Just as she was about to speak, Dugu Qing gave the slightest tap of his toe, and the world tilted — in an instant the two of them were somewhere else.
“You always said you were feeble and sickly,” Mei Qingxue said, and then it clicked for her: he hadn’t moved by ordinary means. He’d used martial skill.
Dugu Qing murmured in her ear, amused and a little proud, “You really are slow on the uptake — you only just discovered that I have martial arts.” It was a secret he’d kept close. There were many things he wanted to tell her, but not now. She was his wife and deserved to know, he thought, but the moment had not arrived, and the matter of his true rank would have to wait as well.
Gently he set her down, almost unwilling to let go. He hugged her again. “Let me hold you one more time,” he pleaded with a childlike softness that made the air between them tremble.
That night he had known she’d climbed the wall alone to go to the guesthouse and had wanted to follow. He’d worried she might be angry if she knew. He worried, too, that if he held on too long his own wanton strength would hurt her delicate body. So after a few more moments he forced himself to release her. “Rest early, Consort. I’ll go back to my study.”
Without looking back, he left. If he’d stayed longer, he thought, the ache from last night might have deepened for both of them. Better to stifle his own yearning and spend the night in the cold quiet of his study.
Mei Qingxue watched his retreating figure until he disappeared and then, oddly, forgot to ask how he’d found her leaving the mansion. The fatigue that had been building in her chest all night finally broke over her in a tide of sleepiness; she yawned, went back to her chamber, and was gone.
When Yue Ru came in that morning to tidy the room, Mei Qingxue still slept on. “Consort, the sun’s out nicely today. A few of the white Shengxue blossoms in the garden have already opened,” the maid chattered to herself, expecting the consort to rise as she usually did. But Mei Qingxue lay there, breathing deep and even.
Yue Ru bent to check the embroidery on the new shoes Mei Qingxue had worn the night before. Something white flecked the sole — not the ordinary dust of the manor. Only the south side of the city, near the shops where the consort’s boutique stood, had that peculiar grit. A chill ran through Yue Ru. Mei Qingxue had been out.
Yue Ru said nothing. She dressed the clothes the consort would wear and brought water to wash her face, but the discovery she kept locked tight in her heart. No wonder her mistress had sent her away so early last night. She busied herself in the room, pretending ignorance of the footprints on those embroidered shoes.
Mei Qingxue had no wish to wake. Long before dawn, a message from Shadow had arrived, and it had driven sleep from her entirely.
There’d been trouble at the Azure Sea Pavilion. One of their killers, on a job to assassinate a corrupt official, had been captured. He hadn’t expected the official to hire hired muscle from the jianghu as bodyguards; the man had been taken, and though his life wasn’t yet forfeit, the racks and interrogations could not be ruled out.
When Shadow relayed the news, Mei Qingxue’s voice hardened. “If he’s alive, we don’t abandon him. He’s one of mine. Get him out. The official’s residence is under heavy guard; it’ll be difficult, but you must try.”
Shadow’s respect for her deepened at her words — “not abandoned, not forsaken” — and he nodded with fierce loyalty. “Master: with your order, I’ll go through fire and over knives to bring him back. Where shall we hide him once we have him?”
“There are empty rooms in the prince’s mansion. I’ll have them prepared.” Mei thought quickly; the prince’s name could serve as a thin but useful shield. The official would be reluctant to storm the prince’s household openly; that might expose him to prosecution. It wasn’t perfect, but it would buy time. She trusted Shadow’s skill, but she worried for the wounded man all the same.
Yue Ru kept tugging at Mei’s sleeve. “Miss, get up?”
She pretended to be drowsy, refusing to open her eyes. Yue Ru alternated saying “Consort” and “Miss,” trying everything to rouse her. The woman on the bed was obstinately immovable.
“Come on, Lady Consort. You should get up — the Prince has sent word that he wants breakfast here.” Yue Ru’s voice hurried.
Mei Qingxue muttered, “We just saw each other last night. Why is he coming again so soon?”
