The Emperor's Third Peculiar Request

Someone rubbing her face, first her cheeks and nose. And then her mouth. And then her eyes—

Beatriss blinked. Her head moved. The rest of her did not.

With sight returned the memory, the cold, bottomless gaze of basilisk.

Now, she was looking at a man kneeling over her: Cair, the wizard, his fingers smearing ointment all over her face, bringing it back to flesh

His hands moved to her chin, down over her neck, her shoulders . . .

“Stop!”

He dropped his hand. “If you say so.”

She looked down at herself. Her body ended in granite at the collarbones.

Around her was silk and light and laughter. A lavish room—pillows piled in corners, carved screens glowing with the warmth of morning sunlight. This had to be the Emperor’s palace. There, across the room, he lounged on a wide bed amid half-dressed concubines. Jiaohu sat beside him like a cat, sipping wine and watching everything.

Beatriss addressed the group. “Someone tell me what is going on?”

Jiaohu answered first, “It's too early for this! Why did you have to start with her mouth?”

The Emperor, half-laughed, but his happy surprise was obvious—he tossed aside his plate and rose from the bed. “It’s working! You must continue!”

Cair bowed. “Yes, it’s working.” He pointed to a chalk circle on the floor, “But if it pleases your imperial majesty . . .”

The Emperor frowned, but resumed his repose on the bed.

Cair spoke to Beatriss in a low whisper, warning her that once Cair's magic had taken its full effect, and Beatriss's natural flesh was restored, the Emperor intended to add her to his harem.  Cair had another idea-- the same one he had proposed to Bayan-- that they should join together in escaping Khanbaliq and Zhau-Dang altogether.  

"Bay-trees?" It was Jiaohu, calling from the bed. "Bay-trees, don't you want to be my sister?"

Cair stared at Beatriss. "See? We have to act quickly."

The Emperor, growing impatient, intruded on their hushed exchange. Cair quickly straightened and held up the now-empty jar.

“The ointment is exhausted, Your Majesty.”

"Come here, wūshī."

"Yes, your Majesty." Cair approached the bed cautiously, his eyes darting for a safe place to land, without finding one. Next followed a whispered argument between Cair and the Emperor—tense, clipped, and full of scraping bows.

“More can be made. Yes, of course, more can be made—just two days. Two days and I will have it ready.”

The Emperor relented, and shooed Cair out of the chamber.

Later that afternoon, the Emperor made his full intentions known to Beatriss.  Yes, he did want her as a mate, but more than his carnal pleasure, he was ambitious for another son. Not just any son, but the son whom a woman of such proven martial talents could bear for him.  He went on to discuss horse-breeding and the lessons of a visiting shaman from far-off Monravia who grew the most delicious snow peas . . .

Beatriss did not follow everything he said, but she did understand that the Emperor would consult his astrologers on the best time for her to conceive a son. If she cooperated, she could, after a year or so, leave Khanbaliq with the Emperor's blessings, and with his assistance in constructing her own small rural fortress.  The boy would stay in Khanbaliq and be taught to be a great general. The more immediate boon, of having her body fully restored to flesh and blood, was left unsaid. 

Beatriss, comparing this bargain to the never-forgotten rites of Madarua, agreed.

"Excellent!" The Emperor stood. "How shall we celebrate?"