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Authors: Cindy. Pon

Silver Phoenix (48 page)

BOOK: Silver Phoenix
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S I LV E R P H O E N I X

“The bathwater was filled with jasmine flowers, too?” Ai Ling asked.

“It’s Master Zhong’s favorite scent on a woman.”

Ai Ling’s cheeks burned.

Zhen Ni threw a luxurious gold robe over her shoulders.

She ran a carved wooden comb through her hair. Ai Ling watched the deft fingers of the handmaid as she twisted her tresses into loops, pinning jeweled flowers into them.

Finally she placed a gold coronet on the top of her head, with a phoenix rising from the middle, clutching a ruby in one claw and a pearl in the other.

“We dust, then dress, her,” Zhen Ni said. “The makeup comes last.”

The other four handmaids nodded in unison, and Zhen Ni removed the gold robe from her shoulders, revealing her naked body again.

“Please stand, mistress, to be dusted.”

Ai Ling rose to her feet and raised her brows at Zhen Ni, not knowing what she meant.

“Mother-of-pearl, silver, and gold pounded into body powder, mistress. Also scented.” Zhen Ni nodded, and the four handmaids, each holding a porcelain bowl, proceeded to dust her entire body using large, soft brushes. Ai Ling shivered, sickened by the cloying scent of jasmine.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her coloring was not the pale ivory coveted by so many women, but a warm sun-kissed pink instead. Her arms and face had darkened 275

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from the days of travel; the bath had brought a glow to her cheeks. They flushed again, red hot, as she stared at her bare breasts. How much of herself would she have to sacrifi ce—

could sacrifice—to defeat Zhong Ye? Was she even strong enough to conquer him?

She cast herself into the nearest handmaid, hoping to gather information. But the girl only thought about the end of the day, when she could return to her own quarters, away from the dangerous politics and intrigue. Another handmaid daydreamed of her lover, praying they wouldn’t be found out.

When the handmaids had finished, a scented sheen covered her entire body. She unclasped her necklace and slipped it into her knapsack on the bed. She sensed it could not help her now, and she could not risk it catching Zhong Ye’s attention. Her hand grazed the cold bundle that was Li Rong’s heart.

Had they rifl ed through her belongings? Ai Ling touched Zhen Ni’s spirit. The handmaid calmed herself by sweeping the floor.
My mistress must look perfect for Master Zhong. The
breast binder needs to be scented. Where are the wedding slippers?
Panic swept through Zhen Ni, and Ai Ling pulled herself back quickly.

She reached for the glass vial hidden in her tunic. Her movement caught the handmaid’s attention.

“What’s that, mistress?”

“A good-luck charm,” she said.

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S I LV E R P H O E N I X

Zhen Ni wrung her hands. “Master Zhong would not allow it.”

Ai Ling clutched the vial. “It’s nothing, Zhen Ni. A trinket. I want to please him as much as you do.”

The handmaid’s tense shoulders dropped a fraction.

“Please make sure everything is moved to the bridal bedchamber for me,” Ai Ling said.

Zhen Ni inclined her head. “Yes, mistress.”

One of the handmaids retreated and returned with a red silk binder, identical to the one Zhong Ye had drawn from his tunic—the one Silver Phoenix had hung herself with.

Was it the same one? What was she thinking when she had killed herself? Had Zhong Ye forced her to marry too?

Ai Ling raised both arms without being asked. Her scalp crawled as Zhen Ni bound her breasts with the fabric. She forced herself to be still, fought the urge to scream and slap the girl away. It was the custom for every virgin on her wedding night. A married woman was required to have her breasts tightly bound at all times, except within the privacy of her own bedchamber.
The Book of Making,
presented by her mother so long ago, had explained the ritual in detail.

She tried to draw a deep breath when Zhen Ni was finished, having wrapped the silken fabric around her chest with expertise. She couldn’t.

“You’ll adjust to it, mistress,” Zhen Ni said as if reading her thoughts. “The silk is forgiving.”

