Chapter 8: The Beaded Curtain

The Hall of Audience was empty at dawn.

Grey light came through the high windows and lay on the gold floor in long panes.

At the far end, on a dais of nine steps, stood the throne of Daying.

In front of it hung a curtain of strung pearls that reached the floor.

Murong Yue sat behind the pearls in her heaviest robe.

It was scarlet silk stiff with gold thread, and a crown of gold phoenixes weighed down her pinned hair.

Qinglan knelt on the dais step beneath the curtain, in the shadow, with her box beside her.

"The ministers come at the third bell," said the Dowager.

"I know."

"It is the second."

"I know that too."

"Then what are you doing, Physician?"

Qinglan pushed the heavy scarlet skirt up over the Dowager's knees and put her head underneath.

It was dark and hot under the silk, and it smelled of sandalwood and warm skin.

The Dowager had worn nothing beneath.

She was already wet.

"Qinglan," said the voice above her, strangled. "Heaven. You are mad."

"It was your idea to wear the heavy robe."

"It was yours!"

"Open your knees."

There was a short, shocked pause, and then the Dowager's knees parted, slowly, and the scent of her filled the dark.

Qinglan kissed the inside of one white thigh, and the other.

Fingers closed around her hair.

They pulled her head up and to the center, and held it there.

The grip was iron.

"Stop," said Murong Yue, very low.

Qinglan went still.

"I am giving the orders this morning," the Dowager said. "Don't move your mouth unless I say."

Qinglan's whole body clenched with wanting, and she nodded against the silk.

"Good girl." The voice above her was a slow purr. "Open your mouth."

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