by Jeff Wheeler
On the morning of the third day, the missing siskin found Bingmei training in the yard in the queen’s portion of the palace grounds. Guards constantly patrolled the walls, as they’d already had two experiences of individual dragons returning and causing havoc. She was delighted to see the bird and reached out to its mind.
I need you to find my child, little siskin, she implored. Please help me.
Come! replied the siskin energetically. Come to the pagoda on the hill!
Bingmei’s eagerness was so compelling she almost flew directly there, but she went to find Rowen first. He was walking in the garden with General Tzu and King Zhumu, discussing whether Liekou should be prevented from marrying Cuifen, even though she carried his child. The law about destroying all female children had been abolished immediately, along with the rest of the Iron Rules.
“If she’s chosen Liekou, what else matters?” Rowen asked.
“But she is my heir. Should I not have a say in who rules my kingdom?” Zhumu demanded.
“What is it, Bingmei?” Rowen asked when she arrived breathlessly.
“I need you to come with me. It’s . . . it’s urgent.”
“What’s wrong?” the general asked with concern. “Have you seen another dragon approaching?”
Bingmei’s eagerness boiled inside her like soup. “No, General. It’s a personal matter.”
“Can it not wait, then?” Zhumu insisted. She smelled his spoiled emotions, his dissatisfaction with his daughter and his bodyguard.
Rowen held out his hand, and she guided him to the doorway. “You’ll excuse me, I’m sure. You know how I feel about Liekou. Hasn’t he earned our trust after all he’s done?”
Zhumu scowled, but his feelings relented. If not for Liekou, his daughter would have perished in the winter.
After she and Rowen were beyond earshot, she said, “We need to go to the pagoda on the hill outside the northern walls.”
“Let’s fly.” Immediately, he transformed into the majestic phoenix. When he was in that form, his eyes were no longer mottled with shadows. His sight was perfect. Bingmei leaped into the air, transforming into her phoenix form for the first time. The stretching, pulsing feeling was majestic and glorious. She saw the plumage of her own feathers and how they matched the color her hair had turned when it had lost its whiteness. The transformation was effortless and immediate, and together they flew above the palace, heading to the northern wall and the hill beyond it. She relished flying with him, the dizzying distance adding to the thrill as they soared on the wind.
The sunlight shone through the pine trees covering the upper slopes of the hill and gleamed on the roof tiles of the pagoda. The honeyed smell around them was her own hope. From the vantage point of the sky, she could see the palace behind them, the inlet jutting in from the waterway leading to the shrinking glacier. To the north, she could see the Death Wall, which hosted thousands of soldiers who still didn’t know that their master had been killed.
She transformed back to human as she lowered down to the edge of the pagoda, and Rowen circled it once before landing beside her, his feathers and claws and hooked beak suddenly metamorphizing back into the features of a man.
The scents from inside the pagoda hit her strongly. The smell of fish. The smell of her baby. And the smell of the concubine who had cared for Shixian.
The siskin perched atop the meiwood beam at the edge of the roof and chirped loudly, anxiously. The occupants of the pagoda appeared in the doorway as Rowen and Bingmei approached it. The woman held a baby wrapped in blankets.
Shixian.
Bingmei stared at them in shock, her heart warming with gratitude. “Quion,” she whispered. She rushed to them, reaching for her child. The woman handed him over with a sad smile. The relief of holding him again overpowered Bingmei’s emotions.
A buttery bread smell had mingled with Quion’s usual scent of fish as he stood deliberately near the woman. It made Bingmei smile. She had never met anyone so deserving of happiness as Quion.
“Hello, Bingmei,” Quion said, dipping his head to her. He stood by the concubine. “This is Lianhua. She’s the one who has been caring for Shixian.”
“I know who she is,” Bingmei said, looking at the other woman while feeling pangs of gratitude and perhaps the slightest bit of jealousy. Lianhua had no smell of deception in her. She’d lost her own child and had willingly devoted herself to Bingmei’s son.
