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  She drew a long piece of red cord from her sleeve. The moon bled away most of the color, but Xiao Yen could still see it was very rich. It slid like silk through Bei Xi’s fingers.

  Bei Xi made three loops, then drew the ends of cord through them, twisting this way and that. She finished with a three-looped knot, the cord wrapped around itself across the bottom and with the ends coming out of the center loop.

  “Very pretty, don’t you think?” Bei Xi asked, holding it out to Xiao Yen. The knot took up Bei Xi’s entire palm.

  Xiao Yen agreed, not sure what she was supposed to say.

  Bei Xi said, “Now watch.” The knot seemed to draw in on itself, as if unseen hands pulled on the ends, tightening it. The color grew darker as well. The knot shrank until it resembled a small, wooden bead with the pattern of a knot carved on it. Now it took up less than a quarter of Bei Xi’s palm.

  Xiao Yen looked up from the knot into Bei Xi’s smile. Her eyes looked younger, as if the knot had pulled away some of her years. Her pure white teeth glowed like small pearls.

  Bei Xi said, “You tie two of the loops through something you want to keep closed, like the two ends of a chest. Then you shrink the knot, and even though it’s just tied, everyone believes it’s sealed. Privacy, as well as trustworthy locks, can be difficult to find when there are many ladies in a court. Here, you try it.” Bei Xi urged the cord onto Xiao Yen. As it left her hand, the magic faded, and Xiao Yen held a knot.

  “Untie that and tie your own knot,” Bei Xi instructed.

  “What kind of knot?” Xiao Yen asked as she slid the ends through the loops and unraveled the knot.

  “A knot you’re familiar with, that won’t confuse you as you think about which end goes over which,” Bei Xi replied.

  Xiao Yen tied a simple bowline. She started with an overhand loop, threaded one end through the loop, around and over the hanging bit of cord, then back through the loop. When she tightened the knot, pulling on the hanging bit of cord while holding the rest of the knot with her other hand, she was left with a large loop, closed tightly with her knot.

  When Xiao Yen finished, Bei Xi said, “That’s a very practical knot. Now feel the knot in your fingers, the looping cord, how it’s tied together.”

  Xiao Yen took two deep breaths and felt for the knot, the same way she felt the folds in one of her paper creations. The image came quickly, of the looping and gathering, the tension of the cord, the ends straining against each other.

  From a distance she heard Bei Xi say, “Good. Now pull the ends tighter, shrink the distances between the loops in your mind. Imagine it isn’t cord anymore, but thread. See the gaping holes between the loops? Make them smaller, make the knot tighter. Imagine the loops as one solid entity. Wonderful!”

  Xiao Yen opened her eyes. The cord was as it had been, a large loop on one side, the two ends dangling between her fingers. A small, flat wooden bead now connected the parts, not a knot.

  “Now, I want to show you something else. It was one of the first things I taught my sister, Jhr Bei.” Bei Xi lifted the knot up and held it above Xiao Yen’s palm. “Do you see the shadow the knot casts? Look carefully, not with your eyes, but with your mind’s eye.”

  Xiao Yen thought hard as she stared. The knifelike edges of the shadow blurred, and became tinged with blue.

  “Is that a trick of the moonlight?” Xiao Yen asked. Master Wei had said there were ways to “see” magic, but that they were unreliable.

  Bei Xi said, “Almost anything that’s magic, that has been enchanted, casts a shadow with a blue hue. It isn’t an absolute test. Some things completely magical cast solid black shadows, and some things with only a hint of magic are all blue. It’s always worth checking.”

  “Oh,” Xiao Yen replied. She glanced down at her own shadow. Blue ran around the edges of it, and around Bei Xi’s. She pointed to it and said, “But I’m not magic. Why is my shadow blue?”

  Bei Xi laughed and said, “I told you it isn’t always reliable.”

  Xiao Yen looked again at her palm. Though she’d shrunk the knot the first time she’d tried, she knew that was from her practice as a paper mage. The magic was more complicated than Bei Xi realized. Understanding the knot and how it looped, seeing what you wanted it to become, took a clear mind and good imaging. Though it followed the nature of all magic Xiao Yen knew about—it only changed an artifact, not an element—it still wasn’t a simple court lady trick.

