by Mimi Yu
Lu took a step back, breathing hard. That had been small of her, she knew. Beneath her. The wine, she thought.
“No,” she agreed aloud. “Of course not.”
“You’re completely gone for her, aren’t you?” Nasan said to her brother. “When I told you to live, I didn’t mean you should do it as an imperial lapdog.”
Nokhai flushed. “It’s not like that, Nasan—”
“She’s just going to hurt you, you know,” Nasan interrupted, all agitation. “That’s what people like her—that’s what imperials do. That’s what they are. I thought you of all people would know that by now.”
When Nokhai didn’t reply, Nasan shrugged coldly. “I can’t listen to this. I’m going for a walk.”
The heavy doors slammed behind her, leaving Lu and Nokhai alone in the cold silence.
Lu slumped down into her overturned cushion, dropping her head into her hands. She felt rather than heard Nok sit beside her. He didn’t touch her, but she could sense the heat of him. The hair on her arms prickled with it.
“Nasan’s afraid,” Nok said. “She thinks now that you have the Yunians you’ll abandon your deal with her.”
Lu sat up with a ragged, desperate breath, like surfacing from a too-deep dive. “I told her I wouldn’t,” she said, begging him, at least, to believe her. Believe in her.
“I know,” he said. “It’s just … well, you know.”
“How am I supposed to work with all these people if none of them are willing to trust me?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
She resisted the urge to cover her face again with her hands and settled instead for rubbing them up and down her arms. Her fingers caught over the scar from the crossbow bolt she’d taken the day they’d met in the forest. They’d left the stitches in too long according to Nokhai, and it had healed puckered and jagged. She worried the skin with her nails, and his eyes drifted down, drawn by the movement.
It struck her then, how long they’d been traveling together—long enough for the blood flowing from the wound to slow and clot, for the wet, open flesh to mend and gnarl and harden. So much had changed since then.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
He turned to her in surprise. “I …”
She smiled ruefully, casting her gaze back at the dying fire before them. Never one for lying.
“I trust … I trust your heart,” Nokhai said after a breath. “Nasan’s right. You can do a lot of harm without meaning to.”
“Isn’t that true of everyone?”
“I suppose.” He grimaced. “You just happen to have a lot of power.”
Your title, your station—your very existence—is built on the subjugation, on the suffering of others. The specter of Nasan’s words hung between them.
“What about you?” she blurted, sounding more accusatory than she intended. “You can change shape, Nokhai. You have a power—magic—that’s all but lost to the rest of the world.”
It wasn’t the same, and she knew it. He must have as well, but all he said was, “I know,” looking down into his lap. “I-I’m trying to figure out what to do with that.”
There was more. A weight in the gut, a pinch in his forehead, a taut wire pulling his shoulders in tight. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, had been too caught up in her own worries, but now she couldn’t see anything else. “What is it? What’s happened?”
The question caught him off guard. Perhaps that was the only reason he answered honestly. “Vrea—the Oracle. She wants me to stay here. Learn from her how to care for the beast gods. Become a Pactmaker.”
“What about Omair?”
He looked startled again, as though he hadn’t expected her to remember. “She says he can come, too. Once we free him.”
“That’s good,” Lu said. “That’s—incredible. That would mean … you could bring the Gift back to Nasan, to your people. Not just your people—all those Gifted, too. That’s—you could change everything.”
He sighed, looking somewhat less delighted by the notion than she did. “Yes, I know.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It’s just …” He hesitated. “It just seems too big for one person—for me. I never asked, never wanted to be … this.”
“But it’s good, Nokhai. How could anything but good come from this?”
He shook his head, frustrated. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that. Why couldn’t it have been Nasan?” He laughed wryly. “The gods got it all wrong.”
Lu grabbed his hand. “No,” she said firmly. “Nokhai, you’re as clever and thoughtful and clearheaded as anyone. Much more so than most. That you take this power so seriously shows the gods chose correctly. Wisely.”
He was looking at their joined hands. “But I don’t know what to do.”
“You—you should do what you think is best. For you,” she told him. “Do what will make you happy.”
“Is that what you did? Did you choose what will make you happy?” There was a hint of venom in his voice. He didn’t let go of her hand, though.
“You deserve to be happy, Nokhai,” she said, not rising to the bait.
He met her gaze for a long moment before he slumped, the fight leaving him with a sigh. “Deserve?” He smiled sardonically. “That doesn’t mean anything. People don’t get what they deserve in this world. Things just happen, whether you earn them or not.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself for every bad thing. It doesn’t mean you have to push away every good thing.”
“Is that what this is?” he asked, looking down at their linked hands. “A good thing?”
This time when she kissed him, he sank into it, like surrender, like it was a relief. His hands, tentative and gentle, found her face, brushed the hair from her neck. He let her push him back down into the cushion until she was on top of him. She put her hands on him, moved them over his shoulders, across his back, down to his waist. Felt him shift beneath his tunic, felt the heat of his skin beneath, felt the muscles contract beneath the skin—
“No, I can’t,” he mumbled, the words moving his lips out of the kiss. “We can’t.” Renewed resolve wove threads of steel through his soft voice.
