The Buried World (The Grave Kingdom)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “It is a pleasant morning,” said the queen. “A day that you will always remember, my daughters. At noon we will perform the ceremony to open the Woliu. This will allow many creatures from the Grave Kingdom to pass again into this world. There is nothing to fear, my daughters. All will be made right.”

  Bingmei could smell the lie as it was spoken. At the noise of their approach, she edged farther behind the pillar. She had to move carefully to stay out of sight. The smell of the Dragon Queen’s malice became overpowering. She knew Rowen was still beside her, but even the pleasing scent of his love was suppressed by Xisi’s stench.

  Bingmei hoped that Eomen and Cuifen were with the entourage. She wanted so much to rescue either or both of them. If there was any way that she could, she would do so. Protective feelings surged inside her again, and the magic of the phoenix tingled in her fingertips. Dizziness began to wash over her.

  No, no, no! she thought in panic. Such feelings usually preceded her falling into a deathlike state. She felt herself begin to slump against the pillar, her legs losing strength.

  She smelled Rowen’s worry for her intensify.

  No! Bingmei thought, pressing her prickling palms against the meiwood pillar.

  She felt like swooning, fainting, collapsing. The sound of Xisi’s footfalls passed her pillar. Her smell of rancor and hatred was so strong it made Bingmei want to choke.

  She blacked out and started to fall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dying Deeply

  Death felt like a sigh. The pangs and worries faded into stillness, and yet she was still there, still aware of Xisi passing with her entourage of concubines, still aware of Rowen and how he had materialized out of smoke to catch her body before it collapsed to the ground. His eyes widened with panic as he held her against the pillar. Bingmei watched her head loll against his shoulder, the open eyes vacant, hollow.

  Bingmei felt her incorporeal form ripple against an invisible wind. She saw the frightened look on Rowen’s face, his mouth contorting with grief. A gasp of agony left his lips, but he struggled to contain his sorrow while shielding her body with his own.

  The entourage passed, Xisi babbling on about the upcoming ceremony and the importance of the virtue of decorum. Bingmei felt that if the breeze became any stronger, she’d float away like a leaf. How strange it was to see herself this way. Although it had happened multiple times now, it still didn’t feel normal. It never would.

  As the entourage continued down the hall, Rowen slowly lowered Bingmei’s lifeless body to the ground. There were tears in his eyes as he stared at her helplessly.

  Bingmei saw his compassion, his care, and it pained her even in death, though the sting was not as poignant. It was more the dull ache of a sore tooth.

  She looked and saw the end of the column passing, almost out of sight. At the last moment, one of the concubines turned sharply, having heard some noise from their location. It was Eomen. And she caught sight of Rowen crouching behind the pillar.

  Rowen, your sister sees you! Bingmei thought to him.

  His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. He’d heard her, clearly.

  His eyes locked with his sister’s for a brief second, and then he touched the meiwood spider, and the smoky magic enveloped him.

  Bingmei saw him still. He looked a shadow of himself, a half-formed dream, but in her deathlike state he was visible to her.

  Eomen was heading back toward them, her brow crinkled in concern, in recognition.

  Bingmei’s gaze followed the rest of the concubines, but they had turned a corner and were now concealed by a wall. A moment longer, and none of the concubines would have seen them. How was it that Eomen had known to look back at that exact moment? She glanced backward once, furtively, before reaching the pillar and coming around.

  When she spied Bingmei’s body crumpled on the floor, Eomen dropped to one knee, her fancy silk gown fluttering around her as it settled. She touched Bingmei’s cheek with the back of her hand and then bent her head closer, listening for the sound of breathing.

  Worried emotions flashed across Eomen’s face, and then her back straightened, and she looked around. “Rowen?” she whispered.

  The magic sloughed off him, and he emerged from the shroud of smoke.

  Eomen rose, her expression confused but tender. “I-I thought I’d seen you. I couldn’t believe it,” she whispered.

