by Jeff Wheeler
Bingmei was impressed by his wisdom.
“How do you know Muxidi wasn’t lying, eh?” Jiaohua said. “What if he was giving you false hope?”
The general turned to Bingmei. “I was hoping you could confirm his words. I shared this information with Prince Rowen last night, and he told me that you have a gift, Bingmei. That you know when someone is lying. If you could confirm what Muxidi told us, then it would further strengthen my belief that we actually stand a chance to defend ourselves.” He paused, looking back over the river. “If not, all of these walls have been built in vain.”
“I will ask him,” Bingmei said, “but after I speak to him, I would like to leave the city and check on Quion. He has a somewhat tame snow leopard and didn’t want to risk bringing it into the city yesterday. He’s camping on the outskirts.”
“I know,” the general said. “Our scouts found him by his cooking fire yesterday.”
“Is he all right?” Bingmei pressed.
“We knew he was part of your ensign, so we left him alone. It doesn’t matter to me if he stays out there. At least he’s not adding to the overcrowding. I’ve ordered rations to be sent to him each day.”
“Thank you, General,” Bingmei said. She paused, then added, “My priority is to help defend Sihui against Echion. Wherever he attacks, I want to know so that my ensign can help.”
“If he attacks, we’ll all be needed to defend. There’s no doubt of that. But you are still an important factor in this whether you intend to help or no. I just ask that you do not go anywhere alone. Jiaohua, you must always be sure she has a bodyguard.”
Bingmei bristled. “I don’t need a bodyguard, General.”
He turned to face her, his lips firm and impassive. “I wonder something, Bingmei,” he said. “I wonder how many will have to die before you accept your fate. Jidi Majia told me that the sacrifice must be willing. If it were otherwise, believe me that you’d already be bound in a cart heading to the Death Wall. No matter what I do to defend Sihui, I fear I will lose. The art of war teaches me, my dear, to rely not on the possibility the enemy will not come, but on ensuring we are ready to receive him. We can’t ensure he will not attack, but we can do what we must to make our position unassailable.” He sighed. “I think he’s made Fusang unassailable. I wish I could do the same for Sihui.”
As he spoke, she remembered the sacrifice Prince Juexin had made for his people. It made part of her stomach shrivel to think what would happen in Sihui if they lost. She couldn’t bear to have the guilt of even more souls on her shoulders.
By the time they’d finished inspecting the defenses with General Tzu and returned, it was the hottest time of the day, and sweat dripped down Bingmei’s neck and cooled against her body beneath the silk. The food they’d stopped to eat was too spicy for her, making her stomach ache to be filled with something that didn’t burn.
The emotions she held back burned enough.
She checked on the ensign, and after finding all was well, went with Jiaohua back down to the dungeon. The shade of the fortress made it cooler within than without, but she suspected the hot spring was beneath the palace itself because the air felt almost too wet to breathe.
After passing the dispossessed families again, they found Muxidi pacing within his cell. As soon as he saw her, he rushed to the bars, gripping them tightly, his eyes almost feverish.
“What is it? Is he coming?” he gasped with dread. The sharp scent of worry wafted off him.
“Do you know something?” Bingmei asked him with suspicion.
He grunted, looking away. “I am bound to the Phoenix Blade, not to him,” said Muxidi.
“Talk sense, man,” complained Jiaohua.
“Even if I spoke it, would you understand it?” said Muxidi with a taunting edge.
Jiaohua took a menacing step forward, but Bingmei interposed herself. “Do you know he’s coming?” she asked him again.
He gazed at her, agitated still. “Now that you’re here, yes, I do think he’s coming. But I cannot see into his mind.”
“Can he see into yours?” Bingmei asked.
“I don’t know. He knows things he shouldn’t. Maybe these palaces he built are his eyes, his ears. Who can say? But he’s fixed on finding you, Bingmei. He must find you, for you are the only one who can bring back Xisi, his queen.”
