POISONED RAIN | historical fantasy

CHAPTER FOUR

With a tug of his reins, Chiến guided the horse through the throng of soldiers. He noted the glint of weapons under the sunlight of high noon—knives tucked into belts, single-edged curved sabers, pointed spears, studded mallets. Some men were armed with bows and arrows hanging down their backs while others carried shields and swords. All were clad in brigandine silver and red armor, the upper body protected with a coat of ridged iron scales, plates fitting together like the slates of a roof.

At his arrival, the men parted. Head held high, he rode past battle-scarred faces and war-worn eyes and the long hair under helmets, while his own shaved head gleamed defiantly. Chiến sneered. Unlike his soldiers, he had no use for foolish attachments and commandments of Confucian teachings. Filial piety—what a foolish pursuit! A man forged with iron and ash, a collection of hard lines and sharpened edges, his appearance reflected his calculating apathy. Chiến had cut his hair the same way he cut all ties with family. In battle, there was no room for love and loyalty.

Sharpened obsidian eyes swept over the crowd, a silent dare for anyone to challenge him. A tight-lipped, satisfied smile curled on his face when he knew no one would. Those in power created the rules. As the empress dowager's righthand man, her illustrious general, Chiến had the world at his fingertips. Peasants and nobles alike would bow to his commands lest they incite the wrath of the imperial crown.

He dismounted, heavy leather boots slamming against the dirt, and handed the reins to a servant. From there he ascended gleaming alabaster steps, ambling past grand gates and looming pillars, ignoring the salute of guards when he entered through a series of lavish gates and passages. One after another boasted ornate windows and intricately carved wooden doors with gleaming gold accents. Finally, Chiến entered the main hall.

Before him, the boy emperor Lê Kính Tông lounged atop the bệ rồng with a flat-faced pug perched loftily in his lap. The dragon throne, a great three-leaved affair, was framed by two great wings set against a high ornamental screen—a spectacle of white marble and jade. Coiling from the base were two sculpted dragons, rising upwards as though surfacing from an ocean. The blessed Son of Heaven himself donned a luxurious robe, an áo giao lĩnh of shining gold silk—a pure yellow reserved only for him—that was embroidered with intricate circular dragon patterns.

In an exhibition of reverence, Chiến knelt to the floor, his lowered head hiding the disdainful curl of his lips. A dragon fabric to complement a dragon throne. And yet here was a mere boy, frail and thin, crowned the great emperor of the entirety of Đại Việt. He gritted his teeth and pressed his knuckles against the iced floor. At last, the dowager empress flicked her hand upward in a motion for him to rise.

"You summoned me, Thái Hậu?" Her royal address tasted bitter on his tongue. Chiến's gaze met her black phoenix eyes, the peacock tails sweeping up toward her temples.

With the swish of fabrics, she arose from the throne. Her phoenix crown, studded with precious gems, gleamed gold against the intricate weaving of black silken hair. Thị Anh's long crimson robes fluttered with each movement and wide silk sleeves billowed. Her long, red-lacquered nails glided against his chin, the sharp tips lingering on his skin. A threat. A warning.

"Trịnh Kiểm has evaded me once again." Her hand settled on her chest while poison dripped from her honeyed words. "Truly, the fault is all mine. I was a fool to send such incompetents after a Trịnh lord."

"I presume your assassins failed?"

"If that scroll falls into his hands—" Her eyes flashed and her brow twitched. In a second, the flicker of anger vanished, replaced by a smooth porcelain mask. Hand lowering, the empress turned and once more perched on her throne. "You are to find him, kill him, and bring his head and the Blood Letter back to me."