chapter five
The Imperial Palace, The Conference Room in the West Wing, the Peach Concubine District
August 27th, 3045
3:30 PM
Senator Le was positively furious. His sharp eyes were narrowed in fury, his clenched fists openly displayed for all to see, resting on the round mahogany table each of the five Senators were currently seated. He swallowed harshly, throat bobbing above the collar of his suit.
“My daughter,” he seethed, “was attacked.’
The vehemence in his eyes was enough to make Sung Lam shift in his seat, to glance at his grandfather seated at the gilded armchair beside him.
Hung Phuc Minh, though over 1,000 years old and said to be a descendent of Than Nong herself, looked barely a day over 50. Only a few streaks of gray shone through his long, braided hair, in the style befitting an emperor. His eyes were a mirror of Sung Lam’s father’s- sharp, perceptive, and cutting. Pale skin, the color of alabaster, contrasted with the dark creased lines of his suit, tailored to his silhouette, made only of the finest silk imported from China. He languished in his gilded armchair, reserved for only the Emperor of Vietnam at the Senate meetings. One leg was crossed over another, his elbow propped carelessly on the carved wooden armchair.
“Really?” His voice was emotionless, cool and collected as he made his inquiry. “And why is this of relevance to bring to a council meeting?”
“Because they were Ghost addicts,” he leaned across the table, lips curled back in the slightest of snarls, which was admittedly already a bold move for the generally reserved man, “and probably cronies of your son, Trinh.”
The other man in question, tattooed up to his neck, black hair shaved on the sides, merely sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “And? Am I to be responsible for my progeny if yours is allowed to gallivant about the University? What would the other families say, letting your daughter run amok.”
“Letting my daughter enjoy the semblance of normalcy hardly measures up to letting your disappointment of a son openly run with gangs and deal in drugs,” Senator Le hissed. “How dare you insinuate either are-”
“Enough,” Minh said coldly, with more force than usual. He uncrossed his legs and rapped his ring-laden fingers on the mahogany table, the silver chain amulet around his neck glinting in the light. “We are not here to fight like school children. We are here to discuss matters of importance, like real members of nobility. We can discuss the matters of our progeny at another time. But let us convene for more pressing matters.”
Scholarly Senator Trieu pushed the glasses up her nose, glowering witheringly at the two men who subsided sullenly into their seats, and launched into the most recent economic endeavors of Hung Corp and their subsidiaries, run by the Trieu themselves and their cousins, the Trung.
Sung Lam stared at the elaborate furnished grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Was his grandfather that unconcerned with an assault on one of the heirs of the Great Families, so unconcerned with the life of a coveted and rare heir? It was rare for families to reproduce, given their more-often-than-not Mystic bloodlines, much less produce young heirs well liked enough as My Nuong. She would lead the Le family one day in her father’s footsteps, beloved by all.
Senator Trieu had now launched into a rather sisterly bickering match with Senator Trung, a rather Amazonian woman whose dark brown hair was pulled in a braided loop around her head. It was a stark contrast, the broad and muscular Senator Trung, a paragon of brute strength and battle prowess, and her cousin, bespectacled with her petite figure drowning amongst her flowing scholarly robes. Both shared the regal features of the tien; tan skin, and the intelligent dove-eyes, showing the close ties between each of their clans.
“So how should we proceed, Sung Lam?” His grandfather leveled his steady gaze on his unsuspecting grandson.
Sung Lam cleared his throat. He had only really been half paying attention to their conversation. “I think it would be wise to invest in relations with the Highlander tien. They are a respected bloodline, regardless of their isolationist tactics. It would do the City, and the state of Viet Nam as a whole, to reunite such strong cultural legacies.”
Minh nodded his assent, placing an affirming shoulder on his grandson’s shoulder. “Well spoken. You will make for a good Emperor of Viet Nam.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled throughout the room. Senator Trinh hummed his assent, leaning further back in his chair. The angles of his face were sharp, his eyes bright with something as he leered at Sung Lam. The tattoos across his arms, in the traditional shapes of waves and mountains befitting a demigod lord as himself, rippled as he shifted in his seat and leaned forward.
“I must inquire-” the man, what with his casual clothing of dark jeans and a gray tank top, bedecked with silver chains and piercings, to his credit had no lack of eloquence “- if you remember my eldest son, Son Tinh. It would do our families well, I think, if our heirs were to become further acquainted. For relations and the stability of the realm, of course.”
Sung Lam glanced at his grandfather, seeking permission to speak on his own behalf. His grandfather moved nary a finger, flicking his pinkie as a sign of assent.
Sung Lam straightened in his chair, trying to ignore how tight the tie around his neck sat. “Yes, I do recall Son Tinh. He was a fine young playmate. I presume he has made you proud as an heir.”