Bingmei took a step closer. He smelled of sweat and the taint of his murders, but it was a softer smell today. Muxidi started to pace again.
“Why?” Bingmei asked.
“He cannot achieve his full power without her. You remember the marble slab in Fusang. You saw it, just as I did. There are two dragons. The male and the female. Both are needed to achieve his conquest. You were supposed to awaken them both when you came to Fusang. Yet . . . you ran away. You sensed, somehow, his true nature.” He paused, eyeing her. “No matter what he does to threaten you, do not let her rise from the dead. He will become twice as powerful.”
Bingmei had no intention of making the same mistake twice. “Thank you for the warning. Will you speak truthfully if I ask you something?”
“I will not lie to you, Bingmei,” he said, his voice growing more humble. “Whatever task you assign me, I will do it. Whatever penalty I must pay. You have a claim on me. I will submit to any revenge you impose.”
“I only ask that you be truthful,” she said, coming closer. His hands were filthy, as were his face and his unkempt hair. “You told General Tzu that Echion paints a sigil on the back of his warriors. A sigil done in ink and blood.”
“Echion doesn’t do it,” he said wryly. “He trains his officers, and we marked our men.” He chuckled softly. “Oh how he’ll torture me now. He’ll punish me in the Grave Kingdom too. Yes, it’s true. A blood mark. A sign to the killing fog that we are not to be harmed. By the blood, we are saved.”
“Whose blood?” Bingmei asked.
Muxidi frowned. “It doesn’t matter to Echion. Blood is blood to him. And he can change the glyph whenever he wishes. No one is safe from his treachery. Not even his own army.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Broken-Hearted
Water sloshed against the side of the bamboo raft. The man directing it extended his pole, catching the edge of the stone wharf to slow their momentum. Insects buzzed in Bingmei’s ears, but the lotion they’d been given in the palace was keeping them away. The afternoon sun blazed down, but thankfully the shade from the raft’s roof helped.
Looking back, she saw the arched bridge with the soldiers on it. They, too, were taking shelter from the sun. Jiaohua nodded for her to get off the boat, impatience coming off him in sour waves. He had insisted on coming with her to visit Quion. Not because he cared for the young fisherman, or because he was overly worried about her, but because he wanted to win his way back into General Tzu’s good graces.
Whether he wanted to be there or not, Jiaohua did his job effectively and looked for threats where there weren’t any. But she didn’t go anywhere without the Phoenix Blade strapped to her back and her staff in hand. She knew how to defend herself, but the general’s words had made an impression on her.
She rose from the woven-reed bench and walked to the edge of the raft as their boatman tied it off at the makeshift pier. He would await their return to bring them back to Sihui.
Bingmei and Jiaohua entered the long grass, the sun beating down on them. While it was not yet the peak of summer, it felt like it. Sweat oozed from her pores, but the light silk clothing helped keep her cool. The grass hissed as they walked through it, the heavy tops swaying as they passed. She grazed her palms across the tips as they ventured closer to the woods. Before they reached the edge, she smelled Quion, and then he appeared from the trees, a gentle smile on his face in greeting.
“He would never make it in the Jingcha,” said her companion gruffly.
“And you wouldn’t make it far as a fisherman,” she replied, waving to Quion. “Stay here. I don’t want you listening to our conversation.”
&n
bsp; He grunted. “I’m supposed to stand out here in the heat? Are you trying to cook me like an egg?”
“You could jump into the river,” she suggested.
He hissed in contempt and turned around. “Have your little tryst, then. I don’t care.”
He was only trying to rile her, which meant she’d succeeded in riling him first.
“Quion is my friend, Jiaohua. Not everyone is as seedy as you imagine them to be.”
“Most are,” he countered over his shoulder.
She continued walking through the grass to meet Quion. The snow leopard crouched next to him, its tail swishing in the foliage.
“It hasn’t left you yet?” Bingmei said.
