by JC Kang
If Weiyong shook his head any more, it might very well come off. “Dian-xia, you must rest more. The stitches will tear if you move too much. If that happens, if you lose much more blood, you might very well miscarry.”
Energy flagging just from that small effort, Kaiya collapsed back down on to the bed. “Weiyong, please leave us.”
He knelt there, eyes darting from her to Jie and back again. At last, he rose. Holding a low bow, he shuffled backward out of the room.
Kaiya reached over and took Jie’s hand in her own. She gave it an affection squeeze, or at least the closest approximation of how affection would feel. “You are my sworn sister and I trust you more than you can know. I order you to hold your post.”
Jie’s lips pursed, her focus on the floor. “As the princess commands.”
It wasn’t convincing. Kaiya squeezed her hand tighter. Jie would not openly oppose her order, but would find some way to skirt around it. There had to be some way to coax her out of her sadness. “I order—”
“No.” Jie pulled her hand back. “A sworn sister doesn’t give orders. A sworn sister doesn’t steal the man her sister loves.”
At last, the unspoken truth, finally verbalized. Yes, Kaiya had surmised Jie’s love for Tian long ago. She’d even asked directly, only to receive evasive answers that confirmed her suspicions. In her heart, Kaiya had known, and she had wronged Jie. That much was clear now.
“We were caught up in emotion. I can see that now, with the Tiger’s Eye—”
“Which I used on you, so you could cope with your grief. How do I cope with my grief?” Tears welled in Jie’s eyes as she glared. “Because of you, I don’t even know what I am mourning. The death of my best friend? Loss of a love that never blossomed?”
Kaiya closed her eyes, the accusations weighing her down more than the blood loss. “I am sorry.”
“Being your support is in direct conflict with what I need myself.”
“What do you need?” Kaiya opened her eyes and looked at a truly insolent retainer.
Jie’s lips twisted into an ugly frown. “Distance. From you.”
From her spot near the door, Jie cast a glance at the princess sleeping on her bedroll. Once the princess’ mind was made up, there was little anyone could do to change it. Her sense of right and wrong, combined with stubbornness, had put her in more than one unenviable position. Including the one she faced now.
Princess Kaiya was a worthy liege, and Jie now regretted her outburst.
Nonetheless, she could not perform her duties effectively until she had time to sort out her feelings. Letting an amateur assassin so close was proof of that.
She moved out into the hall, away from the princess’ prying ears. She then wrote a letter encoded in the secret language of her clan. Her adopted father, the master of the Black Lotus Temple, would consider her request, even if the princess did not.
To Master Yan:
A rival clan sent an assassin to kill Princess Kaiya. Although they did not succeed, she was injured. I made several careless mistakes and failed in my mandate to protect her. I wish to be replaced by another adept.
Yan Jie
She folded the letter, using a six-crease pattern which only one of her clan could open without ripping. When a castle valet came by to check on the princess, she slipped it into his hand along with the princess’ messages. “When the next rider goes to the capital, have him deliver this one to the Cold Sun Bell Foundry.”
The horse-relay messengers would reach the capital in four hours. A mute worker at the foundry, hired anonymously by the Black Lotus Temple decades before, would drop the message into a funerary urn at a specialty shop. A Moquan trainee would pick up all the items left there and deliver it to Master Yan. A replacement might be able to relieve her within three days.
The chirping of floorboards interrupted her self-pity. At the door, the castle steward himself knelt. “Please wake Princess Kaiya. We have news of Young Lord Zheng Ming.”
CHAPTER 8:
Viper Awakened
Coming out of a coma on a funeral barge next to a dozen cold bodies wasn’t as unsettling as knowing he’d somehow intentionally put himself into that coma. Though he didn’t remember how he’d gotten on the log raft, or even who he was, he knew he’d awoken too early, before his injuries had stabilized.
The barge had come ashore, lodging in the rich-smelling earth. The river, swollen by spring melt, tumbled past, while the wind rustled in budding tree branches. A cool breeze brushed across his bare chest, causing his skin to erupt in goosebumps.
He groaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position. A warm sensation trickled down his back, emanating from the place where pain seared in his shoulder. That stab wound, unlike the numerous cuts all over his body, would bleed him out. Each heartbeat brought him closer to death.
Two lithe figures dressed in doeskin clothes stared at him with wide, almond-shaped eyes. With streaks of red-and-white paint across their faces and feathers in their hair, they looked as wild as the untamed forest around them. They were...elves. How he knew that, he wasn’t sure.
The silence lasted only a few seconds. The brown-haired male, with sharp features and a sharper dagger put his hands on his hips. When he spoke, the flowery language belied the threat in his voice. “Amane esaya na!”
How to respond to such gibberish? He cocked his head and shrugged, sending a surge of pain through his shoulder.
The girl with chestnut-colored tresses had rounded features that spoke of human blood. Her high-cut doeskin skirt revealed toned thigh and calf muscles. Appearing to be about twelve human years, she evoked an unsettling sense of familiarity. Had he met her before?
She poked her companion in the back, thankfully not with the steel dagger at her side. “Esala iyani na.” Even if the language remained unintelligible to him, her tone dripped with sarcasm. She then turned to him. “Bow before the messengers of the gods.”
Messengers of the gods? He had to suppress a laugh; not just because the two carried daggers and all he had was the broken sword in his lap, but also because it hurt too much. At least he understood her words, though they were not his mother tongue.
He fumbled with a response in the language the girl spoke. “You are not messengers of the gods. You are just…” He frowned, trying to dig the word out of the cobwebs entangling his mind. The term translated to spirit. Perhaps the native speakers of this language considered elves to be angels? He switched to his own native tongue: “…elves.”
The two elves exchanged glances and spoke animatedly in hushed voices.
He took the opportunity to survey the surroundings. Large men lay dead around him on the beached raft, their hands folded across their chests. All had suffered wounds delivered with surgical accuracy from swords, knives, and biao throwing stars. Two smaller bodies with black hair and honey-toned skin seemed familiar. Flies buzzed over the stinking, bloated corpses. Hopefully, he didn’t smell as ripe.
He looked back up at the arguing elves. “I’m bleeding to death.”
They both turned and stared at him. At last, the male extended an open hand, hopefully to help him to his feet and off the raft, and not to pull him into a gut stab.
His wounds complained as he took the elf’s hand. Though small in his own, its callouses spoke of years of use, likely with a weapon.
When he lurched onto shore, the female pressed on his shoulder wound, sending flares of pain up and down his back. She started wrapping strips of cloth around his chest. “Hold still. We need to slow this bleeding until we can get you to a healer.”
“I am Dior,” the male said, the sound rolling of his lips like cherry blossoms dancing on the wind. “What is your name?”
His name. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. “I don’t know.”
The female harrumphed. “We have to call you something.”
“Munikai.” Dior grinned.
She rolled her eyes. “In our language, that means Sleeps With Dead.”
Her eyes brightened as a cute smile blossomed. “Feneyas. The Awakened.”
Feneyas nodded. “Better than Sleeps with Dead. What is your name?”
“Krztsh.” It was more a grunt than a name, and could not have possibly belonged to the beautiful language they sang. She studied her feet.
Feneyas tried to repeat her, but his mouth couldn’t imitate the sounds. He shrugged, sending another jolt into his shoulder and evoking an involuntary wince. “I am sorry, but your language—”
With a violent shake of his head, Dior clucked. “It’s not our language. We call her Kiri.”
Kiri. Now that was more manageable. Feneyas bowed, right fist in his left palm. “I am honored to meet you. Dior and Kiri.”
Both stared at his salute until Dior met his eyes. “Kiri, do you think Feneyas can move without returning to sleep with the dead?”
She nodded. “I have slowed the blood loss, but he’ll need to see Nayori if he stands a chance of living.”
“Then let’s get moving. Blindfold him.”
“Blindfold?” Feneyas stepped back, raising his hands defensively—as if he could defend himself in his weakened state. Pain erupted in his shoulder again, forcing a wince.
