He watched

and could not stop the thought

that if he died,

her death would follow.

Hers, and Keng’s, and Chye’s.

His children too young

to hold a throne.

A thought he’d had before.

A thought he could not afford.

Li gave him a penetrating look.

“If you seek to clear your mind

and cannot do so, spar with me.

Your children have never seen you fight.”

“We don’t have practice blades.”

“Sticks will serve.”

∗

A stolen hour, the air golden,

Ying and Keng watching, mouths agape,

as Xau fought each of his guards in turn,

defeating two out of eight.

At the end,

a pile of broken sticks,

their baby son asleep in Shazia’s lap,

Xau sweaty, his heart full.

EVER AFTER

“Mei, do you want me to stay?”

asked Prince Connol,

already sitting his horse (poorly),

his men mounted beside him.

“Sit straight,” said Mei.

“Your shoulders are too far forward.”

“Do you want me to stay?” repeated Connol.

“No. We’ve discussed this.”

Mei’s tone sharp.

She’d hoped to accompany him to court

for her brother’s visit,

but this pregnancy, her first,

not proving easy.

“If you need help—”

“Orla can clean up after me.”

“Mei, I love you.”

She did not love him,

would not say those words.

And he,

he who had wandered

through her mind, unasked,

throwing wide the doors

to her memories:

did he not know

how she felt?

He did not look as if he knew.

“I will miss you,” said Mei,

because that much was true.

“I will miss having tea with you

after your work is done,

and losing to you at dice,

and how you brush my hair

last thing at night.”

Connol’s eyes awash.

“Sit straight,” said Mei,

and turned away

before he wept.

WELCOME

“Welcome.” Queen Fian stood beside King Donal,

a tall woman, tall as her husband Donal.

She wore a green gown, green as her eyes.

Her pale hair gleamed in the spring sun.

She smiled then at King Xau, a smile

such as no woman had ever given him—

as if he had slain a dragon single-handed

so she might string its teeth around her neck.

“I have looked forward to this day all winter,”

said Fian. “It gave me joy on the darkest day.”

“As it gave us joy,” Xau said, bowing low,

“to know that we would be coming to Innis.”

He judged she had spoken the truth. Why then

did her silvered words unsettle him so?

LI

Li, captain of King Xau’s guards,

appraises his predicament.

The windows are too large,

the hallway vulnerable.

Five guards plus Li himself. Too few.

For one night, they could stay awake,

but they will be here for twelve.

Fighting,

one must first master the elements:

to pierce, to pivot, to punch.

Later, the dance:

from the choice of opening pose

through the sequence

of following moves.

So. Two men outdoors.

One man in the hallway.

One man sleeping inside, blocking the door.

One man sleeping below each window.