by Jeff Wheeler
“He’s going to kill me, Jidi Majia,” she said, shaking her head. Her voice shook on its own without any need for duplicity.
“When someone is useful to him, he can be quite forgiving. He didn’t slay Prince Rowen. You are special in this world. The phoenix-chosen. If you use your power to assist him, you could be very important in the new empire. After all, it was you who revived him from the Grave Kingdom. He was willing to honor you before, but you showed yourself to be an enemy. Of course he’s hunted you. But if you were to humble yourself . . .” He sighed. “I know that will be difficult for you. You’ve always been rather headstrong.” He gave her a kindly smile, but she saw through it. His words were all lies. He would kill her because he knew she was the only one who could destroy him.
“Can you advise me, Jidi Majia?” she pleaded, biting her painted lip. The paste tasted peculiar.
“Would you hearken to my advice? You didn’t before.”
She had to be careful. One wrong step, and he’d know she hadn’t been deceived.
“I think . . . I think I could listen to you,” she stammered. “What should I do?”
He gave her a solemn look, as if weighing his words with careful deliberation.
“I think you should raise the Dragon Queen,” he said seriously. “That is the only thing you can do, willingly, that will earn his trust. Then plead for forgiveness. I’ve served him for many moons now, Bingmei.” He put his hand on her shoulder, as tenderly as a father would. She imagined she could feel the claws. “He is a benevolent ruler. I think he would pardon you. I really do.”
And that was the biggest lie of all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Slaves of Fusang
After Echion left in his disguise as Jidi Majia, Bingmei could not even think about sleep. Nor would she be allowed to since they had just prepared her for her audience with Echion. Her insides clenched and twisted with dread as she worried about what would happen the next morning. After pacing in agitation, she decided she could bear the confinement no longer and walked to the doorway of the building. Her guardian, the man she believed was from Echion’s ensign, stepped out of the shadows and barred her path.
“I want to walk,” she told him.
“It makes no difference to me,” he replied.
“Will you let me leave?”
“The palace?”
“No, this room,” Bingmei said with impatience.
“You may. But there are many forbidden places within the grounds. The Hall of Unity is one such place.”
Bingmei nodded. “Then guide me. I’m sure you aren’t allowed to let me out of your sight.”
“You are our honored guest,” he said in a sly way, and she smelled the lie.
“Your prisoner,” she countered. “Is there a garden we can see?”
“The concubines’ garden is this way,” he offered, one hand behind his back, the other sweeping in the direction of the garden.
Eomen and the other girl bowed and then followed her from the room. They were her underservants, it appeared, and they both clearly resented it.
Her guardian fell in behind them, staying out of reach should Bingmei decide to attack him. She was tempted, although her new clothing would make it difficult.
The sky still had a scattering of stars, but the horizon was starting to pale. She realized, with growing dread, that the day would be coming soon. If only she could grow wings and fly, escaping the confines of the palace. The last time she’d fled Fusang, she’d done so with the help of her strange power. She tried to summon it now, but it was as distant as it had been since that day in the caves, when it had saved her from capture. Was it eluding her because, as others had suggested, she had closed off her own feelings? Once again, she wondered if perhaps Rowen had a point.
They guided her through a bronze gate into the concubines’ garden, where the flowers’ pleasant fragrance filled the air. She walked along the small footpath that wound through the garden, taking note of the well-manicured trees that had been planted in straight rows, each limb purposefully devoid of excess growth. Small stone benches lined the carefully curated space, the legs carved into the shapes of various animals, and a night bird called out from somewhere within the greenery. The tranquility of the scene was at odds with the heaviness in her heart.
Above all, Bingmei was determined to survive. Her self-destructive thoughts from earlier had passed. Taking her life here, now, would do nothing to help the others. If she were to make such a sacrifice, and she still didn’t know if she could bring herself to do it, it would have to be at the Death Wall.
No, she would fight Echion with her last breath.
