A Thousand Fallen Petals

Fire *

Li Rong ran her fingers over the soft material of the gloves, watching the way it glittered in the sun. She'd taken it out several times in the last few hours.

He'd kissed her.

Heat crept up her face. No one had kissed her since she was a child, and yesterday she'd been too astounded to react. She brushed her fingers across the fabric once more. Her mother spun silk, and Li Rong often helped her—she could tell that this textile was rare and valuable. Light but very warm, gold, scintillating. Selling it would no doubt be enough to feed both her mother and her for a year.

This morning, she'd searched for him to return the gift but the travellers had already left.

Why had he given them to her?

The last time she'd held something so valuable in her hands was before her father died. He'd been a favoured soldier of a disgraced marquis. Her mother had been his third concubine, hated by his wife for her beauty and her skill with the guzheng. An instrument Li Rong herself could play—not that she would ever touch it again.

Her father had been beheaded alongside the marquis. Their former household had been met with the same fate. Only she and her mother had survived and it was by pure chance.

Sai weng shi ma.

The cruelty of the marquis' wife had been a blessing in disguise. It had driven her mother to flee the capital and had saved their lives. No one in the village knew of her family's former wealth. In the villagers' eyes, they were simply one of many poor, widowed families.

Still deep in thought, Li Rong finished up her work for the day. She wiped her hands and opened the front door to find her mother seated at the dining table with a hard, stony expression. The heavy scent of alcoholic huangjiu was thick in the air.

Before she could so much as ask what was wrong, her mother had spoken—her tone low and venomous, spitting out the words as though they left a bad taste in her mouth.

You f****d an outsider, didn't you?

Li Rong backed away, shocked. No.

Don't lie to me! Her mother was beside herself with rage. The last time Li Rong had seen her so angry was when Li Rong nearly ruined their year's worth of harvest by sheer carelessness.

I didn't!

Her mother shook her, her eyes filled with dismay. Is that what you want to become? A w***e? She cried. After everything I've done for you!

Li Rong stared at her in disbelief. I didn't! She said, with all the outrage she could muster.

Her mother gazed into her eyes, and Li Rong could see that she had been understood. But instead of calming down, her mother put her face in her hands, slumping down to the ground.

Old lady Xiu is telling everyone that she heard you f*****g in the barn.

Li Rong gaped. The elder was well-respected in their community. Her word was not taken lightly. Why? I swear I didn't—

The rumours are spreading. Nobody will marry you now. Tears leaked from her mother's eyes, through her fingers. That damn woman. She did this on purpose so that I will have no choice but to send you to the capital.

For a long moment, Li Rong could only stare, speechless, as her mother shook with silent tears. And then she pulled herself together.

I could stay, Li Rong said, putting an arm around her mother's shoulders. I don't need to marry anyone. I could work on the farm.

Her mother looked up at her. This is no life for a woman. My body aches, my fingers bleed. What will you do when I am gone? Nobody will want to associate with you after what old lady Xiu said.

Her mother rose, the sorrow already wiped clean from her face. The money for your dowry—I have enough of it to send you to the capital. You will leave in two days. Then she looked up at her daughter, her gaze severe. You're telling me the truth, aren't you? If you slept with him, admit it now. The imperial palace will examine you. They will find out.

I didn't. Li Rong repeated, her jaw tightening, hating old lady Xiu.

***

Everything after was a blur.

Leaving. The selection. The palace. Li Rong felt as though she'd aged ten years in the span of a few months. She thought about her last few moments home as she knelt on the cold platform. The wintry breeze caught the loose strands of her once-beautiful hair, now streaked with filth.

She had so many regrets.

***

Blacksmith Wen had caught her just as the wagon was leaving the village.

Li Rong, he said, concerned. You don't have to go. Stay, and I'll make you my wife. I never did trust that old lady.

Li Rong shook her head.

Thank you, she'd said. But I'll take my chances. My mother grows old and she needs money. Once I'm in the capital, I will send some back for her.

I will support your mother, Blacksmith Wen said, his hold tightening around her arm. You don't have to pay my family any dowry.

It was a very generous offer, but she knew that he couldn't comfortably support Li Rong, her mother, and his own parents as well. She didn't want to burden him like that.

That's very kind of you, but I cannot accept.

Li Rong, I'm serious. His eyes were sincere. I've always cared about you. We will manage.

She gazed back at him, wavering. But then she remembered what her mother said about nobody wanting to associate with her. If she married him, would his patrons still come? What if her reputation ruined his trade?

Li Rong turned away, her chest aching. I cannot accept.

Sorrow coloured his features. Is there nothing I can do?

Girl, are you coming or not? The wagon driver interrupted them. We don't have all day. We best reach the nearest city before nightfall.