Senator Trinh nodded, the sea monster inked on his neck jumping with the motion. “Yes, he has brought great honor to our family. I hope you and Son Tinh will find much in common, to be known as brother-in-arms. It would bring me great joy to find our families unified in such a way.”
Sung Lam canted his head pleasantly. “I look forward to reacquainting myself with all of your esteemed and noble families at the gala next week. I beseech your kindness and your patience as I readjust to life in the city.”
“What a fine and well-spoken young man,” Senator Trieu remarked, fidgeting with one of her billowing silk sleeves.
This brought a perfunctory smirk to Minh’s face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, our tutors have schooled him well in court etiquette despite his… circumstances. I look forward to the day he truly comes into his power.”
Sung Lam knew these words too well. The veiled implications. He was second-best, second-rate, second-choice. He would never be a true dragon in the way Long Quan was, or their father before them. In this game of chess, he was nothing else more than a pawn for his grandfather. Likely to be little else than a stud to be put out to pasture, to breed a more malleable heir for his grandfather to manipulate from behind the scenes.
“If this is all, then we shall reconvene in one month’s time. We shall see each other at the gala next week, I expect all of you to be in attendance. It is in honor of my favorable grandson, and he shall be received back into court with due respect.” Minh regaled each of his vassals cooly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Each of the Senators bowed their heads in deference as Minh pushed back his chair and with one swift movement, rose to his feet. His muscles shifted beneath the material of his suit, belying little else than pure predatory strength.
As Minh stood, so did Sung Lam, and from the shadows of the stately, extravagantly furnished room, their security detail melted out of the shadows. All of them fair-skinned, in a way nearly sickly compared to the rich deep tones of the Vietnamese Mystics in the room, with glowing umber eyes and military-guidelines cropped ebony hair. Shadow wraiths, from the moors of Scotland, beholden only contractually to Minh through good faith of their wretched Unseelie King.
Sung Lam bowed deep at the waist to the Senators before taking his leave with his grandfather, their security detail falling into line behind them as they filed out of the room. Though one day he would preside as the most powerful man of Viet Nam, he was little more than a hatchling in their eyes, in their centuries of experience of ruling a nation filled with dragons and fairies. Little else than a child to be pitied, the spare left to scramble to fulfill a legacy his shoes would ever fill. He would curate any favor he could, before pitting them against each other… if it came to that, in his ascent to the throne.
The crossed the lavish latticework of the archways that constituted the winding passages of the western wing of the Imperial Palace, which served to be the wing reserved for political meetings, ministers, and their administrations. Ancient celadon vases, sky blues and whites depicting the majesty of the dragons, sat on wooden pedestals at nearly every corner; silken calligraphy tapestries hung along long hallways; pages and serving boys scuttled by, murmuring their apologies as they passed what was left of the royal family in the hallways; elaborate paper lanterns illuminating the way with a soft, golden buttery light. They reached the end of the main hall, large with wooden pillars painted in Sung Lam's opinion, alarming shades of ‘lucky’ red, the flooring tile imported from Spain. One of the men on their security detail shouldered open the heavy, carved mahogany door of the wing and waited, an eerie stillness as he stood with his hand behind his back denoting anything vaguely threatening.
Sung Lam winced as the afternoon sunlight, harsh and as uncaring as his grandfather, stabbed the back of his eyes as they emerged into the palace courtyard between the west and south wing.
“You have time to yourself for the next few hours. But I expect you to be prepared by 6 o’clock. We have an important dinner to attend and I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Minh didn’t even spare his grandson a glance as he crossed the aged brick courtyard to the limousine waiting for him on the edge of one of the many roads that spanned the palace grounds.
The rest of the security team barely paid Sung Lam any mind as they breezed by him, escorting their employer into the sleek black car. Minh closed the door behind him, one of the guards climbing into the front seat and the rest dispersing to their next assignment.
The car sped off.
Minh didn’t even wave goodbye.
Sun glam stood there, just like that, by the edge of the road, for a long time.
xxx
The cadence of her fists connecting with the punching bag, feeling the force sink into the sand, was a rhythm not unlike one of her favorite songs.
One, two, three, she breathed, jab, cross, hook. Kick. Pivot her hip.
But the lulling cadence of each drill as she struck was not enough to quell her thoughts.
When was the first time someone called her a bitch? Told her what happened to her was her fault. That she was problematic. Dramatic. An issue.
Was she 14? Or 15. She didn’t remember. Maybe it was better that way.
She was 17, the last time someone yelled that to her face, though. That, she remembered well.
She remembered the mania running through her veins. Her transmutation into the creature she hated, something charming and incumbent in her sexuality. Girls and boys fell at her feet, begging for her attention. Shot glasses and cigarettes perched on her fingers, little else than her constant companions, leading her into a haze she hardly remembered. She remembered spending an ungodly amount of money, though on what she couldn’t even remember. She remembered pacing her room till the early hours of the morning, restlessly convinced of her own infallible nature.