  “Eomen,” Rowen said, coming closer, his hands gripping her shoulders.

  “Did you kill her?” Eomen asked in distress. “Or did she faint like she did back in Sajinau?”

  “She’s dead, yet her soul is still here,” Rowen said. “I need to revive her. I was hoping to find you. We’re going to escape. Come with us!”

  Eomen blinked in surprise and then threw her arms around her brother, half-sobbing. He held her close, cheek to cheek, before pulling away.

  “I’ll be missed,” she said, glancing back. “When are you going?”

  “At noon. Where can I meet you?”

  “The concubines’ garden?” Eomen suggested. “It is not far from here, and the way is not well guarded.”

  I know where it is, Bingmei thought to him.

  “Good. When the disturbance happens, go there. I’ll come for you.” He gripped her hands and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll come for you.”

  “Thank you, Rowen,” she breathed in relief. She touched the side of his face, glanced down at Bingmei’s body, then took a deep calming breath and departed from the pillar.

  Rowen knelt by Bingmei’s body. “You are here but aren’t here,” he murmured, using the edge of his finger to smooth away some of the fallen strands of her hair.

  I’m here, she thought to him. She tried to touch his shoulder, but her hand was insubstantial. His gaze was still on the body lying before him. She saw that her cheeks were turning ashen.

  “What do I do?” he asked imploringly.

  Try shaking me awake. It had worked in the past, but this time felt different for some reason.

  Rowen did as she said, gripping her shoulders and gently trying to rouse her. Nothing happened.

  “It’s not working. What else?”

  She didn’t have an answer. The visions usually ended of their own accord, not because of anything she did, although Echion had revived her with a spell after killing her.

  “Shui, Xue, Po?” Rowen whispered, cocking his head to the side. “Is that what you said?”

  Her thoughts had been louder than she’d supposed. When Echion killed me, he brought me back by drawing the sigils of those three words on my forehead. He used water, blood, and ash when he drew them. But this is different. I just . . . died.

  Nothing had been revealed to her. She hadn’t been brought to some other location so she might learn something about Echion.

  “Come back to me,” he begged.

  I don’t know how.

  His face showed his pain, and it was a strange mixture of bread-like love and bitter grief.

  “Just . . . just breathe,” he said. “Come back.”

  I can’t, she thought to him sorrowfully.

  Rowen continued to stare at her face. His lips pressed firmly together, and he knelt beside her, lowering his head. Was he trying to listen for her breath? It was gone; that was obvious.

  Instead, she saw him press his lips against hers.

  Something shuddered inside of her, then she felt a strong tugging. The sensation came from her body. Like hooks had snared her spirit, she felt herself snapping back into her body. Immediately, tendrils of stabbing pain shot up her legs and arms as the blood began flowing again. It was pure agony. Her eyes, still open, had not blinked and felt unbearably dry. They immediately began to wet themselves with tears as her eye muscles twitched and blinked uncontrollably.

  But despite all of that, her attention was fixed on the feeling of his warm lips on her mouth—on the little puff of breath that went into her as she breathed for the first time since being revived. The act of brea
thing felt wonderful, and her chest craved more air while her lips craved more of him.

  He pulled away suddenly, eyes wide with hopefulness. “Bingmei!” he gasped.

  Each new gasp of air felt better than the last, and his smell of love enfolded her in the most delicious fragrance—relief. It made the pain in her hands and feet inconsequential. Blood churned sluggishly within her again, but at least she was alive.

  A memory intruded on her, stunning in its clarity. Kunmia Suun had taken her to the shrine on the mountaintop above her quonsuun to practice with the Phoenix Blade, and her mind had flashed to a vision of the past, one she’d believed could not possibly belong to her. It had been a memory of someone kissing her. In that little remembrance, she’d witnessed rows of disciples, all learning together, congregated within a vast courtyard.

  A courtyard she now recognized as Fusang.

  Bingmei, stunned, sat up quickly and bumped her head against Rowen’s chin as he bent down to kiss her again.