“His mood is very good today,” Yue Ru said.
“My mood is not,” Mei replied, letting out a small, long-suffering sigh. It wasn’t breakfast nor yet noon; what right did the Prince have to disturb her? She didn’t want the day wasted on his tender attentions.
Before Yue Ru could finish, she heard footsteps in the hall: the Prince had arrived.
“What’s all this?” Dugu Qing’s voice carried into the room. Yue Ru curtseyed quickly. “Your Highness.”
“Go on, you may leave,” Dugu Qing waved her away. He had spent the night alone in his chilly study; he wanted nothing more than to hold Mei Qingxue in his arms and soothe the ache of longing.
“Very good, I’ll go.” Proud that her mistress commanded the Prince’s attention, Yue Ru left with practiced composure.
Dugu Qing picked up the comb from the dressing table and, with almost ceremonious tenderness, took up Mei Qingxue’s hair. “Allow your husband to attend to your hair and face,” he said. He was inordinately pleased to be useful.
She could not refuse; if she did, he might grow petulant and decide to pin her to the bed with more than affection. She let him comb the silk-dark strands that tumbled in his hands.
“You sleep badly?” she asked, half-laughing; his voice when he used her name had a ridiculous, spoiled softness — it made the hairs along her spine bristle.
He blinked, tired, showing faint blue shadows beneath his eyes. Mei Qingxue looked up and caught sight of them. She stifled a laugh, unable to help herself. The sight of a large, imposing man pouting with dark circles like a sulking child struck her as absurd.
Dugu Qing felt the warmth of her laughter like spring rain, and he forgot, just for a moment, everything except that sound. He wanted nothing more than to fold the woman he adored into his arms and never let her go.
“You have something on your mind,” he probed, watching her in the mirror. He knew she was distracted.
“No,” she lied quickly. The Azure Sea Pavilion was her business; she would not tell him. Trust, she had learned, was hard-won and easily broken. She could not tell him about the captured killer, nor about how Shadow’s reports had lately been thin. She had to go, to check on things herself — but today was daylight, and moving openly would be dangerous.
“Tell Yue Ru to prepare a light meal. I will take a small sip with you.” Dugu Qing was startling in his frankness; a morning tipple? Mei suspected his invitation had other motives.
She smiled in the way of a woman politely accepting a diversion and sent Yue Ru to fetch food. While the Prince turned his head, she slipped something into his favorite dish: a dose of a powerful sleeping draught.
She hesitated only the briefest moment. The dose was heavy — far more than usual. Why did she feel compelled to choose such a measure? Perhaps she feared he might follow her; perhaps she feared for herself if he did.
She did not know that Dugu Qing was no ordinary man when it came to poisons. Years before, he had suffered a chronic cold toxin; he had been treated by countless remedies none could fully cure. The malady lingered, but along the way his constitution had become strangely resistant to most poisons. Fate, or the many methods used to try and cure him, had left him oddly immune.
Dugu Qing’s eyelid twitched as he watched her pour the last of the liquid in. He understood at once: she was going to escape, and she wanted him drugged to keep him from trailing her. He chose to humored her — at least for now. He let her dose be what it would, then composed himself and, as she expected, lay down and feigned sleep.
He had not been fooled by her trick. If she truly wanted to flee into danger, he would follow. He would not let her go alone.
When Mei slipped out and met a small group in the shadows, Dugu Qing followed — silent, careful, hidden behind fences and alleyways. He arrived at the scene just in time to see her questions met by one denial after another: “Has he been rescued?” “No.” “Is he safe?” “Not yet.” With each negative reply her face fell a little more.
He watched that disappointment harden into a physical thing that tugged at his chest. Seeing her wait for good news and get only fresh disappointment stung him more than any insult. To see her shoulders drop under the weight of worry was to feel the world go slightly gray inside him.
He had followed because he could not bear the thought that she might walk into peril without him. Watching her now, shadowed by worry and stubborn resolve, he realized he would not let her do so alone.