“It’s Quion,” Rowen said. “I recognize your voice.” Bingmei caught the scent of jealousy from him as well, but it was not nearly as strong as it had been in the past.
“Hello, my lord,” Quion said. “It’s time you met your son.”
The smell that came from Rowen revealed his conflict and uncertainty. The siskin chirped with animation.
Lianhua gripped Quion’s arm as she watched Rowen and Bingmei, who clung to the baby and pressed him close. Shixian’s smell was so sweet to Bingmei the aching in her heart finally soothed. She’d feared she would never be able to hold him again. She did not know where Xisi had fled to, and so there was no compulsion to return the baby to her. Rowen stood by Bingmei, reaching out tentatively, his hand cupped on the babe’s fuzzy head.
“He’s really mine?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Bingmei said, nuzzling the child with her nose. “Ours.”
Not only had she drawn a healing glyph on the prince, but she had also healed the other eunuchs who had been forced to serve in the palace, including Marenqo. Word had spread of her gift of healing, and many had flocked to the palace.
Quion smiled as he stood next to Lianhua, one arm around her shoulder. She saw his pack sitting inside the pagoda. The scent of grief and sadness wafted from the other woman. She’d had to give up yet another child. But she, too, smelled of buttery baked things, and it didn’t escape Bingmei’s notice that she stood very close to Quion.
She looked at the two of them. “How did you meet each other?” She raised an eyebrow at Quion. “I thought you were going to Sihui.”
He shrugged. “I started going that way. But the siskin led me to Fusang instead. I kept following it until I leaped over the wall with the meiwood cricket.”
When Bingmei had tried using it to breach the walls of Fusang on their first expedition, the cricket hadn’t worked. She wondered if something had changed after the magic that had preserved the palace in the glaciers had ended.
“The bird led me through the palace,” he continued. “It brought me to her. And, of course, I recognized Shixian. She didn’t turn me in to the guards.” He looked at her with respect and the smell of relief.
Lianhua gave him a shy smile, then turned her gaze to Bingmei. “He told me the origin of the baby. That it was the phoenix reborn. I believed him. I hate the dragon and his queen.” Her look darkened, and the metallic smell of her emotions confirmed her words. “What they took from me.” She shook her head, her lip curling.
“We escaped together,” Quion said. “And came here to hide while the battle raged below. We saw it, Bingmei,” he said, grinning. “We saw it all from up here, even when the sun was blotted by a shadow.” He paused. “I wanted to come get you, but I couldn’t leave her unprotected. I mean, I couldn’t leave the baby . . . I . . . ummm . . .” A blush came to his cheeks, and Lianhua gave him another smile that said more than just words.
“You are welcome to stay up in the pagoda if you wish,” Bingmei said, giving her friend a tender smile. “But please, come to the palace. You are welcome there. Not as servants,” she added, looking at Lianhua. “You are needed still to help care for our child.”
The syrupy smell of hope came from Lianhua. “I would be honored, Bingmei.”
“There is something you all must know,” Bingmei said. She reached for Rowen’s hand and squeezed it. “I made an oath to give Xisi my child in exchange for making Echion mortal. Otherwise, she would have killed Shixian where he lay.” She remembered that moment, the anguish she’d felt. “If she comes seeking him, I will be forced t
o obey. She can only be stopped if she drinks the same poison she tricked her husband into drinking. She will come back for Shixian. Our son.” She squeezed his hand again. “I know she will.”
Quion frowned, his expression turning grave with determination. “Then we must stop her too.”
Lianhua’s face sickened with fear. “I do not serve her anymore,” she said.
“I know,” Bingmei answered. “She intended to kill you all along, Lianhua. You have a mother’s heart. I can sense it in you. Xisi does not. She has no compassion. No tenderness or love.”
“She could be hiding anywhere,” Rowen said worriedly. “No other woman is so cunning and artful.”