Lu drew back, lowered herself to the floor beside his knees. “Because of Jin?”
He looked away. “This was never going to be anything real, I know that. I’m not stupid. But I can’t just …”
The air trembled, dissolved his words like salt in water. For a moment, Lu did not understand, and then she did: a sound. A roar. So big, so loud it exceeded what her ears could comprehend. Terrible and wrong and physical. She felt it everywhere, in the cold stone floor beneath her, in her teeth, in her blood. Every part of her shook with it.
It was gone as quick as it had come, replaced by a stillness near as terrifying—silent but for the high ringing in her head.
An earthquake? But Lu already knew the answer in her heart—nothing natural had moved the earth that way.
She had fallen over, but she stood now, reaching out instinctively to help Nokhai as he struggled to his feet. His lips were moving wordlessly. It took another moment, a hard shake of the head, for her hearing to return. Even when it did, his voice was dim and distant.
“… you hurt?”
Lu shook her head again, half in an answer, half to clear it. “You?” She had the feeling she was shouting, but from the look on his face she could tell he couldn’t hear her well either. He shook his head.
“What was that?” she said.
“Nothing good. We need to find Nasan,” he said tersely. “She couldn’t have gotten too far.”
They went to the door, Lu grabbing her sword along the way. They moved stooped and cautious, wary of a second attack. With each moment that passed, none came, and soon enough they were trotting down the corridor, side by side. It wasn’t unusual for the passageways to their apartments to be empty, but the silence chilled her now.
When they opened th
e doors that led out onto the Heart though, all was chaos. Streams of panicked people running, children and bundles of their most prized possessions in tow. They were making for the main temple—the most secure of the large buildings, shored against the mountain.
“Lu!”
She stopped at the sound of Nasan’s voice and saw the girl standing at the top of the temple steps, Vrea at her side. Lu must’ve been easy to pick out in the crowd—the red slash of her tunic sticking out amid the gray.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Nokhai by the hand. They ran to the others, dodging the panicked Yunians dashing into the open temple doors.
“What’s happened?” Lu looked between Vrea and Nasan.
“The city is under attack,” Vrea said. Her face was calm, tracking something in the sky that Lu could not see. “They have found one of the gates.”
“Who has?” Lu demanded. “My cousin?”
Before anyone could answer—was there even an answer to give?—Prince Jin ran up to his sister. “Shen gave orders for everyone to shelter in the temple. I’m sending soldiers to check all the homes, to make sure the elderly and sick are helped.”
“Do you know what’s happening, Jin?” Lu interrupted. “Who is behind this? Is this Set’s doing?”
Before he could respond though, the second attack came. This time the roar was punctuated by a deafening crack, followed by a cacophony of screams from the Yunians flooding past them. Lu ducked, throwing her hands over her head.
Madness, she thought as the earth shook around them.
When she tried to stand, she found Prince Jin covering her, as though he meant to shield her with his own body. She gently pushed him away and saw the others were safe as well.
“It is time,” Vrea whispered, almost to herself.
“Time? Time for what?” Lu barked.
Beside her, Jin gasped. “It can’t be.”
“It is,” Vrea said, maddening, insistently placid. “It has come to pass. Look for yourself.”
“Look at what?” Nokhai demanded. “What’s happening?”
Jin pointed upward, his already pale face gone milk white with terror. “The gate to the Inbetween, the seal between the worlds! It’s been destroyed.”
Lu followed his gesture and saw it then: a slash of eerie, earthly blue in the gray Yunian skies.
CHAPTER 34
The Temple
Nok watched, scarcely understanding, as fingers of blue sky bled through the gray.
“Get them inside, Jin,” Vrea said. For the first time, Nok detected an edge to her voice. Not fear—not exactly. But a strain. “Get them to safety, then meet me and Shen in the Heart. We cannot hide any longer. It is time.” And then she was gone.
The temple was eerily quiet, though not silent. Half a thousand Yunians huddled around the edges of the stone chamber, whispering among themselves. Somewhere, a baby wailed. When they saw Prince Jin, though, dozens leaped to their feet, a few half bowing but most disposing of decorum to shout at him.
“What’s happening?”
“Is it the Hu? Have they found us?”
“I can’t find my son, has anyone seen—”
“I saw the blue in the sky!”
“Where is Vrea?”
Prince Jin held up a hand. “There has been a breach in the gate, but my brother and sister have gone forth to reseal it. Please stay calm. The mountain and this temple are wrought through with extra protections—Vrea’s spells, and some things that are older. It will protect us from—”
“What is she doing here?” someone—Nok couldn’t see who exactly in the press—demanded. Prince Jin held up his other hand.
“Please, we must have calm.”
But Nok saw amid the concerned, fearful faces more than a few hostile ones. Of course. These were people like him. People who had lost everything at the hands of the empire. He saw that Prince Jin realized it, too—or, perhaps he had been mindful of this all along.
“Your Triarch will protect you,” the prince said, stepping between Lu and the encroaching Yunians.