She closed her eyes, shuddering. Kunmia Suun had failed to defeat him, and Bingmei was nothing compared to her old master. But fight him she would, rather than submit to such tyranny. If she could continue to deceive him, that might buy her some time.
The sky continued to brighten, the growing light revealing more details within the garden. Each sculpture was indescribably beautiful. How many craftsmen had been employed just for the concubines’ garden?
Then she realized the truth of the matter. No craftsmen had been employed. Every bit of this garden—every slab of stone, every decorative ornament, every bush and tree—had been the work of slaves. Perhaps they had been chosen for their craftsmanship and skill, perhaps laboring in the palace was preferable to building the Death Wall. Even so, it was wrong.
She paused in her wandering, coming to a stone bench and staring at the subtle details. A strange sensation twisted in her stomach. Although she hadn’t been here before, she felt an aching familiarity, the same sensation as when she’d perfectly executed the five-birds form. Looking up, she stared at a tree with grafted limbs. The work was seamless, so how had she known they were grafted?
A tickling sensation worked through her stomach. And then it struck her forcibly—the notion that she had sat on this very bench with a man beside her. Although she could not remember the man or see him in her mind, she felt an overpowering sense of rightness. She had been there before.
That other person wasn’t her—and yet it was.
Had Bingmei been one of Echion’s concubines in another life? Was that why this garden was so familiar to her? Was it Echion himself who had sat next to her on the bench?
Her skin crawled at the thought. Bingmei had a warrior’s heart. She was the daughter of warrior parents and the granddaughter of the founder of an ensign. Being trapped within such walls, no matter how beautiful, awaiting the orders and pleasure of a ruler she despised, sickened her to the deepest parts of her two souls.
Slowly, with a trembling heart, Bingmei sat down on the stone bench. It was cold and a little wet with dew. Her hand dipped down to touch it, the sensation reminding her of that other time, the memory she could not quite touch. She’d sat here and drawn out a glyph.
She hesitated, afraid, then closed her eyes and let her fingers move, tracing the glyph that she knew but didn’t know.
Almost.
It was an unspoken whisper in her mind. And then it felt as if a hand closed gently atop hers, guiding her finger into the correct pattern.
Whatever she had drawn with the dewdrops couldn’t be seen, but she sensed it, nonetheless. She’d drawn two small squares, one slightly larger than the other. One had two markings within it. The other had two markings that slashed out of the square, connected with a stroke.
What had she drawn?
The answer came.
Xisi.
Her eyes opened wide. She’d drawn the name of the Dragon Queen. And she felt a burning sense of rightness that reviving Xisi was something she was supposed to do. It didn’t make any sense. Why should she contribute to Echion’s power?
“Can you write, Bingmei?” asked Eomen with curiosity.
Bingmei looked up and noticed the princess had been watching her closely, especially her hand.
“No,” Bingmei answered honestly. “I’ve . . . I’ve seen it done.” In a vi
sion, but she deliberately didn’t mention that part.
“It’s something that has been brought back from the Grave Kingdom,” said Eomen. “Those who are taught to write are given the greatest responsibility here. I thought maybe . . . they’d finally allowed a woman to try.”
“It is a manly art,” said their escort with a dismissive chuckle, his hands clasped behind his back. He stood with his profile facing them. He smelled of arrogance and self-satisfaction, which were both greasy smells. “Women may read, but they are forbidden to hold a brush and touch ink.”
Bingmei wanted to punch him for his conceit.
“Why is that?” Eomen asked, although the question wasn’t spoken in challenge.
“Because only men are taught the Immortal Words,” he said. “Should a woman ever learn them, the entire world would be undone.”
He smelled like he believed the words, but Bingmei knew that meant nothing. Truth was unequivocal—a belief, no matter how powerful, could not sway it.
Dawn had come, bringing vivid light to the gardens as they walked toward the palace. Echion had sent servants to the garden to collect her. Faguan and Eomen inspected her hair and made sure to fix any smudges in the face paints. Her heart pounded worriedly as she followed the eunuchs. Her original escort followed them, his eyes on her back. Eomen and the other girl also trailed her.