“But her power is broken in half,” Bingmei said. “Without her husband, she cannot be as strong as she was.”
“Then we must do all that we can to keep them from rejoining in this world,” he declared.
Night fell over Fusang, bringing shadows and quiet. Lianhua had just finished nursing Shixian, and the babe had slipped into a blissful sleep. The nursemaid had handed the baby to Bingmei before departing. Her heart ached as she stared at his innocent face. She’d tried to suckle him, but her milk had gone. As she stared at his sleeping face, the threat of Xisi seemed far away, yet ever present. The boy’s little puckered lips parted as he yawned, and Bingmei felt a catch of pain in her chest. The love was so deep and powerful it stole her breath.
She rose, cradling the babe in her arms as she walked to the open window. Orb lamps glowed along the covered walkways beyond. She smelled the air, testing it for signs of an enemy. All was calm and peaceful.
Lianhua approached her with a swaddling blanket, and Bingmei handed over the child for the night. They’d agreed that it would be for the best if Bingmei didn’t know where Shixian was being kept. She had to trust Quion and Lianhua to protect him . . . even from her in case Xisi returned and demanded him. In her heart, she knew it would happen one day. She dreaded it. But for now, for this night, she was able to hold and tend her child. But her heart still ached as she watched Lianhua and Quion open the secret door leading from the room and vanish.
Bingmei folded her arms, wondering if the feeling of disquiet would ever leave. Xisi knew the secret ways of the palace better than anyone. A cradle with an Immortal Word of protection was still not the same thing as a mother’s arms—although her arms would be compelled to hand over the person she loved most.
After they were gone, she gazed across her chamber, one of the smaller decorative palaces in the emperor’s side of the grounds. She did not want Xisi’s rooms, nor would she have felt safe there. She was Rowen’s protector, his ensign leader, and so her chamber was close to the palace he had chosen.
The wind was warm as it came through the windows, rustling the silk curtains of the bed. But she felt too anxious for sleep. The Phoenix Blade rested on a sword cradle on a table near the bed.
A latch sounded softly, and the secret door opened again. She smelled Rowen before he emerged from the shadows. When he entered, he felt his way with his hands, moving slowly. There were no birds in her room that night, so he was truly blind. She stood silently, watching him grope his way closer to her. Their soul connection was still strong. She’d sensed he was nearby but had assumed he was in his own room.
His foot bumped against the edge of the couch, and he caught himself on the cushions before falling onto it.
“Would you like help, my lord?” she asked him in a teasing voice.
“I’m going to require bird cages to be put in every room throughout the palace grounds,” he said, but it was a lie.
“It won’t help because I will free each and every one of them. I was about to come to you,” she said, walking slowly and deliberately toward him. His head moved slightly, tracking the sound of her voice.
“I knew you would. But I wanted to touch our child again. To kiss his forehead and bid him good night. I like the name you chose for him.” His hands smoothed the fabric of the couch.
She reached him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Better?”
She felt him shudder. “I’m still a little confused about how our son was conceived.”
Her cheeks began to burn. “Do I need to explain such details to you, Rowen?”
“That’s not what I meant.” He smiled. “Years ago, I had a vision of being blind. And someone—you—came to me. It was a couch . . . similar to this.”
“But it wasn’t this one,” Bingmei said. “I already showed you where it will happen. We were husband and wife on that day. Now we are not.”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet what?”
“Not yet husband and wife. But you will be mine, Bingmei. We will not be a traditional king and queen. I know you wouldn’t stand for that. Wearing layers of gowns and hardly being able to walk in them. You are my warrior queen.”
“The only title that I desire is to be your wife,” she said. “That day is coming still, Rowen.” She traced her finger on his chest. Not a glyph but the word that meant “love.”
“Will you heal my eyes?” he asked softly.
She licked her lips. “The healing rune should have done that too. I think it is important somehow, for you to stay like this.”