“I don’t think she wants to leave,” he said with a sigh. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up. “There’s plenty of game for her, but she keeps coming back to my camp to stay with me. Come into the woods. It’s cooler beneath the trees. I like your new clothes.”
He walked her back to the shelter of the trees. He gave off the same satisfied smell as when he’d cooked an especially enjoyable fish dinner. There were no intruding smells, not even that of Jiaohua. They were totally alone.
Inside the trees, she found his makeshift camp. He had a fire ring made of stones, a blanket tied up at an angle for shelter, and a broken log he’d brought over for a seat.
“Please, sit,” he said, waving at it, and then dropped down beside her once she was settled.
“You have more space here than we do at the palace,” she said, bumping his shoulder.
“Is it crowded?”
“Very much. We’ve been given a courtyard in the corner of the stronghold. That is our position to guard against intruders. King Zhumu and General Tzu are busy strengthening the defenses, preparing for Echion’s fleet to come through. They’ve barricaded the river so that those large ships can’t pass. At least, we hope they can’t.”
“What is King Zhumu like?” Quion asked with genuine interest. “Is he like King Budai?”
“They are very different. And speaking of Budai, he is here in Sihui. This is where he sought shelter after he left the quonsuun.”
“He didn’t leave in a good mood,” Quion said. “Is he still very angry?”
“Quite. Zhumu has a daughter named Cuifen—his only child by the looks of it. Budai has been trying to woo her, but Zhumu would rather strike an alliance with Rowen. Rowen isn’t interested. It’s all a mess.”
“That’s . . . that’s . . .” Then he shook his head, at a loss for words.
“Nothing’s been settled, and for the moment we are welcome here. General Tzu said the city is full of refugees from Sajinau. They are treated unequally. But then, if the situation were reversed, would Sajinau have treated the survivors very well?”
“Probably not,” said Quion.
“Have you eaten well? Are you hungry?” she asked.
He shook his head. “They bring rations every day, but it’s hard to eat their food. I’ve found bog bilberries all over these woods. The river is warmer here. The fish are fat and lazy. You can almost grab them. There’s plenty to eat, and the mosquitoes aren’t too much.”
The snow leopard, which had been prowling around them, came up in front of Quion and then dropped onto its haunches so that he could scratch its neck, which he did. Bingmei shook her head. The beast would never leave now.
She tried to reach out and stroke it but heard a little purring growl from the back of its throat.
“Hush,” said Quion, shrugging in apology. “I’m sorry.”
“I think it remembers me stabbing it,” she said. “Of course, it was trying to kill you at the time.”
“It was just hungry, I think,” said Quion. “Do you want some of the berries?”
“Yes!” said Bingmei.
Quion gave the leopard a little shove and then walked over to his pots, some of which were suspended from the branches by twine. One of them sat on a large rock, and he pulled off the lid, revealing an assortment of wild berries. He brought it back to the log and sat down, holding it between them.
Some of the berries were very tart, but the sweetness in others offered a balance.
“How is the food at the palace?” he asked. “Spicy?”
“This is much better,” she said with a sigh. The food was better, it was true, but she also valued Quion’s companionship. Friendship was something she’d always seen in other people, like the bond between Mieshi and Zhuyi before Zhuyi had died. Bingmei and Mieshi had become closer, but they would never reach that same depth of feeling. Something crucial stood between them: Bingmei could smell Mieshi’s aversion for her pale skin and red hair, and they both knew it.
“Are you all right?” Quion asked her.
Maybe the look on her face had revealed too much. She tried to smile, but there was a prick of pain in her heart. The pain of never quite being accepted. Well, except by Quion and Kunmia.
And Rowen.
“Can I tell you something?” Bingmei asked.
“Of course. Anything,” he said, his brow narrowing with concern.
“Remember that dream I had? The one I told you about?”
“The one about your mother and the Grave Kingdom?”
