragon too, her prisoner.
Her escaped prisoner.
The emperor said, “We need to know how to fight the dragon, how to chain her again.”
one
a Lin had her daughters back.
Those two who were still living, at least, she had those. The third in a way had never left her. Little Meuti’s body might lie unmarked and overlooked between the paddy and the road, in some bare scrabble of soil that even Ma Lin could not find for certain; her ghost was a presence intermittently,
tug-tug
at Ma Lin’s trousers.
For a while she’d been all that Ma Lin had of daughters, and welcome so.
But now the girls were back, the living girls, Jin and Shola. Insofar as Jin ever could come back, which was not very far, perhaps, not far enough. Sometimes she was not there at all, and the goddess lived through her. Which might be Jin’s own choice, but Ma Lin didn’t think so.
She didn’t like to think about her elder daughter’s choices, nor her
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