Kiri grunted. “Hold still, or you’ll start gushing again.”
“Yes.” Dior nodded. “You’re a stranger, and while you don’t look like one of the Metal Men, we need to ensure the safety of our village.”
The large warriors must’ve been the Metal Men. Feneyas sighed and bent over to allow Kiri to cover his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll point out any obstacles along the way.”
A bumped head and a dozen near-stumbles later, they came to a stop. Yet despite their attempts to conceal the path to their village, the sounds and smells and the number of paces and turns told him they were just two li north-northeast of where they found him, high in the trees. At least seventy-three distinct voices whispered around him.
Dior’s hands pressed on his shoulders, easing him down to sit on gnarled wood. Kiri’s slender fingers worked the knot of the blindfold. It slipped off, the soft light of dusk blurring his vision.
Feneyas blinked, allowing everything to come into focus. Greywood tree limbs meshed together to create a broad platform towering high above the forest floor. Several male and female elves trained arrows on him from where they stood on branch bridges to other trees. Not like he posed much of a threat, with his energy flagging.
Kiri and Dior bowed as an older elfwoman alighted on the platform, from the ramp of branches that wound around the tree. She appeared to be forty. Her face paint formed circles and dots along her cheeks and forehead. Dark hair scattered down bare shoulders. A doeskin dress with tassels and shells hung down to her bare feet. She regarded Feneyas with large, dark eyes that spoke of both beauty and wisdom.
Dior raised his head. “Nayori, this is Feneyas.” He continued in their own language, with the Metal Men mentioned twice.
Feneyas bowed, placing his right fist in his left palm, again attracting snorts and stares.
Nayori’s nod wasn’t reassuring. “Your salute is not of the Metal Men, nor of the Kanin humans who worship us as messengers of the gods. You look a little different, too.” She pointed at him. “The eyes, the skin tone. You belong to the People Beyond the Wall. Your kind has not ventured here for centuries. How did you come to our lands?”
Memories drifted in the distance, beyond Feneyas’reach. He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
Nayori’s studied him. “Were you fighting with or against the Metal Men?”
His aversion to the large men and recognition of the other two bodies suggested they were foes, yet why would he have been lain with his enemy’s honored dead? “Against. I think.”
She flashed a smile. “Dior, bring blankets and lay him down. We shall see if Ayara favors him enough to allow me to channel her divine healing. Feneyas, do you submit to will of the gods?”
Feneyas nodded. “I don’t have a choice. I will die. Without your help.”
“Very well. After hearing my prayer, you will sleep. You will dream. You will share dreams with those who care about you. When you awake, it will either be before the throne of Koralas to receive judgment, or back among us. ”
When Dior returned with blankets, Feneyas lay down. He closed his eyes, perhaps for the last time.
Above him, Nayori’s voice lifted in song. Though he couldn’t understand the words, the sounds were beautiful, like angels singing. Maybe that was why the Kanin humans thought the elves were messengers of gods. For him, it stirred fleeting memories of an onyx-haired beauty, which disappeared before he could grasp them. If this was the last sound he ever heard, he would die happy.
“Now sleep, Feneyas. You will dream. Of the past. Of the future. They may very well remind you of your life before you slept among the dead.”
CHAPTER 9:
Unsavory Options.
The low buzz of murmuring soldiers addled Kaiya’s mind even more than the loss of blood. At Fang Weiyong’s insistence, she’d been carried on a litter to the audience room. It now took all her energy to remain upright and seated on the cushion at the head of the chamber.
Her face must’ve been quite pale, given the gawking of the provincial ministers and officers when they saw her. Lady Zheng, in particular, wrung her hands and hyperventilated. She’d fussed and ordered Kaiya to return to her room and rest, though Lord Zheng had insisted on her presence.
He sat perpendicular to Kaiya, his expression stoic as a carved stone. Unlike the other men, who fidgeted and shared whispers, he remained absolutely quiet.
