Darkening Skies

by eden Hudson

  Yoichi snorted.

  The emperor scowled. “I can banish you to live with one of the elderly dowagers retired from court, first daughter.”

  “Banish me to one who’s fat,” Shingti said. “She’ll know how to serve a meal on time.”

  This drew a smile even to Koida’s lips, though it vanished as soon as the waiting room doors opened. The court speaker’s voice scraped down the back of Koida’s neck as he announced the decorated hero, Shyong Liu Yoichi.

  Like the return feast, there was a hierarchy to the seating of the wedding guests, but it began with the lowest ranked and climbed until it reached the emperor, then finally the bride and groom. On this first night, the bride’s father would bring her to the wedding table, symbolizing his intention to give her to the groom at the end of the seven nights.

  As Emperor Hao walked Koida into the feasting hall, the second princess felt much like the sacrificial offering Shingti had called her. The young chieftain of the Ji Yu stood on the dais in front of the silk-draped wedding table, hands clasped severely behind his back and his cold jade eyes boring into Koida’s. She had expected him to be dressed in elaborately tailored robes, as lavish as the nobles filling the hall, but once more he was dressed in the simple clothes of a traveling warrior artist, as if to imply that the extravagance of the occasion was nothing more than a joke to him.

  Perhaps it was his way of acknowledging that he had been tricked into wedding a Ro-crippled second princess. His stony face certainly appeared to mask a simmering anger.

  Emperor Hao squeezed her arm, and Koida wondered whether she had unknowingly tried to pull away.

  When they came to the foot of the platform, the Ji Yu chieftain descended the pair of steps to meet them.

  Though for most in the empire, bowing deeply enough to show the vulnerable back of the neck was either a sign of familial love and trust or an insult to a person’s strength and power, to the emperor it was a sign of submission, an acknowledgement that his will held the ultimate authority over life and death.

  When the barbarian chieftain Ji Yu Raijin bowed to the emperor, however, he kept his eyes locked on the older man’s, showing that he considered the emperor his equal.

  Koida felt her father stiffen at her side, but Hao did not immediately call for his guards to execute the younger man.

  When the Ji Yu chieftain straightened again, he reached out to take Koida’s hand from her father, but Hao didn’t relinquish it.

  “Ji Yu Raijin, Shyong San Koida,” the Exalted Emperor addressed them, “your joining is a seal on the promise of alliance between our peoples. See that you maintain it.”

  “I will protect and defend her with my life,” the young chieftain said, his deep rasping voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond the three of them. The words had the ring of an oath, though it was not customary for such a thing to be promised at a wedding feast.

  Koida lowered her eyes, afraid to meet the Ji Yu chieftain’s glare. His long fingers felt like tongues of ice against her burning skin as he took her hand, and her father’s reassuring presence withdrew.

  They ascended the steps together and took their seats behind the wedding table. The Citrine and Amethyst thrones had been replaced with a pair of elaborate goldwood chairs with intertwining arms to symbolize the linking of the couple and their peoples. Ji Yu Raijin pulled out the second princess’s chair as was fitting of his lower rank, finally releasing his demonically cold grip on her hand. Koida sat, noting that the goldwood was still damp, likely cut and carved that very day by master artisans in Boking Iri for this occasion.

  Around the feasting hall, servants rushed to fill wineglasses, pour tea, and load plates from the emperor down through the ranks. The nobles, her father and Shingti included, turned their attentions to the food and drink.

  A cupbearer and a maidservant bowed up the dais and began to fill Koida and the Ji Yu chieftain’s plates and wine cups. Thinking this distraction might provide a safe moment to observe her betrothed without being observed in turn and perhaps gauge his mood, Koida glanced the young man’s way. Instead of finding him focused on his food, however, she found him watching her. A feral hunger blazed in his eyes, frightening in its intensity. A thin moment later, it was gone, replaced by that emotionless chill. There was no transition from one to the other and no trace left behind.

