Under Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay Page A

didn’t smile.
    “But you thought she was here to kill you!” the commander protested.
    “I did. Now I believe otherwise.”
    “Why?”
    Tai looked across at the woman again. She sat gracefully, eyes lowered again, seemingly composed. He didn’t think she was.
    He considered his answer. Then he allowed himself a smile. Chou Yan would have enjoyed this moment, he thought, would have absolutely savoured it, then told the tale endlessly, embellishing it differently each time. Thinking of his friend, Tai’s smile faded. He said, “Because she bound up her hair before coming here.”
    The commander’s expression was diverting.
    “She … because …?”
    Tai kept his voice grave. This remained an important man for him for the next little while. Lin Fong’s dignity had to be protected.
    “Her hands and feet are free, and she has at least two weapons in her hair. The Kanlin are trained to kill with those. If she wanted me dead I would be, already. So would you. If she were another rogue, she wouldn’t care about the consequences to Stone Mountain of killing you. She might even manage to escape.”
    “Three weapons,” Wei Song said. She pulled one of her hairpins out and laid it down. It rested, gleaming, on the platform. “And escape is considered preferable, but is not expected with certain assignments.”
    “I know that,” said Tai.
    He was watching the commander, and he saw a change.
    It was as if the man settled into himself, accepted that he had done what he could, would be able to absorb and deflect whatever criticism came from superiors. This was beyond him, larger by far than a border fortress. The court had been invoked.
    Lin Fong sipped his tea, calmly poured more from the dark-green ceramic pot on the lacquered tray at his side. Tai did the same thing from his own. He looked at the woman. The hairpin rested in front of her, long as a knife. The head of it was silver, in the shape of a phoenix.
    “You will, at least, attend upon Xu Bihai, the governor, in Chenyao?”
    Lin Fong’s expression was earnest. This was a request, no more. On the other hand, the commander did not suggest he visit the prefect in Chenyao. Army against civil service, endlessly. Some things never changed, year over year, season after season.
    There was no need to comment. And if he also went to see the prefect, that was his own affair. Tai said simply, “Of course I will, if Governor Xu is gracious enough to receive me. I know that he knew my father. I will hope to receive counsel from him.”
    The commander nodded. “I will send my own letter. As to counsel … you have been much removed, have you not?”
    “Very much,” said Tai.
    Moons above a mountain bowl, waxing and waning, silver light upon a cold lake. Snow and ice, wildflowers, thunderstorms. The voices of the dead on the wind.
    Lin Fong looked unhappy again. Tai found himself beginning to like the man, unexpectedly. “We live in difficult days, Shen Tai. The borders are peaceful, the empire is expanding, Xinan is the glory of the world. But sometimes such glory …”
    The woman remained very still, listening.
    “My father used to say that times are always difficult,” Tai murmured, “for those living through them.”
    The commander considered this. “There are degrees, polarities. The stars find alignments, or they do not.” This was rote, from a Third Dynasty text. Tai had studied it for the examinations. Lin Fong hesitated. “For one thing, the first thing, the honoured empress is no longer in the Ta-Ming Palace. She has withdrawn to a temple west of Xinan.”
    Tai drew a breath. It was important news, though not unexpected.
    “And the lady Wen Jian?” he asked softly.
    “She has been proclaimed as Precious Consort, and installed in the empress’s wing of the palace.”
    “I see,” said Tai. And then, because it was important to him, “And the ladies attending upon the empress? What of them?”
    The commander shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’d