Rise of a Matriarch, part 2 (Patreon)

So, after posting the first part, I was puzzled. I thought I'd written more of it than I had... and thinking about it made me want to write more of it. So here we are. This doesn't quite catch up to where I thought I was, so there might be more, but I do want to get back to  Dungeon Fun.

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And what food it was! Chian’s mouth started to water at the intensely delicious smells that came to her. The closest she had ever been to such exalted dishes was washing the clothes of people that had attended such feasts. Then she remembered that her right hand was tied down, and she wouldn’t be able to eat.

This is a punishment after all! she thought, before it finally clicked. The feast, and the fact that she wouldn’t be able to feed herself. This is a marriage ceremony! The next logical conclusion took a painfully long time to form, as if her mind was resisting the idea. As the first of many dishes was laid out in front of her, the resistance was overcome and the terrifying, impossible truth became clear.

I’m the bride. I’m married to the dead guy. Not-dead guy, she reminded herself. Despite having not moved since the ceremony— the wedding ceremony— had begun, his hand was still warm against hers.

At that moment, someone finally said something to her. In the Courtly Dialect. Chian turned and tried to figure out what had been said.

The person speaking was crouched down next to her low chair. He was dressed in the robes of a servant, but a servant of the Inner Sect. That meant that he was probably a cultivator, able to kill her with a single blow. He was saying… something about the food?

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she whispered, terrified. For a long moment, he stared at her, long enough that Chian wondered if he had understood her. Was the Inner Sect so removed from worldly concerns that they’d forgotten the language of the common people? The he smiled.

“I said that it is understood that your husband will be both unable to partake of the feast or to feed his delightful bride. As this is the case, a selection of dishes suitable for someone of your cultivation level will be brought to you, and this unworthy servant will serve them to you.”

The word “husband” reverberated around in Chian’s mind, but she managed to focus on what was going on. That was one of the charming customs of the marriage feast, she remembered. With their hands tied, the bride would be unable to serve herself. So her husband would select what dishes she ate, and bring the food to her mouth.

Charming, except when it wasn’t. At least she didn’t have to worry about being teased, or humiliated by her husband, who was… she glanced over at his unmoving form.

“Is he going to be like that for the entire feast?” she asked. The servant raised his eyebrows.

“He should be like that for… at least a hundred years,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. As she goggled at him, he resumed his servant’s routine. “Now, this first dish is a plate of Dragon’s Breath Dumplings. They get their name from how the glaze shimmers like the air coming off of a dragon’s scales. They are filled with succulent minced phoenix meat and celestial herbs. Open your mouth.”

Stunned, Chian obeyed, and took a small, lady-like bite of the impossible dumpling that he brought to her face. She just had time to notice that the shell did, in fact, shimmer with iridescent colour before the flavour took her away.

The burst of deliciousness that filled her mouth seemed to dance across her tongue, and each movement of her mouth, as she belatedly started to chew, seemed to unveil a new aspect to the dumpling’s exquisite seasoning.

“Is it to my Lady’s liking?” the servant asked. She had to swallow before she could nod. She took another bite of the heaven-sent dumpling, even as another sensation started to swell from her stomach.

Qi. This was a Qi-enriched food. Or rather, if it actually had phoenix meat in it, a naturally Qi-rich delicacy. She wasn’t a cultivator, but no one in the Sect was entirely unaware of what Qi felt like. The Qi was flowing into her, binding with her body, making her stronger… until it made her dead.

“Is this safe?” she whispered urgently to the servant. Even as she asked the question, she couldn’t resist finishing off the offered dumpling. Even if it killed her, the taste was worth it.

“You are in safe hands, my Lady,” the servant assured her. “The Chefs have carefully calibrated your dishes to levels safe for mortals to consume. I have been informed of the strict limits of how much you can eat of each course. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water?” Chian asked timidly. The warm glow that was spreading throughout her body felt better than than anything that wine had ever given her. And the thought of getting drunk under the eyes of every high-ranking sect member filled her with fear.

The man nodded. “Very wise,” he said, handing her an ornate jade cup. At least she could hold that in her left hand and, with difficulty, bring it to her mouth. She almost dropped the cup when the water reached her tongue.

Even water is something special at this feast, she realised. Even though it wasn’t chilled, it tasted ice-cold and refreshing. It slid down her throat and she felt a coolness spread throughout her, somehow contrasting and enhancing the warmth from the dumpling without opposing it.

How much of this can I take? she wondered, resigning herself to finding out as fresh dishes made their way to her.

“Immortal’s Harmony Soup, or at least an imitation of it,” the servant said, as a broth was served before her in an elegant porcelain bowl. “It is said to grant eternal youth, but in truth, it is only safe for those who have reached the realm of Splendour to consume.”

Chian glanced at him with alarm, but he continued. “This is only a shadow of the true soup, made with what is left after the essences of the main ingredients have been extracted. The flavour is said to be extraordinary, however.”