Please take care of my mother, Li Rong told the blacksmith.

He sighed, before nodding. Then right before she climbed back onto the wagon, he gave her a tight hug. Take care of yourself.

***

It was the last time she'd seen blacksmith Wen, her mother or anyone else in her village.

Li Rong stared at the wood beneath her. It was old, covered with bloodstains of the condemned and splotched with melted tears from the bleak sky. Commoners and ministers alike crowded around the podium, their lips forming words she didn't hear—didn't care to hear. Everything had grown meaningless in the last few days. The mother she'd stayed for was dead, the man she loved gone, her own life coming to an abrupt close.

The air must've been freezing, but she was too numb to feel the cold. More memories flooded her mind—more regrets.

***

She'd fallen asleep amidst the rice sacks at the back of the wagon when someone had murdered the driver. It was dark, and they hadn't seen her as she'd run, terrified.

A clap of thunder, a torrent of rain, and she'd shivered under the weight of it all, frightened, wanting badly to cry but knowing that it wouldn't do any good.

Chi de ku zhong ku, fang wei ren shang ren.

The words she'd always heard whenever adversity would strike. Only by withstanding the hardest of hardships can you learn to soar. She had to care for her mother, who had painstakingly raised her. She wasn't a son; she couldn't be a breadwinner or continue the family name but she could at least do this.

She let go of her fear, squaring her shoulders to continue onwards. Giving up wasn't a choice. If she had to, she would walk to the capital.

Where is Luoyang?

She'd asked, and people had pointed.

How can I get to Luoyang?

Someone finally told her that a procession of men was also moving in the same direction. By this time, she'd walked for so many weeks, eating leftover food and sleeping on the sides of roads, that she was feverish.

In her delirium, she thought she saw the ghost of the man who'd given her the gloves. She reached out, her vision swimming, and then she'd collapsed.

Alerio caught the waif instinctively.

It was pouring so heavily that it reminded him of the monsoons in the south. Through it all, he was stunned to realise that he recognised her.

"Callista?" he ventured, hardly daring to believe it.

Her eyes were lovelier than he remembered, burning with the same resolute life-force that had beckoned his spirit. She reached out, touching his cheek and uttered a single word. "Wei?"

All his doubts vanished. It was her—his Callista.

He hugged her shivering form, cradling her protectively against him. She was even thinner than before, light as a feather despite the heavy material of her drenched clothes.

"Tu salva nunc," he murmured to the unconscious girl, pulling out his cloak to shelter her from the rain as he carried her back to their sanctum. You're safe now.

Who is that, Alerio? Markus asked curiously, staring at the girl in his arms.

The girl I told you about, he replied. The one I wished to bring with us.

Markus had never been one to pry. He gave her a once-over. She is wet. Change her clothes or she'll become more ill. Then he turned over and continued to slumber.

Alerio held her to his chest with one arm and dragged the animal-skin rug closer to the fireplace.

Their meeting seemed preordained.

It was unnerving, how the restless, niggling discomfort that had wormed its way into his chest in the past weeks vanished so suddenly. The same feeling had culminated to an unbearable crescendo tonight—the reason he'd risen in the dead of the night to stretch his legs.

He turned to the girl. Even in one arm, her weight felt like nothing to him. She was so small, so fragile. What was she doing this far from home?

He put a hand to her flushed skin and found her forehead burning hot, the way his father's had been before he'd died at sea.

His stomach tightened.

Clumsily, he worked to remove her sash, struggling with it until he found the knot at the base of her spine. He hung the soaked material over the fireplace before carefully removing her long robe. A thinner gown was inside, so wet that it was plastered to her skin.

His heart leapt as he saw the outline of familiar gloves tucked against her breast. Gently, he peeled the undergarment away. The sensation caused her to stir. She tried to sit up, but he put a calming hand on her shoulder.

"L-Luoyang," she said weakly, determination fierce in her eyes despite the violent shivers wracking her body. A hand found his shoulder, gripping it with unexpected strength. "Wo yao q-qu Luoyang."

"Luoyang?" Alerio had repeated, keeping his voice soft. She was so ill. Was she asking where he was going? He couldn't imagine what she wanted to do in the capital.

"Luoyang," she agreed. The word seemed to soothe her, so he said it again.

"Luoyang."

She wilted in his arms, her eyes becoming unfocused, too exhausted and sick to care about modesty. He freed her from the damp clothes, wrapping his dry tunic around her.

As he cocooned her with more blankets, she clung tightly to him, holding on long after she fell asleep. He brushed the wet strands away from her forehead, shifting her hair so that it no longer pressed against her cold skin. A sigh escaped her lips as he enfolded her body into his warmth. He had never felt more content.