  Xiao Yen was going to ask Bei Xi about it when she heard a horse whinny. Xiao Yen and Bei Xi both turned toward the sound. Ehran appeared, walking close to the horses, stroking them, talking to them in a low voice. He held up his hand in greeting when he saw Bei Xi and Xiao Yen. Then he walked across the clearing to where they stood, moving like a dark cloud. He held himself with dignity, like Master Wei when he was thinking about a problem.

  When he joined them on the far side of the clearing, Xiao Yen half expected him to greet them in her tongue, but he spoke in his language instead. Xiao Yen recognized that he asked them how they were and what they were doing. Then she was lost.

  After more conversation Xiao Yen couldn’t follow, Bei Xi said to Xiao Yen, “Why don’t you go back to camp. I’m sure you must be weary to the bone after today’s travels.”

  Xiao Yen took two steps, then looked back, expectantly. She hid a yawn behind her hand.

  Bei Xi noticed Xiao Yen’s hesitance. “Please don’t be concerned about us. We will follow you on the shortest wind.”

  Xiao Yen didn’t move. It wasn’t right for Bei Xi to be alone with one of the foreigners, far from camp and from her guard. Bei Xi laughed. Xiao Yen felt wrapped from head to toe by the warm, comforting sound.

  “I am responsible for my actions. We don’t need a chaperone,” Bei Xi said, still trying to reassure Xiao Yen.

  Ehran asked a question, and whatever Bei Xi said made him turn and smile patronizingly at Xiao Yen. He rested his right hand on the haft of a knife hanging from his belt. Was that the knife he’d used to kill that man?

  Xiao Yen said, “I wish you both a good night.” Then she turned and walked back toward the camp. She stopped again next to the horses to look back. Ehran and Bei Xi seemed deep in conversation.

  Xiao Yen’s anger flared through her. The two stood too close together. It wasn’t proper. No wonder Bei Xi’s lord had accused her of being unfaithful, if this was how she acted.

  As quickly as Xiao Yen’s anger sprang into life, it drained out of her. What could she do about it? Gi Tang, the barbarian guard, wouldn’t understand her if she tried to tell him about it. Udo didn’t like her, so he wouldn’t believe her. Besides, maybe nothing improper was going on.

  Xiao Yen looked at the knot in her hand, then at the two in the clearing. Ehran’s shadow flowed out behind him like a black river on a moonless night.

  Bei Xi’s shadow held hints and sparkles of blue.

  Xiao Yen resolutely turned back toward the camp. She couldn’t trust her luck to keep her from jumping to the wrong conclusion just then. It was just the moonlight and Xiao Yen’s exhaustion that had turned the concubine’s shadow blue. Bei Xi couldn’t be magical. Xiao Yen didn’t want to be any more embarrassed than she already had been that night by believing anything else.

  * * *

  Xiao Yen checked the incense clock again, then sighed. The coin resting on top of the burning stick had only slipped down the width of her finger since the last time she’d looked. It would be a long time before the incense finished burning and the coin fell to the bottom of the brass bowl, signaling with a ting the end of the hour of the Monkey. Even that wouldn’t be the end of Xiao Yen’s torment. She’d have to wait until the end of the following hour, the hour of the Rooster, before she’d be allowed to leave the Garden of Sweet Scents.

  Xiao Yen heard her cousins and her sister playing in the family courtyard, yelling as they chased a rolling hoop, trying to get it between one of two goals. Wang Tie-Tie forbade Xiao Yen to play with her cousins, to listen with
the other children to stories told by Ama, or even to go to the White Temple. Instead, she banished Xiao Yen to the garden, away from everyone. Xiao Yen only saw her sister and mother in the morning and at night. She took all her midday meals alone.

  The only person Xiao Yen saw during the day was Wang Tie-Tie, who visited Xiao Yen two or three times a day. Seeing her aunt was almost as bad as being alone. Wang Tie-Tie made Xiao Yen tell stories. Not the traditional ones Ama told, but ones Xiao Yen made up. Wang Tie-Tie never seemed satisfied with Xiao Yen’s stories, either.

  Xiao Yen sat on a raised platform at the end of the garden. A large oiled umbrella with bamboo leaves painted on it protected her from the sun. The garden was full of summer flowers: shaggy pink and red petunias, black-spotted tiger lilies, purple dragon-nose flowers with petals as long as Xiao Yen’s hand.