Zhen Ni helped her into a red silk undergarment, fastened 277

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it around her waist with a gold braided cord. Ai Ling gasped when she saw two handmaids approaching with the wedding gown. They carried the gold-and-red gown carefully between them.

“It may not fit perfectly. But we can make quick altera-tions,” Zhen Ni said.

Two handmaids stepped up behind Ai Ling, slipping the crimson-and-gold gown onto her bare shoulders. The weight of it surprised her, the material cool on her skin. Two golden phoenixes as well as the symbol for eternal happiness were embroidered across her chest. The handmaids moved in front of her, one standing and one kneeling, fastening with deft fingers the hidden clasps running down the center of the gown.

Ai Ling lifted one hand and saw, edged along the wide sleeves, bands of dragons with fierce expressions staring at her. After fastening every clasp, the two handmaids retreated and Zhen Ni leaned in to button the stiff collar across her shoulder. Then she stepped back.

It was as if they all waited for her approval. Ai Ling forced herself to look in the mirror. The blush that had colored her cheeks from the bath seemed muted against the expanse of gold and red that swathed her. She felt boxed in, claus-trophobic from the weight of the formal gown. She stared into her own dark, slender eyes, and thought she looked too young to be dressed like this.

Wasn’t this the fate of most girls?

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S I LV E R P H O E N I X

Ai Ling inclined her head. She couldn’t breathe. Despite Zhen Ni’s reassurances, the binding was not at all forgiving.

Slowly she nodded to Zhen Ni’s refl ection.

“It fits near perfectly, mistress. True, the length of the gown doesn’t reach the top of your feet”—Zhen Ni bent down to tug the bottom band edged with silver symbols—

“but it is hardly noticeable.”

She stood again and regarded her with a pleased flush on her face.

“Now we make up your face.” She put a gentle hand on Ai Ling’s arm and guided her to a chair before the black lacquered table.

Ai Ling closed her eyes as Zhen Ni and another girl fluttered about her with brushes and pencils, lining her eyes and darkening her brows, rouging her lips and cheeks, dusting her entire face with scented, powdery plumes.

She ignored the urge to sneeze and instead tried to cast her spirit toward her father. Could she find him? Somehow tell him she was all right? How far could she travel from her own body? She flung the cord beyond her quarters, but it wavered and dissipated.

Chen Yong. Ai Ling pictured his face in her mind, felt her heartbeat quicken. The cord did not latch but brushed against his spirit, far away.
How . . . Ling . . . at . . . help . . .

She jumped when a light touch grazed her shoulder, her heart lurching from the faint scent of spiced cologne. Zhong Ye. She looked around. He wasn’t there. Every handmaid 279

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was busy putting away makeup and straightening the room.

Zhong Ye had reached her somehow, reminded her of his power and presence. She shivered. Had he sensed her? Did he know?

She turned to face the handmaids. “Thank you. Thank you all for this,” Ai Ling fi nally said.

She had been transformed into a woman with a few strokes of pencil and brush. Her eyes were wider now, more potent.

The pale powder on her face accentuated the rouge on her lips, making them more sensuous. Seductive.

A handmaid approached her with slippers in her hand.

“Your shoes, mistress.” She held up the pair to Ai Ling, as if for her inspection.

The shoes were exquisite—slightly arched with a pointed toe and made of a rich crimson silk. Deep purple lotus flowers with golden leaves wound across the sides. At the center of each lotus bloom nestled a dainty emerald. Unopened buds in a pale pink blush peeped from among the blooms.

The short heels were made of ivory.

“I’m not sure if they’ll fit.” She nodded toward her long, narrow feet.

Zhen Ni stooped down and slipped one shoe on her foot.

Ai Ling winced as her toes jammed together. The handmaid struggled briefly. It fit. She did the same with the other slipper, then leaned back and smiled, obviously relieved.

“She had smaller feet. I don’t believe she was as tall,” the handmaid said.

280

BOOK: Silver Phoenix
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