As she crossed the grounds, the bright colors adorning the walkway struck her with wonder. Each pillar had been hand-painted—by slaves—and there were various sigils carved into the trunks of meiwood. They’d been glowing last night, just like they had when Echion had first awakened. As they walked, she saw stone creatures ambling through the courtyard below, enlivened by the magic that controlled Fusang.
A stone lion like that had killed Zhuyi.
After several long steps, she realized the servants were bringing her to the chamber where Xisi’s sarcophagus lay. Her agitation was tempered by the memory of that strange moment on the bench. It had felt so right to trace Xisi’s glyph. She still didn’t understand it or what power had guided her hand. Was it the phoenix? Or was it Xisi herself who had done it?
As they walked along, she noticed warmth emanating from the stones beneath her feet—a warmth whose source was something more than the sun shining into the courtyard. The magic of this place was awe inspiring. She saw warriors patrolling the outer walls, some holding spears, some holding bows. Glyphs were carved into the walls too, and she remembered how some of those glyphs had blasted out lightning on her last visit to Fusang.
Very few knew the location of the Summer Palace, but even if King Zhumu and the other western kings knew of it, they’d never be able to breach the walls and the magic guarding it.
They crossed an arched path and then went down some steps she remembered mounting the night before. Through the wall, she saw the impressive palace rise before her again, and her anxiety heightened to a fever pitch.
They mounted the steps on the east side of the palace—a different path than she’d taken with Kunmia’s ensign. Part of her screamed to turn around and flee, knocking down the warrior behind her. Yet that would be cowardly, and it still felt right to go there.
It felt right before too, a voice whispered to her, until you awakened him.
How was Echion manipulating her feelings like this?
And yet . . . something told her this was different. That the entity that wished for her to do this was not Echion at all.
When they reached the top of the steps, the eunuchs brought her to the side door and pulled it open. The door was several spans taller than her, as if giants lived inside. Echion awaited her, his murderous stench announcing him from afar. The servants held the door open but did not enter themselves. An equal number waited on each side of the door, and one of them gestured for Bingmei to go inside.
She hesitated.
“Go on,” said the warrior behind her.
Eomen and the other girl split up, each joining one of the lines of eunuchs, heads bowed in a posture of submission to match that of the men.
Bingmei mustered her remaining crumbs of courage and marched inside the massive palace.
The upper windows were closed, the latticework blocking out much of the day’s brilliance. The etchings on the walls were all overlaid in gold. Beautiful vases displayed fronds. She remembered seeing massive chests spread throughout the palace, but those had been cleared away. The two stone tombs of Echion and Xisi still lay in the center of the room. She sensed the Phoenix Blade hidden within the one she’d helped open before.
Echion was back to his true form, the real Jidi Majia beside him. The two were conversing. Bingmei was surprised to see the advisor from Sajinau. She’d wondered if Echion had already killed him. This meant that he could take the shape of a person who yet lived. That was useful to know.
“You may go,” Echion told Jidi Majia.
Before he left, he gave Bingmei a pleading look, one that seemed to beg her not to do the ancient ruler’s bidding. He exited out the door on the west side of the palace. As both doors thudded closed behind him, it struck Bingmei that she was once again alone in Echion’s presence.
“I am curious, Bingmei,” he said in a pleasant, conversational tone while standing next to the bier where he had lain. He smoothed his hand over the carved marble effigy of himself. “Why did you flee after you invoked the sigil? You were almost immediately afraid. Why?”
She swallowed, feeling her courage wilt in his presence. Her knees felt like water, but she forced herself to step forward. “We came expecting to find abandoned treasures. Not you.”
“So you feared me? Why? I offered to reward you, Bingmei. All of you. It was you who made the first move against me.”