Nok glanced over his shoulder. Lu was watching the crowd, calculating and doubtful and proud, without the sense to be afraid yet. He moved closer to her.
“She’s the one they want,” a man snapped, and there was no question of whom he spoke. “Send her out there. Don’t leave her here with us!”
“You’re afraid, but losing our heads will make matters worse,” Prince Jin said sternly. Some of the angry faces looked shamed by his words, but more than a few scowled deeper. “Stay calm. I must leave to join Vrea and Shen. We need you to keep the peace in here while we maintain the gate. Any able-bodied adults who wish to help protect our people can join me—the soldiers will provide you with arms. Decide among yourselves; I will return.”
He steered Lu and the others toward a massive brass-plated door at the rear of the temple.
“Quickly,” he said under his breath as he unlocked the door and ushered them through it. “You’ll be safer here, in the sanctum.”
Nasan went in, but Lu stopped, clutching the edge of the door in one hand. “Your people—they’re right,” she said. “It’s me my cousin wants. Let me face him.”
“No,” Prince Jin said, holding up a placating hand as Lu flared. “Whoever broke the gate must wield terrible power. You cannot fight it with a sword. It is better for you to stay here.”
“But he’ll come looking for me.”
“We will stop him before it comes to that,” the prince said grimly. “Stay and protect your friends. Let us do our work.”
“Come on,” Nasan said, reemerging to tug Lu by the arm. “The prince is right. You don’t know what’s out there.” The princess favored her with a withering glare.
“Lu, let’s just do as he says,” Nok said quickly. “The people out there are ready to skin you alive.”
She frowned but finally nodded. Nok slipped in after her, and the door slammed, heavy and sullen at his back.
The sanctum was dark, lit only by a series of small windows near the high ceiling. The walls were so tall as to make the windows little more than pinpricks from where they stood. As his eyes adjusted, Nok saw they were in an expansive cavern, nearly as large as the main room of the temple had been, but completely empty. He recalled that from the outside, the temple had been a massive square building butting up against the mountain. The main room of the temple had been square; this sanctum must be carved into the mountain itself.
Nok took a step forward and the sound of his footsteps echoed through the still. The silence that followed was so complete as to feel like an absence.
Lu paced along the perimeter of the cavern like a caged animal. “This isn’t right,” she said irritably. “I should be out there to meet Set.”
“You don’t know it’s him,” Nasan countered.
“Who else would it be?” Lu snapped. “It’s him. Him and his cursed monk … magician. Creature.”
Nok slumped against the wall, his weakness catching hold now that they were safe. The wall was warm as skin against his back. Warmer, even. Where was that heat coming from?
“The Triarch will know better than us how to defend their own borders,” Nasan was saying. “Magic, gates between realms—this is outside of our purview, Princess.”
“Nothing’s outside my purview,” Lu shot back, but Nasan just snorted.
Pain swept over Nok, so great and whole he could scarcely tell it had radiated from his side. He lifted his shirt to check the wound for fresh bleeding, but his bandages remained clean and dry. Whatever the Yunians had given him to dull his senses was beginning to wear off. He turned against the wall, tried to focus on the stone against his cheek, the warm pressure an anchor holding him fast against the waves of pain and nausea.
Nokhai.
He started, the sound jarring his concentration. He looked around but found no source for the voice.
“I’m counting to a hundred, and then I’m leaving,” Lu said.
Nokhai.
Nasan snapped a retort back at Lu, but he didn’t hear it; he was too focused on locating the voice. This time he realized: it was coming from behind the wall.
Only, the wall wasn’t a wall. It was the mountain. The voice was coming from somewhere inside that dense, ancient stone.
Nokhai, the voice repeated, and it sounded farther away—like it was moving. The strident tones of Nasan and Lu’s arguments dampened, as though they were the ones he was hearing through a wall.
Nokhai, the voice insisted.
Unbidden, he followed it, an ear pressed to the stone, to the rearmost wall of the sanctum. The light from the windows did not reach here, and he sank into shadow.
Nokhai, the voice said, and this time he thought he knew it—but only for an instant, more as the physical sensation of recognition than comprehension.
All at once, the wall fell away, and he stood alone in utter darkness.
There was silence, then a flare, like someone lighting an enormous torch. He smelled sulfur, felt heat against his skin.
An enormous flame rose before him, twisting and roaring. Only this fire was black as midnight, spitting silver sparks like dying stars.
He staggered back and fell. His body was illuminated in indigo light. The fire surged forward, and he threw up his hands to shield his face, useless—
Nokhai, the fire thundered.
As he lowered his hands, the fire cleaved down its center, becoming two: a towering column of black and one of deepest violet.
“What are you?” he whispered, voice shaking.
What are you? the flames repeated back.
Nok closed his eyes. He was dying. His wound had split, or it had gone toxic, flooding his blood with poison. This was a fever, this was death, this was his end.
No, the flames said as one. It is not.
They sounded very certain. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. “Are you real?”
The black flame leaped and flared. What is real, I wonder?
Nok sat up, still weak. The pain in his side had abated to make room for fear, but it bit back into him as he moved. He winced. “I’ve had enough riddles for today. If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly.”