Sitting motionless across from him, Jie shared his silent stoicism. Beside her, Weiyong’s eyes raked back and forth among the people present, occasionally meeting her gaze with a compassionate look. Thank the Heavens for reliable friends.
Two soldiers marched in, both with dirt-streaked faces framed by disheveled hair. Their torn uniforms rustled as they approached. One was an imperial army officer in royal blue, the other a Dongmen provincial solider in dark green. Both dropped to their knees, fists to the ground.
The imperial officer spoke first. “Dian-xia, I bring regrettable news. Almost our entire army of five thousand was killed or captured by the Teleri.”
All five thousand! Lost because of her.
Lady Zheng sucked in a sharp breath. “What about my sons?”
The provincial soldier raised his head. “My Lady, I regret to inform you that Young Lord Lun was gravely injured while leading our spearmen. He might not survive. Young Lord Shu was captured. We are unsure of Young Lord Ming.”
Lady Zheng wobbled in her place. Her husband placed a supportive arm around her, although his expression didn’t change.
Kaiya made her best attempt at a sympathetic gaze. Nonetheless, all she could think about was Ming going missing. If she couldn’t marry him, what was the next best option for legitimizing her sons? “Tell us what happened.”
“Dian-xia.” The imperial soldier bowed again. “After we captured the Teleri’s westernmost fort, our scouts reported a small army rapidly approaching by forced march. Dajiang Zheng Ming ordered us to deploy immediately. However, the enemy did not appear until a day later, with significantly larger numbers than originally reported. Dajiang ordered a general retreat under the cover of darkness, while he stayed back to destroy the fort’s bridge. He never rejoined us.”
Lady Zheng’s shoulders heaved as she raised a hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes glossed over.
Lord Zheng patted her shoulder, but nodded toward the solider. “Did he succeed in destroying the bridge?”
The man bowed. “No. The Teleri main army was able to cross.”
“Continue.” Lord Zheng’s voice remained steady.
The imperial officer looked up. “The enemy cut off our retreat, and though we fought valiantly, we did not have much firepowder. You
ng Lord Zheng Shu surrendered. They sent the two of us back with a message: Emperor Geros will arrive by dusk today to negotiate terms for our prisoners’ release.”
Dusk! Despite Kaiya’s mental haze, two things were clear. First, the chance of an expedient marriage to Ming had dwindled, along with the chance of legitimizing her sons. Second, Geros was close by. Oh, to get back to her room, close her eyes and think.
Lady Zheng jabbed an accusing finger at her. “You. It is your fault. My sons went to rescue you. Now one might have already joined his youngest brother in the grave, while another is a prisoner of war, and the eldest is missing. You are a curse on our family.”
There was no denying the accusation. Kaiya was the cause of the Zheng family misfortune. If only she could feel the remorse as she bowed her head, contrite, as if it would make her any less a monster.
Yet it was the least of her concerns at the moment. In a castle whose lord contemplated rebellion, her standing had just become more tenuous. If she weren’t pregnant with Tian’s sons, Lord Zheng might just as soon use her as a bargaining chip. If he knew just how valuable she was to Emperor Geros…
Still holding her bow, she found Lord Zheng in the corner of her eye.
He stared at her, expression empty. If only it was easier to read him, to know what he was thinking. Beside him, Lady Zheng glared, lips pursed and brows furrowed. At this point, Kaiya’s only worth to Lady Zheng was as a womb for her grandchildren.
If they were her grandchildren at all.
Lord Zheng waved a hand toward his guards and councilors. “Everyone, out.”
The men exchanged glances, but rose all the same. They bowed and filed out of the room in a rustling flash of court robes.
“You too.” Lord Zheng nodded at his wife, whose eyes widened. He then jerked his head at Jie and Weiyong. “Them as well. Princess Kaiya and I have matters to discuss in private.”
Lady Zheng rose, hesitantly, keeping her eyes on her husband. Kaiya nodded to Jie and Weiyong. Once they were gone and the doors to the audience chamber shut, Lord Zheng shifted to stand directly in front of Kaiya.