It was true. This dish wasn’t as rich in Qi as the dumplings, but Chian could feel her body becoming refreshed and rejuvenated as the salty, smoky-sweet flavour ran across her palate.

It was followed by the Celestial Phoenix Nest Salad, which had crispy noodles somehow woven together to form a nest containing tender petals of lotus root and jade-green cucumber slices. It was topped off by slivers of dragon fruit and a heavenly-tasting sauce.

The rest of the dishes were no less amazing. Blossoming Moon Lotus Rolls somehow tasted as if delicate moonlight had been trapped within a roll. Stir-fry of Dragon and Phoenix was Qi-rich like the dumplings had been. The incredible succulent smoky richness of the dragon meat combined with the subtle sweetness of the phoenix, to make her gasp at the sensation, even as the Qi it contained threatened to make her explode.

The finale, at least for Chian, was the Heavenly Peach Buns, a divine conclusion to the feast. She was too enthralled with the flavour to notice that the speeches had started again. Sudden cheers broke her out of her satiated stupor.

Sensing her confusion at the cheers and cat-calls, the servant leaned forward again. “They are congratulating you and your husband, and sending you off to consummate the marriage.”

At this point in the feast, Chian was too sedated by her luxurious meal to panic. Some part of her, very far away, was yammering about being given to a man that she didn’t know, and was probably dead besides.

But it was all too much. Even if she could move, she was tied to him. Even if she hadn’t been tied down, she could hardly walk in her robes. There was nothing for her to do but accept her fate.

The feasting would continue. Chian could see that fresh bottles of alcohol were being brought out and a heady haze of Qi was rising from the cups. She wondered if merely breathing the air would be dangerous for her.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to find out, as the conjoined chairs of her husband and herself were lifted up and swiftly carried out of the hall. Chian watched in silence as they were taken to one of the grander mansions that existed at this level. The ornately carved gates were wide enough that both chairs could be carried in, still attached to one another. The double doors of the house itself were just as wide.

Used to the cramped, dingy servant’s quarters where she normally lived, Chian stared in amazement at the wide corridors, well lit with scented lanterns. The extravagance of it, wasting oil when the Master was not around to enjoy it, stunned her. They went past rooms meant for entertaining guests for academic study, for mediation and training, until finally they found their way to the bedroom.

Like everything else in this mansion, it was of excessive size. Despite the massive bed, raised up on a low dais, and the wardrobes and the paired divans, there was still room for their chairs to be set down on an intricately woven carpet. Moving as one, their chair-bearers bowed down to the ground, and made themselves scarce.

There was silence in the room, as Chian looked about, wondering what do to do now.

“I hope this humble abode pleases my lovely wife.”

Chian yelped, and whirled around. Or she tried. She managed to twist enough to look at the source of the voice— the not-dead guy. He was still lying back in his chair, eyes closed.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” she asked unthinkingly.

“Not at all,” the man said. This time she could see his lips move, but that was all that did. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Chian stared at him. “I— I can’t move,” she finally admitted.

The man didn’t immediately react. Looking at him closely, Chian thought she saw that one of his eyebrows— thick and full, and yet elegantly arched— rose by a tiny amount.

“The Mistress requires help dressing for bed,” he said in a slightly louder voice. At his words, two maids bustled into the room. One of them reverently unwound the rope that bound them, and took it away. The other started cutting Chian out of her marriage robes!

“Wait!” Chian protested. She wasn’t ready to be stripped in front of a man, even if he was her husband. The maid froze instantly at her words, looking at her. When Chian didn’t say anything, the maid looked over at her husband.

“Help her over to the changing screen,” he said. Chian could hear amusement in his voice. “A maiden needs her modesty, after all.”

The maid bowed, and helped Chian over to a painted screen that had been set up in one corner of the room. It wasn’t until she was behind it, that she remembered that her husband— whoever he was— was one of the higher Sect officials, and was no doubt cultivator enough to see right through the screen— or the robes she was wearing.

She flushed with embarrassment, but there was nothing she could do. She had been naked before his gaze from the very start. So she allowed the maid to finish the job of freeing her from her ceremonial costume.

Before that was finished, the other maid returned, bearing a… cloud? Even after it was draped around her, Chian couldn’t see it as a robe. Silken did not begin to cover how light and smooth it was against her skin. It was as if light itself had somehow taken physical form. It caressed her, a comfortable and warm feeling that eased her fears.

“What is this?” she wondered aloud.

“Silk from the sacred spiders of the Etherial Mountain, woven by the arcanist monks of the secret order of… well, I’m not supposed to say the name,” came the reply. It was too ridiculous for her to process. She stalked out from behind the screen and blinked.

While she was getting changed, the man had transferred himself to the bed. He had also changed out of his ceremonial clothes, and was lying, partly propped up by pillows, on one side of it. The carrying chairs they had arrived on were nowhere to be seen. His eyes were still closed.

“What is going on?” she cried, finally at the end of her tether.

There was another pause. “Is something about today confusing you?” he asked.