The footsteps are moving away. In this great hall, the whisper of soft footfalls on the wooden floor rings in her ears, which open wide to the sudden silence.
Li Jiaying turns, looking past where the sudden breeze lifts the curtains adorned on the columns. The house is big and old, belonging to a history of administrators that have served in Chengdu: the rooms are large and filled with rosewood furniture, with polished floors and latticework that drip over the windows like lace, decorated with delicately carved pillars and sweeping draperies around the chambers. But her eyes are on the young attendant pulling the wooden doors shut, and they close with a stubborn creaking; a certain finality.
She hears her own sharp intake of air, the quickening beat of her heart hard against her chest. But this place is so beautiful, the sunlight spilling through the windows in perfect squares on the floors. She can feel the heat of it through the soles of her shoes, while around her are priceless treasures winking in the fading light: delicately painted vases, foreign tapestries stitched with golden threads, ink landscapes, all shimmering. But her eyes are on the door, firmly shut. Rather than a palace to be admired, she thinks she is trapped in a beautifully crafted cage.
"Are you afraid?"
She turns. Past the reception hall of low tables is a large study, where shelves of scrolls are neatly tucked away. Fa Zheng is sitting on the wooden luohan daybed underneath the window, his chin placed in his palm, watching her. His eyes are dark—the same color of the soil after a summer's rain, made richer by the glow of the candlelight. When she meets his gaze, his mouth pulls into a smile. She catches a glimpse of the particular sharpness of his teeth; a wolfish grin.
Li Jiaying swallows, looking at the pile of scrolls on the table, at the flickering firelight of the oil lamps... looking anywhere other than at his face. He does not say anything, not right away, but she can feel his gaze.
Her fingers fumble at the hem of the sash tied around her waist. "What could be so important that you must send your attendants away?"
"It's nothing so serious," Fa Zheng says. His presence—calm and focused as a viper's before the strike—unnerves her. "I called you here because I think I have the perfect reward for you."
At that, her gaze snaps up to touch his; her lips part in astonishment. "What?"
This makes his smile widen further, but not enough to reach his eyes. "You saved my life the other day," he says, "And I am someone who repays my debts."
Gooseflesh flourishes over her skin, and her breath catches in her throat. She knows this, of course—perhaps every person of Shu knows. Outwardly, Fa Zheng has a face like a quiet pool, but underneath its smooth surface is a dangerous current; a temper like a boiling, heaving mass. He extends favor to those who suit him, but cuts those who offend him down into two.
He returns any action done unto him in kind, she remembers these words, said by the pretty bow lips of a general's daughter as they sit under the peach blossoms. She once told Li Jiaying stories of how Fa Zheng uses his power to kill those who have offended him, and even had a man beaten to death for serving him a cold meal. Shu officials hate him, but so fierce is Liu Bei's love for his wicked advisor that even Zhuge Liang cannot say anything about it.
That is why, standing before him now, she is breathless: not just from his handsomeness, of his thick hair that coils across his cheeks, his intelligent eyes, his knowing smile and broad chest, but also from the knowledge of the terrible things he has done. Her gaze drops from his face to his hands. He is wearing gloves, with the fabric cut away at his knuckles. The skin of his fingertips is sun-kissed and unblemished, but she can imagine the blood dripping from them.
She knows he must be handled with diligence, like all things precious and dangerous. "You are too kind, my lord. I did nothing of the sort."
"You're being modest," he replies. There is a trace of humor in his voice, and heat blasts underneath her skin as he sizes her up, his eyes trailing from her face down to her hands and back up again. "What is it? Weren't you a fearless heroine just a few days ago?"
This is different, she wants to say. The dagger was not aimed for me. But today, she understands the threat of a cold blade at her neck.
"You are Liu Bei's trusted advisor. Of course I had to do all that I could to help you," she insists, more desperate now that he is standing up from his seat and crossing the chamber towards her.
Those ringing footsteps. His smell of amyris. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck raise, as if lighting has scorched the air.
"If you are going to lie to me, make it convincing." He lowers his voice, almost to a whisper. His lips spread further, widening his smile as his gaze sinks down. She is much shorter than him, just barely reaching his shoulders. Although he is of average height, he towers over her.
She bites at her lip, tasting the pulse of iron beneath her skin. "I would not dare lie to you."
"Really? Because I have another thought about why you came to my aid that day." He reaches towards her, weaving his fingers in between the loose strands of her dark hair; the talon touch of his fingers at her neck sends a tremor down her spine, her breaths coming more quickly as he lowers his face towards hers. "You care for me, don't you?"
She cannot breathe, but not from fear. In all of that young girl's gossip underneath the shade of the blooming arches of flowers, she never mentioned his dizzying scent or the impossible depth of his eyes. Eyes that are watching her reaction now.
Li Jiaying pulls away, stepping backwards until she hits the wall. This is dangerous—he is dangerous. Even when she first saw him, two springs ago as she watched Liu Bei's procession leave for Hanzhong, she recognized this swift, irrevocable, and violent feeling.
Her eyes are darting towards the exit. "I do not dare accept a reward from you. If there is nothing else you need from me, I will take my leave."
She wheels about, thinking to do just that. But before she can lift her skirts and run out, Fa Zheng steps in front of her, blocking her path.
He tilts his head. From this close of a distance, she can see the attractive sweep of his thick lashes, able to count each one. "Why not?"
"What I did that day was for Shu. I was just doing what anyone should—"
"Is that really how you want to justify it?" he asks, his smile thinning—more wry than teasing now.
Li Jiaying releases an unsteady breath. Of course it is not how she wants to justify it. She knows that when she caught the hilt of the blade, all she could think about was rescuing him. She did not think about Shu, or Liu Bei, or anything else. Just him.
When she speaks, her voice is quiet, carried by a shallow breath. "No matter how it is justified, I did not do this to get a reward from you."
"I know that was not your intention. But it is mine." He takes a step forward, lacing his fingers between hers. "Allow me to reward you."
She knows she should not, but her eyes drop to his lips; his drop to hers. He leans in, slow and deliberate, and her eyes flutter shut as his mouth touches hers—first softly, igniting a fire that travels upward through her spine; then she leans in a bit longer, kissing him harder, slipping her fingers from his and sliding her palms up his chest.
He cups her face in his hands. She takes in a dizzied breath at each brush of touch, sinking in his arms like he is the center of her gravity, every piece of her drawn and falling for him.
The score is settled. By the time she returns to her own chambers, the sun has dipped to touch the distant fields, and her head is filled with thoughts on how to place him in her debt again.