  “Apologies, Princess,” he said, his tone that of the lower addressing a better. “Your future husband is not used to this kind of pomp and ceremony. It is disorienting.”

  Koida stumbled a bit seeking the appropriate address for her response.

  “Please, Ji Yu Raijin—” She decided on a tone of spousal respect, hoping that the approach would repair whatever damage their earlier interaction had done and save her untold harms down the road. “—there is no need to speak up to your future wife. Especially if you feel her father, the Exalted Emperor, is your equal.”

  He smiled. The sudden warmth of it softened his face from hungry demon to nothing more than a young man. The transformation was startling.

  “Self-exalted,” he said as if correcting her.

  A flame of anger leapt to life in Koida’s stomach, and she forgot her caution. She switched back to the cold formal tone. “Apologies, Honored Chieftain, but your emperor is exalted by the battles he has won and the tribes he has conquered. His title is no empty claim.”

  “Your father the emperor is a great warrior.” Though Ji Yu Raijin said this like an agreement, Koida could tell it was the opposite, and his evasion brought back Yoichi’s warning about honeyed words felling empires as often as swords. Before she could decide how to respond, however, the chieftain continued, his tone now familiar. “There’s no need for you to speak up to me, either, Koida.”

  He said her given name as if testing whether she would ask him to use her royal address instead. It was within her rights to do so, she did outrank him, and a contrary part of her angered by his dismissal of her father’s greatness urged her to, but it would be bad courtesy to so quickly rescind a request to speak informally.

  “I would be honored if you would call me Raijin,” he said.

  Koida searched his face for some hint that he was toying with her, but she could find only sincerity. Either he truly wanted to make peace or he was incredibly good at hiding his intentions.

  “Gratitude,” she said finally, and only a bit of ice remained in her tone.

  A manservant bowed up the stairs with a small silver tray containing two cups and a pair of orange-yellow pellets. With one final bob, the servant set the tray between their plates and backed away.

  Koida’s brow furrowed. This wasn’t part of the wedding traditions.

  The young chieftain saw her confusion.

  “These are sunbright pills,” he said, picking one up and holding it out for her inspection. “It works like the core stone of the sunbright demon serpent, purging impurities and disease from the body and refining the Ro.”

  “But it isn’t an actual core stone?” Koida picked up the second pill from the tray and rolled it in her fingers. The little orange pellet was warm to the touch.

  “No. The physicians made it to replicate the effects without killing the serpent. It’s not as strong as a demon core, but it works in the same way.”

  A real, Ro-altering medicine! Koida’s heart sang, so excited that she forgot her wariness of the young man beside her.

  “Will it advance one who consumes it?” she asked, looking him dead in the eyes.

  For the briefest moment, a strange expression crossed Raijin’s face. Pity? Disgust? Then it was gone. Her excitement had reminded him exactly what sort of wife he was getting in return for the pledging of his tribe’s valuable soldiers and crops.

  “It won’t help you advance,” Raijin said, any hint at his thoughts hidden behind that cold mask once more, though his rasping voice had taken on a softer note. “Sunbright’s only use is to cleanse the body and the Ro. My people don’t hold lavish feasts for weddings, but medicin
es like this are part of our rituals, to prepare the bride and groom for one another.”

  Out in the sea of noble faces, she saw her father tipping back a cup of blood orange wine. Did he know the Ji Yu tribe had alchemists so advanced? Most likely. That must be one of the many reasons he was so intent on sealing this partnership quickly.

  She would just have to resign herself to the marriage. Raijin clearly had. At least in this way, she could contribute to the strength of the Shyong San Empire. She might never be spoken of when the histories were read, but knowing that she had brought invaluable medicines to help strengthen her people would be enough. Shingti might scorn their father for selling Koida off in exchange for these advantages, but then Shingti had never felt the gnawing ache of being dismissed as worthless.

  “Do you know how to integrate demon core stones?” Raijin asked.

