Threads 228-Pronouncement 2

“I am surprised that you would make such allowances before the tournament’s end,” Cai Renxiang said calmly, despite the wary relief Ling Qi could see beginning to set in.

The Duchess offered a languid shrug, leaning back in her seat, sending the shadows dancing throughout the box. “I am satisfied with his resolve, and a place in the finals will grant him the correct rank. It may, in fact, be better that the Han boy wins that battle. They did suffer some loss of face in the previous year.” She sounded like a woman musing on the next day’s weather. “But, Renxiang, recall always that soldiers are dangerous creatures. Do keep him in hand, yes?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Below, the field was cleared, and Gan Guangli stepped down, at last allowing his shoulders to sag a little with fatigue. That had been a risky maneuver he had played there. Ling Qi wasn’t quite sure how the boisterous young man had hidden such a reserve of qi while playing at fatigue. He hardly studied stealth arts.

<I’m thinking it was his buddy,> Sixiang analyzed. <Those lunkheads might be flashy, but they know how to make a dramatic entrance. Maybe some kind of transference art?>

They could always ask later. She decided not to call Sixiang on the mild hypocrisy of calling anyone else flashy. In the arena below, the Sect was announcing the next two combatants.

As Han Jian and Xiao Fen stepped into the ring, Ling Qi felt a twinge of discomfort. It made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, a creeping anxiety that almost had her shifting physically in her seat. It took several long moments before Ling Qi realized what it was. She kept her eyes facing forward on the arena below. She had no desire to turn her head. Diao Linqin’s attention was on her back.

As the battlefield took shape below, rolling hills and scrub-filled fields, Ling Qi felt the whisper of a flower petal blowing across her cheek. The world felt dull and washed out. Even Sixiang’s voice was a muffled whisper. Only the terrible light of the Duchess shone through, and that, too, seemed muted, but it was a faintly indulgent thing like a person turning their head aside so as not to listen in.

Ling Qi took a very deep breath, looking down at her own lap. Vibrant flower petals blew and curled around her. “What have I done to earn the honor of such attention, Prime Minister?”

“Aided in holding together a broken doll until it could begin to become a woman again, it seems.” Diao Linqin’s aristocratic voice was measured and neutral. “Has she spoken to you about last evening yet?”

“Lady Cai Renxiang has not yet had the opportunity.” Despite herself, some irritation at her friend being spoken of in that way bled through. She really wasn’t good enough at this yet.

Slowly, she turned her head to look over her shoulder to see Diao Linqin looking down at her with pursed lips and an expression of vexation. “It is truly irritating when you see some truth in a jest.”

Ling Qi remained silent, recalling last year, when the Duchess had compared her to the Prime Minister and joked of her daughter’s taste matching hers.

“Only a shred of it,” Diao Linqin said imperiously. “That girl does not love in that way, and you, though you can, are broken by fear.”

“I do not understand, Prime Minister. This seems inappropriate.”

“Just a musing,” the older woman dismissed. “And recognition of what is forming in the chaos you call cultivation. You have been poking about the edges of the Diao clan. Why?”

Ling Qi’s thoughts rushed by as she assembled an answer in her head, trying to keep calm in this surreal scenario. “I seem to have brought some offense to you and your family, although it was never my intent. I only want to ensure that it does not become true ire and learn more of the Diao, so that I can avoid missteps in the future.”

“You will not abandon that girl, and I know well enough these ideas are yours, as much as hers.” In this strange illusion, Diao Linqin seemed to loom much higher, a queen in waiting herself, on a throne of flowers and thorns. “Your offense was very much intentional.”

Ling Qi corrected herself. “To avoid more offenses beyond the points I will not move from then.”

“Better.” Diao Linqin rested her chin on her hand. “You are not the first to try the game of twisting truth. Learn when it is better to make a straight thrust of the blade rather than aiming for a fanciful feint.”

Ling Qi narrowed her eyes despite the sharp-edged petals in the air and the pressure of the light and wind. “I will take your advice to heart, Elder. If I may, why does our project give you such offense?”

“I am the Matriarch of the Diao. What offends them must offend me in court, at least in these matters. Have you studied our history?”

“The Diao rose as a viscount in the south central valley and were raised to counts under the Hui,” Ling Qi rattled off. “Though your star has only risen in their absence.”

“To hear it so dryly… Such is history,” Diao Linqin said with a strange, half-irritated and half-resigned expression. “But you, child who has never known the old order, do not really understand those words.”

Ling Qi bowed her head, recognizing that no response was expected.

“We were raised, it was true, but the Hui had no friends. They had no love beyond themselves. They wielded apathy, affection, and cruelty alike the way you do your instruments. All who served them were made less than they were in that service. The Diao were at once pampered pets and beaten dogs, ever hungry for the master’s affirmation. The response of most to such abuse is to wrap themselves in the pride of what they are allowed.”

Ling Qi was surprised to hear so much from the woman. She still felt no doubt in Diao Linqin’s dislike for her. “What was allowed was to feel wholly imperial?”

“Good. I dislike students who need things spelled out for them. You understand then, why so many feel disdain for the ‘projects’ such as the Wang’s assimilation and your diplomacy. Even if less remember why with every passing year, elders pass their grudges and hate to their juniors through every lesson.”

“You sound very detached from this.”

“That is an observation you could make.”

Ling Qi mulled that over in silence for a moment before finally coming to her reply. “Why are you telling me these things?”

Diao Linqin looked down at her, flower petals blowing in an unfelt wind. “What do you imagine will happen if Her Grace’s daughters fail to live up to her expectations?”

Ling Qi swallowed. “There will probably be some conflict over the throne.”

“Understatement. An amusing and occasionally useful device. Know that the Diao clan is split. Some see themselves as the natural heirs of Cai. Others look upon our influence and our wealth and our positions in many ministries and wonder what precisely the benefit of losing our shielding light is and why we should fight another war. Diao Hualing is an opportunist. But opportunists have their place.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Ling Qi said warily.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Your lady will explain.” Diao Linqin peered down, her lips curled with disdain, but it did not seem wholly directed at Ling Qi. “Tell me, child, when you look upon me, what do you see? Do not bother to lie or speak in circles.”

Ling Qi looked hard at the older woman, or rather, the face she presented. She saw the shifting thorns and flowers that spread around and saw the way they curled toward the radiant light cast toward them from above in longing adulation. She saw the skulls great and small in the dirt below, split and grown over by roots wound in thorny vines and crushed in numbers greater than she could count. She saw shading boughs cast upon tightly grown flowers and shoots, apathetic of their existence but casting life-giving shade from the searing light all the same.