He stroked her hair and pressed his lips against the top of her head. He’d finally shaved the ugly beard from his confinement. “I thought so. I can see things happening very far away. Before I came to you tonight, I traveled with the birds to Sajinau. I saw the gardens of the hanging trees. There are plenty of birds there. Our emissaries arrived. It’s unfair, I suppose, knowing their answer before it comes. But as General Tzu put it, nothing in warfare is too dishonest.” He smiled at her and lifted her chin. “At least I can see you when the birds are awake. Or when I am in my phoenix form. I’ve always thought your name was remarkable. You are my winter rose.”
“And you are still a man without a country,” she said, teasing the edge of his lip with her finger. He kissed her fingertip. “Well, not a single country. You have them all.”
“I don’t care about ruling countries. I just want to know when you will be mine.” He squeezed her hips.
“Jidi Majia and your sister haven’t arrived yet for the ceremony. Are you so impatient?”
He gave her a hungry look. “Yes. But I will try to wait, even though it tortures me. I saw from a flock of seagulls that they will be arriving in the morning.” She could smell his urgency, his desire for her, and his deep adoration. It was a heady smell. “But I want you now.”
“We will wait until it is proper,” she said. “My master, Kunmia Suun, taught us that what lies in our power to do, lies in our power not to do.”
Rowen smiled at the pearl of wisdom. “Then we will wait until tomorrow. Or whenever you think you have tortured me long enough.”
“It is torture for me as well,” she said. “But a kiss will suffice. For now.”
She brought her hands up to his hair. The smell that came from him curled around her. She hadn’t believed anyone would want her, not like this. And when his lips lowered and touched hers, she accepted it because it was honest, because it was without disguise, and because she loved him more deeply than she had when she’d crossed the current of time to meet him.
EPILOGUE
The Smell of Revenge
The junk floated into the harbor of Wangfujing. The docks teemed with other boats, and the crowds were thick as merchants and fishermen bartered. The water had a sour smell, and dead fish bobbed on the ripples. Budai stared at his city, seeing the changes that had been wrought in only a few years.
The streets had been repaired and so had the wharves. New timbers and posts had been carved into animal shapes. How much money had been spent on the renovations? When he was the ruler, he had demanded that local businesses pay for a portion of repairs. The arched bridges spanning the river that split Wangfujing in the middle had small boats, but the waters were still sludge-filled and mottled with the corpses of dead fish.
As Budai stared
across his kingdom reborn, he did not feel what he had expected to feel. Not relief at returning to the kingdom as its ruler. Not pride that he had achieved what he’d set out to achieve. Not satisfaction that his reward had been what he’d demanded. Instead, he felt a bitter resentment festering deep in his heart. He was a king in name only, more chaperone than ruler, beholden to the rules of Fusang. He had an overseer, a man whose authority eclipsed his own. A blind king who should still owe him an enormous sum of money from his stay at Wangfujing in years gone by.
They had to wait for a space on the quay to open, and Budai sat on the bench, his stomach churning with the sour feeling of resentment. He hadn’t wanted to be in attendance at the royal wedding. Just thinking of the marriage of pale Bingmei to King Rowen filled him with disgust, and not just because she had the winter sickness. She’d achieved her every dream, from restoring her grandfather’s ensign to joining forces with the most powerful man in the world. Budai hated them both, even though he’d been given his own land again because of the meiwood weapons he’d been forced to provide General Tzu’s army. His lips curled back into a snarl.
At long last, the junk sidled up to the quay and the ropes secured it. A plank was scooted across the deck, and Budai rose from the bench. On the quay, he saw a military company wearing the insignia of General Tzu. It was the badge of the phoenix now.
After Budai crossed the plank, he was greeted by an officer.
“Welcome back to Wangfujing,” said the officer. “My name is Pangxie. I am the captain of the palace guard assigned to serve you.”
Budai recognized the name. He was one of General Tzu’s most trusted officers. Which meant that General Tzu didn’t trust Budai at all. The resentment burned even more. But he gave the officer an ingratiating smile.