  Koida shook her head, moving slowly enough that the bell cascades in her hair stayed silent, while she tried to decide how much of her disability to reveal. Dozens upon dozens of core stones had been wasted on her as a child, brought in from the farthest reaches of the valley by hunters, masters, and Living Blade warrior artists hoping to win the emperor’s favor by helping his youngest daughter advance, but none had ever done more than give her a day or two of fever and stomach sickness until she threw them up. Back then, she’d even had a dedicated alchemist whose entire job was to mix soothing medicines whenever a new stone was brought to her.

  “I fall sick when I swallow them,” she said. “Will this pill do the same?”

  “Yes,” Raijin said. “But you have to stop your body from rejecting it. Use your Ro to break the sunbright down and pull its components into your heartcenter. It’s exhausting and not a very pleasant sensation, but it can’t be avoided or lessened. Focus helps, so it’s best if you take the pill when you leave here, then spend the night meditating. And—” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “—you’ll want a bath when you’re finished. The results are a bit disgusting.”

  “Gratitude for your honesty.” Koida set the pill back on the tray.

  Raijin nodded and fell silent.

  Though the White Jade Feasting Hall was filled with conversation and music from the performers in the corner, the table on the dais seemed enveloped in unbearable quiet. Koida took a long drink of the palace’s best blood orange wine. Raijin toyed with his cup, not drinking and not speaking.

  Koida set her cup down and looked out into the crowd, hoping it would provide a distraction.

  Her sister was deep in discussion with their father. As if she could feel Koida’s eye, Shingti turned and caught her gaze. The first princess raised an eyebrow, nodding subtly toward the young chieftain, then made a stabbing motion with one hand.

  It took Koida a moment to realize her sister was asking if she wanted her future husband murdered. When she shook her head, Shingti scowled. The first princess mouthed two words clearly: Be careful.

  Koida nodded, her eyes falling on the sunbright pills.

  “How do I know these aren’t poison?” she asked her future husband.

  Raijin’s brow furrowed. “Why would I poison you?”

  “If I were to die, you wouldn’t have to suffer the disgrace of your stubbornness and your bloodline would be protected,” she said.

  The smile returned to his face.

  “That was a well-crafted twisting of keeping my word into an insult,” he said. “I would never poison someone, especially not...” He faltered. “I pledged to protect you with my life.”

  She saw white hair in the crowd. Cousin Yoichi sipping his wine and listening to the musicians.

  “Honeyed words mean nothing,” she said. “Take your sunbright pill now and I’ll believe you.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll say one is poison and the other safe, and only I know the difference between them.” Raijin pushed the platter toward her. “Pick one. I’ll take whichever you choose.”

  Though she tried to search for a trap in his words, Koida couldn’t find it. Finally, she picked up both pills, rolled them around in her fist, their heat tracing invisible lines across her palm. Satisfied they were well mixed up, she pulled one out at random.

  Raijin accepted the orange pill and popped it into his mouth and swallowed without hesitation.

  Koida watched like an eagle to make certain he didn’t have an opportunity to spit the pill out, but he didn’t reach for a cup or bring his hand to his mouth. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

  “Are you holding it under your tongue?” she asked.

  Raijin sighed and opened his mouth, lifting his tongue out of the way so she could search for the sunbright. His mouth was empty. The pill was gone.

  “Fine,” Koida said reluctantly. “I concede that these might not be poison.”

  He laughed. “If that is the best the treasured princess is willing to part with, the lowly chieftain will have to accept it.”

  “It is,” she said. “For now.”

  They lapsed back into silence once more, though the musicians didn’t make it through a full song before Raijin spoke again.

  “From your wariness of poison, I take it you’ve heard of the Path of the Water Lily?” All trace of teasing was gone from his gravelly voice.

  “Batsai—the captain of my guard—used to tell me stories of them poisoning young princesses, then he would say to always watch my food and drink carefully so as not to become a cautionary story myself.”