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’m afraid, Quion. I’m afraid of dying. It’s the end. There’s no coming back. Isn’t it? I mean, Echion has found a way to keep coming back. How is that possible? If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. But here . . . there . . . it doesn’t matter. He rules both worlds. In my vision, I could feel him watching us. A huge metal dragon loomed over the street. People were fearful, lost. They seemed . . . incomplete.” She bit her lip. She was constantly trying to prove herself with the others. Although she didn’t understand why, she felt she could be herself with Quion. She could be vulnerable.
He stared down at their entwined hands. A new smell came from him, something warm and sweet, like a raisin cake.
“I’m afraid for you too,” he said simply. “I don’t want you to die.”
She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and stared at the gray ashes of the dead fire he’d built. In the end, all became ash and dust.
What was the point of all this struggle when it would end the same way regardless?
They spent the better part of the afternoon talking. Bingmei revealed her burdens—her fears about the future as well as her determination to evade her fate—and felt better for having done so. She even gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him she hoped the leopard would wander off so he could join them. He grinned and said he wasn’t in a rush to join the crowded city. Or to lose his new friend. When she left, she found Jiaohua dicing with the guards and the river guide on the bridge. In the few hours he’d spent with them, he’d already picked up some of their language and was joking and teasing with them as she approached. The sun sank lower, turning the sky a vibrant orange.
They took the raft downriver to the city, which was once again hazy because of the humid air. When she arrived at the courtyard, she immediately smelled tension in the air. Everyone was doing their duty, but the smell hung over them like a dark cloud.
“What happened, Marenqo?” she said, pulling him aside.
“Mieshi and Damanhur had a falling out,” he replied quietly. “It was rather loud and quite unseemly. He left in a huff. Mieshi started crying, if you can believe it. She’s calmer now, but you missed quite a storm.”
That explained the ill feelings. And because there were so many witnesses, everyone else had been infected by the ugliness between them.
Bingmei sighed. “Did Kunmia often deal with things like this?” she wondered aloud.
“Never. Everyone was always on their best behavior with her. I think it’s a sign of your bad leadership.”
“Marenqo,” she sighed, giving him a sharp look.
He smirked. “Yes. Quite often. Thankfully, I never have any problems.”
“Except for being hungry
all the time.”
“True. That is a problem. I miss the cuisine from our part of the world. But there’s something to be appreciated about a good meal under any circumstances.” He looked beyond her. “Ah, another storm is coming your way.”
She smelled Rowen’s roiling emotions before she turned to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes penetrating. He smelled of jealousy.
“Can I speak with you, Bingmei?” He shot a glance at Marenqo, then added, “Alone?”
Marenqo quirked his brow, shrugging. “I’m just a potted tree. Ignore me.”
“Is there a place you know that is private?” she asked Rowen.
“Yes. Will you come with me?”
Bingmei nodded, already feeling the relief of the afternoon fading. They entered the palace, which was crowded with servants and officers bustling around.
“I heard about Damanhur and Mieshi,” she said as they walked down the corridor. She didn’t want to address his feelings and sought to change the topic. “Did you see them argue?”
“No,” he answered. “But they’ve fought before and will mend the rift eventually. What I would speak of concerns us.”
“How so?”
“I’d rather speak in a private place,” he said.
“This might not be private,” she said, waving a hand at the crowded corridor, “but hardly anyone can understand what we’re saying.”
“It’s not that,” he stammered, trying to subdue his feelings, which were churning violently within him.
“What, then?” Perhaps she was being unfair, but if he insisted on talking to her in such a manner, she would prefer for him to be direct.
“I don’t think I can stay here much longer,” he said in a low, tight voice.
That surprised her. She’d expected him to express his jealousy.
“We just got here, Rowen,” she said. “And where else could we go that is safer? If we’re going to take a stand against Echion, why not here? Tzu’s defenses might be sufficient. This is our best chance.”