She was a goddess. Some burning, lovely creature. Everyone loved her. They clung to her every word, flocked to her energy like moths to a fire, not knowing how the energy scorched her, consumed her every being, leaving some little part of herself screaming in the back of her mind, what the hell was she doing? She ran fast and hard, with nothing to stop her.
Then the next few weeks. The crash.
The bottle of pills she downed in desperation, curled up on the bathroom floor. Then the ambulance. Then the sterile linoleum of the hospital, the doctors begging her with kindness in their eyes to tell her what pushed her to such extremes.
She didn’t have words for them. How could she when she was nothing else but a creature of sin, a slave to her own impulses? Laughing and drinking one minute, bloody razors clutched in her hands while she sobbed on cold bathroom floors the next. It was a blur in her memory, little else to remind her except the scars on her arms and the memory of her hospital visit.
She rested her sweaty head against the sticky plastic of the punching bag.
The memories flowed over her.
She gathered them in her hands. She took a breath. She let them scatter peach blossoms in the wind, leaving little else but a bitter taste on her lips.
My Nuong’s fist rapping against the sleek edge of the silver door frame knocked her from any further thoughts. She shook herself, feeling sweat fly off in various directions, in a rather doglike manner. She turned to face her friend.
My Nuong’s brown eyes were sharp. Nothing got past her friend. But under those lovely eyes were dark purple smudges, and even a zit cropping up at the base of her nose because of the stress in these past few days. But her orange hair was neat, immaculately swept up in a chignon with only the precision a cosmetics droid could manage, and she was clad in a modest but arresting ao dai in a cheerful shade of blue, so juxtaposed with Au Co’s and My Nuong’s weary natures.
“Didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know that well, we have some unexpected guests. I just got a com from my dad an hour ago… and you seemed busy. But I figured I should let you know.”
“Okay, do you need me to go home?” She stepped away from the corner of the private gym in the Le residence she had tucked herself in. Weights, mats, resistance bands, and state-of-the-art equipment peppered the otherwise sparsely furnished, modernized and slate-gray room.
“No, my dad doesn’t feel safe enough for that yet. It’s just that…” My Nuong, for once, actually looked at a loss for words.
“What’s wrong?” Au Co began to unwrap her fists, having tugged them out of her gloves. Her feet were slick on the floor mat, her t-shirt long discarded in a heap somewhere else on the other side of the room.
“It’s- the Emperor. He’s coming- and, and he wants to meet you.”
Au Co was admiring the swath of brown muscles that corded her arms, back and stomach before abruptly stopping.
Wait, the fuck?
“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” Au Co blinked. “Me?”
My Nuong nodded, looking rather stressed herself. “He heard of the attack and how my father’s guest is a Highlander tien. He… wanted to meet you. To further diplomatic relations with your… people.”
“But I’m a nobody!” She tossed the pile of her fist wrappings into her rather deflated looking gym bag, stuffing her gloves into said bag. “Like, not even exaggerating! My family doesn’t have any status or title. We just kind of… exist!”
“My father tried explaining that, but the Emperor is dead set on meeting a Highlander. Since your people are so reclusive and rarely come down, so… even if you’re- you’re a commoner-” My Nuong winced at the word- “he wants to gain some insight at least. He’s keen on making diplomatic arrangements. To strengthen their reign, of course.”
A queen, a millenia ago, ascended to the highlands with her brood of 50 sons. There, she raised a sovereign kingdom of her people, tien, secluded from the rest of the world, left to flourish with their old magic and ancient wisdom and their esoteric customs. They weathered in secrecy through the human wars, even the Mystic War. Or so, the legends went.
Even as a highlander herself, Au Co wasn’t entirely sure what separated the facts from fiction. One thing was for sure, though, and the highlanders sure as hell disliked outside contact. It was one of the few reasons Au Co’s decision to move to the big city was… contentious.
“So… he, what, wants to feel out what we’re like?” She snorted, gesturing to herself. “He’ll be disappointed. I’m nothing but a stupid black sheep. I’d hardly constitute a good representation of the oh-so-mysterious and ethereal highlander fairies.”
“Hey.” My Nuong had crossed the room in a fluttering of blue silks. Not unlike a kingfisher, gliding over the peerless surface of a lake. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not true. You’re amazing for coming as far as you have.” She wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist. “I’d hug you but you smell like shit.”
“Duly noted.” Au Co patted her friend’s shoulder. “Look, I’ll hop into the shower. I don’t have any clothes though. Do you have something I can borrow?”
My Nuong’s eyes glimmered. “Oh, we’ll have a full on makeover.”