  “It’s sound advice,” Raijin said, his face once more becoming the cold mask of the demon. “The Water Lily school doesn’t only teach their students the art of poisoning, however. From the shadows, they plot assassinations, stir up rivalries and war, and create unrest to topple dynasties, all so they can steal Ro from the casualties. There’s no telling the number of rival paths they’ve destroyed. They purge every practitioner and all evidence of the schools they target. They’re a blight eating away at the world.”

  Koida flinched at the icy venom in his voice.

  “I-I thought they were just a legend,” she said. “An object lesson for royal children.”

  “They’re real,” he said. “And they have to be stopped.”

  Koida searched the room until she found Shingti. The first princess was in a far corner, surrounded by soldiers, guards, and a few rougher nobles, speaking to the yellow-haired foreigner from the Ji Yu envoy. She and the foreigner dropped silver links into the hand of a soldier, then tipped back their wine cups and drained them. Without stopping, Shingti reached out and pushed the bottom of the foreign man’s cup skyward while the spectators laughed and jeered. But even while she played this drinking game, Shingti’s eyes watched shrewdly, missing nothing in the feasting hall.

  Nearer the head of the room, Yoichi had taken Shingti’s place at their father’s side. The two were busy trading Heroic Record stories over their wine, sleeves rolled up and pointing at the colorful scenes depicted in their flesh. Several other decorated noble warrior artists around the hall were engaged in the same pastime. There was no shortage of heroic deeds in the empire, most of it gathered in this very room.

  “Water Lilies would never attack here,” Koida said, watching her sister pound the foreigner on the back heartily as he coughed and spluttered.

  Raijin didn’t answer. She turned to find the young chieftain glaring into his cup.

  “We’re too strong for them,” she insisted, though in truth the words were a question, begging for reassurance. “My sister is a master—the strongest in decades—the Dragonfly of the Shyong San Empire. Shingti would kill them all.”

  Raijin’s eyes met hers, as cold and hard as stone.

  “If she saw them coming,” he said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  PRESENT

  Like the return home feasts, the wedding festivities carried on well into the night, growing more boisterous with every hour. Nobles excused themselves to the private rooms on the far side of the hall to drink phials of medicine the alchemists always pr
epared for these occasions. Stomachs emptied, they returned and continued the feasting.

  When the first few rounds of eating concluded, and Koida and Raijin’s plates were cleared away, nobles began to approach the dais, bowing and offering congratulations and compliments on the emperor’s lavish hospitality. Koida accepted these with the required graciousness. Her future husband didn’t seem inclined to speak. He watched each interaction with an incomprehensible expression, though his bright green eyes sparkled strangely. Koida felt certain that beneath that cold exterior, Raijin was laughing at them all.

  Not long after the first cask of hard wine was drained, the Exalted Emperor declared that he would retire. Immediately, courtiers across the hall began yawning and speaking about the lateness of the hour.

  At Koida’s side, Raijin let out a sharp laugh.

  “It must be exhausting to be a member of the royal court,” he said, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips.

  “It’s good news,” she said. “Because it means I can retire now as well.”

  “Your future husband plans to do the same,” Raijin said, standing. He handed her down the dais, and at the bottom, pressed the sunbright pill into her hand. “Don’t forget your poison. I mean, sunbright pill.”

  Koida laughed in spite of herself.

  “It can take up to half a day to fully integrate it into your heartcenter,” Raijin continued more seriously. “It might be painful and unpleasant, but you can’t allow your body to reject it or take any medicines to dull its effect.”

  “You took one at least an hour ago, and you don’t seem to be in pain,” Koida said, though she wasn’t certain she had a firm grasp on time through the warm haze of the blood orange wine.

  He smiled. “There are some people for whom seeming not to be in pain becomes second nature.”

  Koida frowned and studied him more closely. Had his olive complexion gone waxy underneath? And how had she not noticed before that sweat had begun to shine on his temples? She took his hand. The ice that had been in his fingers was now a burning fire nearly as hot as her own skin.