  On the west side of the platform was the fox altar. It stood about as high as Xiao Yen’s knee, made of white stone, with pillars supporting a domed roof. The stone on the top and sides was pitted and flaking from age. Wang Tie-Tie said fox fairies helped people in trouble and brought them luck. Fu Be Be said they acted mischievously and added to a person’s problems. Gan Ou said they stole life from men during sex. Xiao Yen didn’t know who was right, but she sometimes burned incense at the altar anyway.

  Xiao Yen studied the altar, tracing the spiderwebs that ran from its back to the plants behind it. She sighed again. She had a story ready for Wang Tie-Tie, but she was sure her aunt wouldn’t like it.

  “To spend your life dreaming is the same as spending your life asleep,” said a voice from behind her. Xiao Yen jumped and turned around, her heart racing. Maybe a fox fairy had come to rescue her. But no, it was Wang Tie-Tie, standing as still as if she’d been planted.

  Xiao Yen jumped to her feet, bowed, and said, “Please, dear aunt, take this unworthy cushion and come out of the sun.”

  Wang Tie-Tie inclined her head slightly, then sat. She indicated with her hand that Xiao Yen should sit next to her. Wang Tie-Tie surveyed the garden, like a matriarch overlooking undeserving descendants. Xiao Yen couldn’t help but be impressed. Wang Tie-Tie looked beautiful and regal, like an empress. She wore a coat made of creamy ivory, close in color to the yellow of royalty, with a pattern of tiny, pale green maple leaves woven into it.

  Xiao Yen tugged at the hem of her own jacket. Wang Tie-Tie had had it made for her after Master Wei had come to visit. It was as finely made as Wang Tie-Tie’s, of silk dyed a green so dark it was almost black, with only the simplest pattern of white willow leaves edging the hems and sleeves. Ling-Ling, her cousin, had made fun of it, calling it servant’s clothing because of the dark color and lack of design. Xiao Yen tugged on it again, wishing for her old clothes, ones she could play and fall on the ground in without making someone angry.

  When Xiao Yen looked up, she started at Wang Tie-Tie’s stare. For all the soft paint on her face, Wang Tie-Tie’s eyes burned. Xiao Yen grew still, like a rabbit sitting before a snake, afraid to twitch her nose.

  Abruptly, Wang Tie-Tie broke the gaze and looked out over the garden again. “Tell me a story,” she commanded. She picked up her fan and began to fan herself with a steady, slow beat. The fan had been a gift from Wang Tie-Tie’s youngest son. An elegant butterfly was painted on the face of the fan, floating up near the top edge of it.

  Xiao Yen had a story about a butterfly prepared. She didn’t know if it was a good omen or not that her aunt had decided to use the butterfly fan, so she hesitated until Wang Tie-Tie turned and stared at her.

  “Once, in the country north of here, there lived a lonely butterfly. He had a beautiful garden to play in, with many colorful flowers, but no friends. So one day he flew over the garden walls—”

  Wang Tie-Tie interrupted her. “What did the butterfly look like? What color was it?” She laid her fan on the platform and pointed to the one painted there. “See? A butterfly’s wings are separated into two parts. Was the top part colored the same as the bottom part? Were the two parts the same size? Was the edge of the wing scalloped? How big was the butterfly?”

  Wang Tie-Tie reached across the empty space between them. “Was it as big as your hand?” Wang Tie-Tie held Xiao Yen’s hand in front of her face. “As long as your arm?” she said, pulling Xiao Yen’s arm toward her, then dropping it. “You have to see these things, every detail. Use your imagination. Master Wei told me you had a good one. Use it.” With that, Wang Tie-Tie looked out over the garden again, as still as a stone.

  Xiao Yen took a deep breath. She thought a moment, then started again. “Once, in the country north of here, there lived a butterfly. Every morning as he dried his wings in the new sun, he felt lonely. The garden he lived in had many beautiful flowers—yellow mums, white foxglove, blue morning glories—but there weren’t any other butterflies.

  “The butterfly’s wings were black and white, striped like a tiger, with sharp edges. He had two black tails, shaped like teardrops, hanging off the ends of his wings. He was about the size of Old Gardener’s palm. The two tails were about the size of the top of your little finger.” Xiao Yen held up her hand to demonstrate.

  Wang Tie-Tie gestured for her to continue.