“I was afraid,” Bingmei said, her voice trembling. “You were more powerful than I could comprehend. I didn’t understand how I brought you back. I don’t know how to make the glyphs.”
He chuckled and came around in front of the bier, facing her. He was pleased by her fear, by her lack of strength in his presence. She could smell the satisfaction.
“Some people do flee when fear overtakes them,” he said. “It’s understandable. But then there was Wangfujing. Budai’s palace. You warned Budai against me.” His jade eyes narrowed, his gaze penetrating. “How did you know I was there? It shouldn’t have been possible.”
Not wanting to relinquish the truth, she bowed her head humbly. “Perhaps the phoenix warned me?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Does the phoenix try to speak to you still? Liekou told me its power saved you in the caves. But it fails you now. It has abandoned you.”
“Yes,” Bingmei said, nodding. “I cannot control it.”
“You cannot control it, because you do not understand it,” he replied. “But how could you? I have destroyed its cult from the face of the earth.”
The stench of his lie struck her like a blow.
“You are a girl with the winter sickness. A condition that is despised because of me. The phoenix grows more and more desperate each thousand years. It cannot win this contest any longer.” He chuckled. “There used to be two seasons, Bingmei. The season of the Dragon of Night. And the season of the Phoenix of Dawn. It is no longer called that because I forbade it. Every emissary it has chosen has failed to usurp me. You are just another scrawny branch that popped out of the tree. A branch that I will snip away and discard. No, Bingmei, the phoenix may think it chose you, but it no longer has even the illusion of control. You were chosen . . . by me.”
Again his lie made her eyes water.
“I am the one who brought you here with the Phoenix Blade. I am the one who taught your hands to draw the sigil.”
More lies.
“And I will use you one last time to bring back my queen. I am ready to renew my powers, to open the Woliu, which separates the Grave Kingdom from the living world. With Xisi at my side”—Those words reeked of contempt and loathing. How he hated her!—“we will rule again and bring order and unity once
more. You are my pawn, not the phoenix’s.”
Bingmei realized what he was attempting to do. He wanted to crush her sense of self—to make her prostrate herself at his feet, begging for forgiveness.
A thought struck her mind like a bell.
Before she could stop them, the words tumbled out of her mouth.
“If you are so powerful, grand one, why can you not draw the glyph yourself?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wrathful Emperor
She watched Echion’s eyes narrow with anger at her words, her accusation of weakness. His haze of fury stank of sulfur as he marched toward her, his face contorting to a mask of outrage and sudden hatred. Her heart quailed at the onslaught of violent emotion.
Echion grabbed Bingmei by the throat with one hand, lifting her off her feet. His fingers were powerful, the long nails digging into her skin, and breathing became impossible. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, trying to pry herself free, but it wouldn’t budge.
“You insignificant maggot!” he hissed at her, his lips curling back in a snarl. “You dare belittle my power? All that I have conquered and won by my wisdom and cunning?” She felt his fingers tighten around her throat. The savage fury of the man beat against her. In an act of pure self-preservation, she tried kicking him. It felt like kicking a marble pillar, and he did not even flinch. He only squeezed harder.
“You will obey me, taoqi, or I will punish you in ways you cannot imagine. I have thousands of years of experience in torture. You will be broken like so many shards of pottery.”
Her throat felt bruised. She wriggled and struggled against his iron grip, unable to pry even a single finger loose. His strength was beyond that of mortal men. Her fear of imminent death eclipsed even the awful pain he was inflicting.
Staring into Echion’s eyes, she saw the unlimited depth of his depravity and cruelty. There was blackness inside him, as thick and impenetrable as the darkness he had unleashed on the people of Sihui. All that lay beyond was the raging fire of his hatred, and he hated her.
That darkness inside him seemed to penetrate her soul. Her strength vanished, and her arms dropped, too weak to continue the struggle to free herself. She was nothing to him, not a life—just a worm as he’d said. The pinpricks of pain began to come up her arms and legs, the feeling of death she’d experienced many times.