  “I have been here before,” she gasped, shaking her head.

  His grin was infectious. He gripped her shoulder with one hand. “So you have seen it in one of your visions. We were here together.” His other hand reached for hers, and his touch made the angry tingles beneath her skin vanish.

  “It was only a fleeting glimpse. I think it was of the past, of a past life. What do you remember?” she asked him hopefully. He’d spoken of this before the switching of the seasons. Surely he could explain it to her.

  “I . . . remember your smell,” he said hesitantly, looking into her eyes. “I couldn’t see you, but I knew it was you. We were here . . . together. You . . . loved me.” The fresh-baked bread scent was so strong it almost frightened her. But it was only from him, not from her. She’d always been attracted to him, yes, and there was no denying the raw energy that sometimes sprang up when they were together, but she didn’t love him. Not in the way that he adored her. She wasn’t even sure she could feel that way about anyone. The walls of her heart seemed to groan in readiness to slam shut.

  “Help me up,” she said, wincing.

  Still gripping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. She felt him move closer, still holding her hand, trapping her. As he leaned forward, the round meiwood pillar pressed into her back.

  “Bingmei,” he whispered hoarsely, tipping his head to the side, his lips descending again. A wild feeling filled her, something that threatened to unloose fierce urges within her. Her heart beat furiously, and her mouth went dry, but her mind kept shrieking that they needed to escape. Each moment they spent here was perilous.

  “No,” she said, turning her head away at the last moment. His lips grazed her ear. She shuddered and then freed her hand and pushed him gently away.

  She could smell the sudden hurt. The crushing disappointment. He had risked his life to save her, to rescue her from the clutches of the Dragon of Night. He smelled of burnt sweet rice, the charred part that stuck to the bottom of the skillet.

  She saw he was about to say something, and she shook her head, hoping to stop him.

  She was too late.

  “Can’t you see I love you?” he whispered. “Can’t you smell it?”

  She felt tears sting her closed eyes. It was painful hearing the words. They were words that she’d never believed she was worthy to hear from a man because of her winter sickness. There was no illusion, no disguise, no deceit. He’d harbored these feelings for a long time and had struggled to conceal them from her. Even burnt, his emotions smelled delicious. But she did not reciprocate them. At least not to the degree he wanted her to.

  She couldn’t, not when she knew what she had to do. Somehow the phoenix had sent him and the others to rescue her. And she had sworn to herself that she would obey the call if given the chance.

  “Rowen, I can’t love you,” she said, shaking her head as tears tracked down her cheeks.

  He stepped back as if she’d punched him.

  “You cannot? Or you won’t?” he whispered.

  She gazed at him, sensing his emotions, and their closeness choked her. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” she sighed. “I d-don’t l—” she stopped, seeing him flinch. “I don’t feel the same about you. And I shouldn’t.”

  “Shouldn’t?” he asked in astonishment.

  “We cannot be like that with each other,” she said. “I’ve seen Echion and his wife for what they really are. It may be too late to stop them.” She bit her lip, hating the anguish she felt oozing from him. “But I have to try.” She looked into his eyes with determination. “I’m going to cross the Death Wall. And that means we have no future, you and I. Whatever happened to us in the past is enough. I don’t remember it . . . or much of it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to run away, to flee the hurt she was causing him.

  He stared at her, raw and grieving and not trying to hide any of it. It struck her viscerally that Rowen, this proud prince, was laying his emotions bare for her. Opening himself to possible rejection. He had not been like this when they first met. He’d always been so controlled.

  Part of her wanted to reciprocate. She felt a little bit of her heart begin to crack open, like light peeking in through the clouds.

  “You can’t go,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you . . . not again.”

  “But I’m not yours,” she said firmly, stifling her feelings again. The knife of her words plunged deep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Betrayal

  Rowen was shrouded by the meiwood spider’s magic again, but he couldn’t hide his feelings from her, even when he was invisible. He didn’t even try. His honesty tormented her. She smelled the tang of bitterness, the regret and longing, the desperation. Experiencing the fullness of his suffering made her sick to her stomach, but there was no way she could alleviate it. They had no hope for a future in this life.