  “One day he flew above the garden walls.” Xiao Yen paused for a moment.

  “What did he see?” Wang Tie-Tie asked.

  “There were fields all around, stretching to the horizon, long and flat, filled with bright green summer wheat. When the wind blew, the grass rippled, like water on a pond. The butterfly flew over the sea of grass. It took him three days to cross.”

  Wang Tie-Tie raised her eyebrows at Xiao Yen.

  Hastily, she explained, “It’s because butterflies fly slowly. It would have taken you or me only a day walking. The butterfly had to stop often. When he came out of the thick blue sky, he’d rest on a stem. It would bend under his weight.”

  “What did the butterfly eat?” prompted Wang Tie-Tie, more gently this time.

  Xiao Yen thought a moment. “There wasn’t anything for the butterfly to eat as he crossed the plain of grass. But maybe, he could suck dew out of the folds of grass stems in the early morning.”

  Wang Tie-Tie didn’t say anything, so Xiao Yen continued. “Beyond the grasslands lay a river. It was”—she paused—“a dark river. Darker than the wood in the Hall of Greeting. And wide. The butterfly couldn’t see the far side of it. It flowed deep and fast, but silent, so he couldn’t hear how dangerous it was. The butterfly walked up and down on the shore, looking at the river, wondering if he could fly, without stopping, to the far side, wondering what was on the far side, wondering if there would be someone there for him to play with.” Xiao Yen paused as she’d planned when she’d rehearsed the story. She waited until Wang Tie-Tie looked at her before she continued.

  “Suddenly,” she said, holding her hands out like something big was coming at her, “there was a rumbling in the water, and the river dragon poked its head out. The head was . . . was . . . about as big as this garden,” she said, indicating the space before them.

  Wang Tie-Tie smiled and said, “Continue.”

  Xiao Yen said, “The dragon was beautiful and terrifying. Her, I mean, its”—Xiao Yen looked at Wang Tie-Tie, but she didn’t seem to have noticed the slip—“its eyes were like two small plates. The outer part was light yellow, almost white. The inner part was so dark and black it looked like a hole, like you could fall into those eyes and drown.” Xiao Yen didn’t add what she was thinking: like your eyes, Wang Tie-Tie.

  “The eyebrows above the terrible eyes were soft and graceful, like willow leaves. The nose was long and black with red streaks, like lightning bolts, running along either side. Its nostrils blew water and smoke. Right behind its nostrils hung golden whiskers. They dripped water, and glittered in the sunlight. Everything else on the dragon shone with darkness.

  “The dragon asked the butterfly, ‘Why have you come so far from your garden?’ Its voice sounded deep and low, like the stone bell at the White Temple,” she
added at Wang Tie-Tie’s look.

  “The butterfly said, ‘I’m lonely in my garden. Will you play with me?’

  “The dragon laughed a terrible laugh. It laughed so loudly it hurt the butterfly’s ears. The dragon dropped back into the water and laughed more. Huge waves splashed on the shore. The butterfly had to jump up in the air so he wouldn’t drown. Finally the dragon stopped laughing and came back to talk to the butterfly.

  “ ‘Dragons don’t play with butterflies,’ he said, in a mean voice, like how Ling-Ling talks to Han sometimes. ‘Go back to your garden, where you belong. Or you may be sorry.’ Then the dragon lifted itself out of the river, toward the sky. Its whole body was as black as temple shadows, with red streaks running down its sides. Its belly looked like hard river crystal, white and cold.

  “The butterfly turned around and flew as fast as he could back to his garden. He knew that if he didn’t get away quickly, he’d be caught by the thunderstorm the dragon was making. There was no safe place for him, no blade of grass in all those fields big enough for him to hide under when the rain started.

  “So he flew and he flew, not pausing at all. It took him only one day to fly back to his garden. When he got there, he was very tired. His wings shook. It felt like heavy rocks rested on them. He landed on the fox fairy altar.

  “That altar looked very much like our altar,” Xiao Yen said, pointing to the altar standing at the foot of the platform. “It, too, was made of white stone. But it was newer, and was painted red on the inside.

  “The butterfly looked around his garden. Maybe another butterfly had come while he’d been gone. But he was still alone. And if he left the garden again, the dragon would get him. Dragons can be mean like that,” Xiao Yen added, almost under her breath. She hastily continued before Wang Tie-Tie could say anything.