In the days that passed, she grew stronger.

Colour returned to her cheeks, but the humour he remembered did not. If anything, after she'd thanked him she became strangely distant.

"Ni de," she said one day, looking earnest as she pressed the gloves into his hands.

He shook his head. "Ni de," he parroted her, pushing them firmly back.

She tried to return them several more times but he refused to take back the gift.

The attempts, together with her reticence, pained him more than he'd like to admit. They pained him even more than the way his comrades looked at him for taking her in.

As little as she ate, their rations were meagre. It didn't matter that her observant and resourceful nature helped them find water, firewood and food. It didn't matter that she helped them cook and wash. She was a woman, and worse, she was not Roman.

Bad luck. Savages. Unclean.

He heard them mutter that and more. To make matters worse, she made no attempt to smile or mingle, least of all with him. She remained largely reserved and stiffly inexpressive and no amount of coaxing would break her cold veneer.

Alerio would've acknowledged the dismissal if he weren't certain that she returned his feelings. In her unguarded moments, brilliant joy danced in her eyes when she looked at him. He saw her slight tremble each time their skins brushed. He caught her wistful expressions when she thought he wasn't looking. He felt all these, felt the tension as though it were his own, attuned to her as he'd never been to another.

Alerio was certain that there was another reason she held herself so distant—and he was determined to unearth the cause.

He'd been gathering firewood one day when he'd heard screaming and found Mikaelus stripping his Callista of her robes while the others watched without lifting a finger.

Alerio saw red. He dropped everything in his arms and yanked Mikaelus back so forcefully he stumbled. What are you doing? He was shaking with rage and if it weren't for the onlookers, he'd have struck the man.

I'm protecting us from a thief that you brought into our midst! Mikaelus said, his gaze triumphant as he held out the sea-silk gloves. You should thank me. She deserves worse for what she took. Alerio stared from the glinting gloves to Mikaelus's naked legs, his fury so great he could barely speak.

I gave that to her.

Mikaelus stared in disbelief. Truly? You mad fool. The girl wants nothing but your gold. Take her as a pleasure slave if you must but—

Alerio grabbed Mikaelus's collar, slamming him back against the gnarled tree. How dare you? His fist flew and would've broken Mikaelus's jaw but someone grabbed his wrist.

Enough.

Markus gave Mikaelus a warning look and he fell silent, backing away.

All of you, leave. I will deal with this.

The moment they were alone, Alerio realised he'd forgotten to protect his Callista's modesty. He hurried to wrap a cloak around her and she bowed her head, clutching it so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Markus looked at him and sighed. Alerio, you crossed a line.

Alerio looked up at Markus, his stomach sinking. She's innocent.

You're obsessed with her, Markus said evenly. She's a stranger and yet you would harm your own brothers for her.

He tried to—

No one could've known that you would give her something so precious. Markus arched his brows. She is not your wife.

Alerio clenched his fists. I love her, he wanted to say. I plan to marry her, he wanted to say. But Markus wouldn't understand.

The older man put a hand on his shoulder. You're like a son to me, Alerio. I trust your judgement, which is why I allow her presence. But you cannot fault Mikaelus for being cautious. And you must never choose her over your brothers. Remember, a mistake on these lands can cost us our heads.

Alerio had no choice but to nod. His Callista hadn't fully recovered and if Markus were to drive her away, she might not survive.

She was still shaking when he took her to the riverbank, waiting at a distance while she washed off the dirt. His cloak was still around her when she returned, her own robes torn beyond repair.

He wanted to take her into his arms but he didn't want to make her more afraid.

"Nocere tibi?" He kept his voice gentle, gesturing at himself and rolling up one of his sleeves.

She looked unsure as she followed suit, slowly tugging up her own sleeve. Dark bruises were forming on her forearm where Mikaelus had grabbed her and Alerio led her to sit down.

Her hands were ice-cold and her lips were white but she did not cry. She remained still and let him smear medicinal salve onto her skin. Apart from the bruises on her forearm and some scrapes on her knees, she was unhurt. It was lucky that he'd returned before Mikaelus could do anything worse.

She was very quiet.

When he finished, she rose to stand before him and then carefully lowered herself to her knees, bowing until her forehead touched the ground.

"Quid agis?" he asked in shock, trying to make her rise. What was she doing? And then he remembered. They'd seen this before in other lands. It was a way of showing gratitude.

Hot shame filled his bones. He had done nothing. It was for his carelessness that she'd suffered.

It wasn't just a way of showing gratitude. It could also show remorse and he owed her an apology. He mirrored her stance and she quickly pulled him up, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

He kept her close to him after that, never leaving her out of his sight, taking her with him even when he hunted.

