Page 44 of Song of the Crimson Flower

Her voice quivered as she spoke, and Bao lifted his head. Her gaze was as soft as the notes of the flute. They were almost the same height now, with her standing and him sitting. He looked steadily back at her, longer than he had ever before, thinking how much braver he was in the shadows. Brave enough to let his eyes fall to her mouth, brave enough to put his hands on her waist and pull her close to him. A little gasp escaped her, and Bao stayed still, his hands resting above her hips, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted to.

She did not pull away. She put her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs brushing his jaw as lightly as butterflies. She bent her head down, slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Some of her hair tumbled out of its braid, covering them like a curtain. She was close enough that he could hear her heartbeat galloping with his own. He slid his hand gently up from her waist, fingers catching the edge of her tunic, lifting it to feel the warm, petal-soft skin of her back, and heard her breath hitch in her throat. Their noses touched.

The little boy sat up and began sniffling. Lan and Bao broke apart, startled, and she pushed her hair back hastily. Even in the darkness, he could see her face was flushed. He sat motionless, his pulse hammering, as she tended to the child.

“I need to... to go... but I’m scared of the dark,” the boy wailed, and Lan hushed him.

“I’m going to take him out,” she said breathlessly, helping the child up.

Bao cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said, his voice unsteady. “And you should try to sleep. Wren will call us in the morning when it’s time to go.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Will you be all right?”

Not without you. Come back and stay with me tonight, he wanted to say. But even the shadows couldn’t make him as brave as that. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Lan lingered, looking at him as though she wanted to say something else, but the child whimpered. Sighing, she took him by the hand and led him out of the cottage, the tightness in Bao’s throat and heart returning with every step she took away from him.

18

“I don’t like the look of that sky,” Lady Yen said, peering up at the gathering swirl of dark, heavy gray clouds. The group had been traveling all morning and afternoon, and had stopped briefly to eat and rest. “It’s a good thing we left the village when we did.”

“I’m glad, too. We can’t afford to waste much more time.” Lan’s eyes found Bao, who had been drawn into a discussion about flute music with Wren. The kind-hearted warrior seemed to be doing her utmost to cheer him up, and though Bao was his usual polite self, Lan saw the weariness in the droop of his shoulders. He looked like he hadn’t slept since leaving the village three days ago. She knew it weighed upon him, the decision to leave Cam, Tao, their daughter, and all of those children behind.

“Is Bao worried about the villagers?” Lady Yen asked gently. “From what I hear, the elderly couple has that capable young man, Huy, to help them. I’m sure they’ll be all right.”

“I hope so. But either way, we have to focus on getting to the GrayCity. The full moon is in only three nights.” Lan glanced at the sky, which seemed to grow darker every minute. “We’re going to look a bit bedraggled for Lord Nguyen, I’m afraid, if this storm breaks soon.”

“I doubt he cares what people look like. He just wants us to get there safely.”

Lady Yen fell silent, and Lan knew she was thinking about the moment late tonight when she would set foot upon her husband-to-be’s estate. Soon she would be Lord Nguyen’s wife and no longer free to feel what she did for Commander Wei. They would long for each other all the rest of their lives, trapped in separate worlds that would never overlap.

Lan had come close to a similar entrapment herself—one of her own making, from which she had been saved by an honest confession. Her eyes again found Bao, whose careworn hands were cleaning the bamboo flute.

The morning of their departure, they had all looked on as Huy destroyed the last of the black spice at Cam and Tao’s request. The couple had stood watching with tears in their eyes, and then Cam had begged Bao to play a specific song for her daughter. Lan had recognized the lullaby as one her mother had sung to her, about a rabbit who had come home to find her baby gone. It was a cheerful tune because the rabbits reunited in the end, but looking at Cam’s frail face and Tao’s stooped shoulders, Lan knew that they had chosen it to remember happier days, singing the lullaby to their little girl, and to give them hope that one day they would be with her again.

Bao had played as Lan had never heard him play before, and she had thought what an extraordinary gift his music was. It was everything he had to offer, the very best of him. He was like his music: quiet and unassuming, with unexpected depths of beauty she might have seen if she had only taken the time to look. Afterward, he had wrapped hisarms around the elderly couple and made their pain his own, and then Tao had stroked Cam’s hair and Lan had had the sudden thought that Bao, too, would love his wife that much and for that long.

Now, Lan saw Bao give another weary, polite nod and wondered whether she ought to go save him from Wren’s chatter. But then Commander Wei strode over and spoke to the warrior.

“I could use your opinion on something,” the Commander said briskly, and Wren got up at once. “Go on over to where my stallion is tethered. I need to talk to Bao for a minute.”

Bao looked up from his flute apprehensively, clearly thinking—like Lan—that the man might have found out about his conversation with Mistress Vy, but then the Commander unfolded a bundle of cloth tucked beneath his arm. It was a large, silk-lined cloak of dark green wool, with gold stitching around the collar and a metal pin.

“Wrap this around you,” he told Bao gruffly. “I’m no physician, but I know the feeling of being cold when you’re bone-tired. And you look bone-tired to me.”

“I can’t accept this, sir,” Bao argued. “And you’ll need it yourself, with rain coming.”

“I’m lending it to you. Take it,” Commander Wei said in a stern tone, then waved away Bao’s thanks and returned to where Wren was waiting.

Lan got up and went over to Bao, who had gratefully wrapped the cloak around himself despite his protests. She noticed that he was shivering beneath the wool. “That was kind. Have you been promoted to Commander of the Great Forest?” she asked, longing to make him smile.

“Almost. I need to learn how to use a sword first.”

She reached over and pulled the cloak tightly around him. “I should have paid attention when you were making those tonics. I could have made you something to help you sleep.”

“I don’t think it would do much good,” he said, shivering. “Even my toes and my fingers are freezing. I feel like I can’t get warm. I think it’s... I think it’s the spell. It must be changing again, progressing to a different stage. We’re running out of time.”

“We have enough time,” Lan said, feeling a pang of worry looking at his pale face. He was almost gray with exhaustion. “I wish I could make it better.”

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