  They walked furtively along a side rampart, away from the main halls of the palace. She could sense the Phoenix Blade was still within the Hall of Memory, but that did not mean Echion was with it. Thankfully, she could always smell him before she saw him. She passed servants who came in groups of three or four, some carrying trays, others, vases with flowers. The courtyard below was thronged with servants as usual, but it was eerily quiet, save for the low voices whispering to one another. Some draped garlands of wildflowers along the stone railings. They were preparing for the ceremony, she realized. The dragon and his queen had not finished adding to their fearsome powers.

  “Turn this way,” she heard Rowen whisper as they approached another covered walkway. Bingmei turned and then caught movement from her peripheral vision. Glancing back, she saw Liekou following them at a distance.

  Her stomach twisted. Why hadn’t she smelled him?

  It struck her that he’d learned from his previous mistakes. He knew what she could do, and so he’d hung far enough back not to be noticed, a hunter stalking his prey.

  “We’re being followed,” she whispered.

  She heard a sigh. “It’s Liekou. Our luck has turned worse.”

  “How far away are the others?” she asked.

  “We’re getting closer. Maybe I should hang back and strike him when he’s not expecting it.”

  Bingmei felt a ripple of warning at his words. “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too dangerous. Let’s wait until we outnumber him.” She also wondered how loyal Liekou was to Echion. His feelings for Cuifen compromised him. She still hoped to use that to her advantage. If he knew they intended to save the princess, he might yet become an ally.

  “I don’t—”

  “Shhh!” Bingmei warned, smelling a familiar waft of sadness.

  Jidi Majia turned the corner ahead of them. He held a stack of bamboo sheaves that were bound together with straps of leather, but he fumbled them in surprise at the sight of her. “What are you doing here, Bingmei? Shouldn’t you be with the queen?”

  She blinked quickly. “Come with me,�
�� she said.

  “I have to prepare for the ceremony,” he said. “I must be there to help with the rites. What are you doing all alone?”

  She glanced back and saw Liekou advancing, his brow furrowed with displeasure.

  “Come with me,” she repeated, touching Jidi Majia’s arm. She looked him in the eyes forcefully. “It’s time to escape,” she whispered.

  The steward looked even more perplexed. He glanced over her shoulder at the approaching warrior, then turned abruptly. Together, they walked in the direction he’d come.

  “There is no way out of the palace,” he warned her. “Every gate is guarded, not just with warriors but by creatures of stone and metal. You can’t get past them, Bingmei. Everyone knows who you are and that Echion wants you dead.”

  “Prince Rowen is walking alongside us,” Bingmei said, and she smelled a spurt of surprise, like fresh lime, from Jidi Majia.

  “It’s true,” she heard Rowen whisper.

  Jidi Majia shook his head in wonderment. “Your Highness, if you are caught—”

  “I will be killed, I know,” Rowen said.

  “No. Even worse.” Bingmei could smell the whiff of revulsion coming from him. “He will devour you. Those who betray him, who fail him, are punished sorely and with unimaginable cruelty. The nightmares I’ve seen since coming here . . .”

  Bingmei wondered if his own faith was wavering. Would Jidi Majia betray them to protect himself? But when she smelled him, his scent lacked any duplicitousness. The usual sadness had been accented by a savory note of hope.

  “We encountered Eomen not long ago,” Rowen said. “She’s coming too. You must join us, old friend. We must help Bingmei escape. You must help us.”

  “I will, I assure you,” Jidi Majia said. “Even if it costs me my life. Where are we going?”

  “There is a garden pavilion in the northwest corner of the grounds.”

  “Ah, the Garden of Ten Thousand Springs,” said Jidi Majia. “The pavilion is in the center, with a round peaked upper roof.”