The others began to whisper behind his back.

If he hadn't been their leader's son, if it hadn't been for Markus, he was certain they'd have attacked him. Perhaps they'd force him to leave. Whatever it was, he knew their restlessness and unhappiness were growing.

An incident in the north settled the matter.

Dusk had descended over the sky, sending vivid bursts of colour streaking across it. They were riding quickly, keen on reaching the next city before darkness when the rumble of louder hooves surrounded them, shaking the earth.

Serican imperial soldiers—trained, heavily-armoured and with war horses—circled them. Sharp eyes scanned the weapons their group wielded, mistaking them for enemy soldiers.

There were no shouts, no warning.

Arrows were docked, weapons mercilessly brandished, aimed particularly at Markus, who was at the head. A bead of blood had begun to form at his throat when she slipped off Alerio's horse.

He lunged forward to stop her, but several spears were thrust before his face, barring any further movement.

Everything happened so fast.

A flash of silver, the whistle of metal cutting through the air, and terror ran down his spine as he expected to see her lifeless body overrun with blood.

But the soldier had paused upon seeing one of his own, and the tip of the blade merely pressed over her heart.

Her beautiful face glowed brilliantly in the setting sun, her expression stoic. She seemed unnaturally calm as she began to speak—incomprehensible, tonal words of the Seres.

She pointed towards their caravan of offerings.

More words were exchanged—sceptical, then curious and finally amenable. Orders were barked, and a thorough search of their caravan was conducted to discover only gifts.

The soldiers released Markus, and someone who appeared to be a general bowed with his hands clasped—fist pressed against palm—and presented them with a map. The procession of soldiers rode away.

He could feel her trembling when he helped her back onto his mare.

After that incident, any misgiving regarding her presence was quelled. Alerio was given permission to trade small gifts for her—gifts she once again refused until he insisted: pins for her hair, a Hanfu to replace her torn one.

Alerio let himself fall deeper for her, vowing to bring her home. He would find a way to marry her. He'd wanted to wait. But one night, he hadn't been able to resist.

It was this one night that would haunt him in the weeks to come.

She slept on a separate rug, near his own. He'd reached out for her that night, resting his hand against her cheek. She'd opened her midnight eyes and hadn't stopped him as he ran his thumb against her bottom lip.

Her skin was smooth, firm, and her bones were delicate. He ran his hands through the silk that was her hair, pulling at the intricate butterfly pins so that it spilt over her shoulders and collarbones. The silver chains tinkled quietly, and he laid them to the side.

"Callista," he murmured. He saw, in the light of the fire, the way her pupils expanded as she watched him as though spellbound.

It made him bold.

Leaning in, he captured her lips, moving tenderly at first, and then more possessively, claiming her as though she were already his. She shivered, gradually returning the intensity his passion with her own, fingers knotting in his hair.

A hand down her spine, a light pull, and the sash fell to the ground with a whisper. He tugged the fabric down her shoulders, kissing down her neck, the swell of her breasts. Her body softened under him, and she arched, the breath escaping her throat in quiet gasps.

He watched her intently, savouring her pleasure. He was loosening her inner garment when all of a sudden, shutters dropped over her previously expressive eyes. She drew away from him with an abruptness that felt like a blow.

He stopped touching her.

Cloths rustled, the sash retied and her form became still once more. A heavy silence settled. The seconds dragged, agonisingly long.

"Me paenitet," he apologised quietly.

"Luoyang," she murmured. Her eyes were sad.

There was no mistaking it this time. She wanted to go to the capital. Did she have a lover there? A betrothed?

His heart clenched. Before he could think or speak, she'd wrapped her arms around him, painfully tight, pulling their bodies close together with what felt like desperation.

It was confusing.

She seemed to have feelings for him, and yet she rejected his advances. He didn't understand.

But then she was running her fingers reverently through his hair, over his face, down his back—more affection than she'd ever shown him before—and he lost himself in her touches, her kisses.

He should've known it was her way of saying goodbye.

When he woke the next morning, he found the Hanfu he'd traded for her neatly folded on her rug, together with all the hairpins he'd given her. Even the gloves.

He sat up, ramrod straight.

He'd run for what felt like forever, agitatedly searching for her, but in every corner, every place he looked, she was missing. When he returned to the camp, hours later, panic still saturated his body.

She's gone!

Markus whipped around, his eyes narrowed. Check the caravan! He ordered. Did she steal anything?

No, Alerio said numbly. Nothing. She took nothing. He stared at the gloves in his hands.

Markus turned to the caravan driver.

Nothing is missing, sir.

Confusion flitted over Markus's expression. Then it turned into sympathy. He put a hand on Alerio's shoulder. It was not meant to be, he only said.