Meandering River, Ardent Flame
Page 42
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The constables had arrived in full numbers, and Xiang was once again indecisive. His father's death demanded justice, but Jiang hadn't been involved—No. That was the wrong way to think. His father had left half of the Lian family alive, and when Xiang had delayed in killing them, he had killed his father. He couldn't now leave the other alive. The younger one had seemed to move, but that had been an illusion. The elder had bent down and risen with a devastated look.
“Don't you provoke your father's ghost—kill her,” ordered his mother, appearing at his shoulder. Xiang walked, with quick steps, up to the elder Lian, his sword raised. The crows watched from the family home, doubtless waiting for the leavings of death.
He positioned himself behind Jiang. It wouldn't be possible for him to look at her. She had intercepted Flame's blade for him, but as a Lian, she still had to die. He raised the edge of his father's sword to her throat. A quick pull would mean a hasty death. But his hand shook uncontrollably. Most likely he was tired from fighting Flame. He grasped Jiang's shoulder, but his sword arm still shook.
“It's fine.” Jiang grasped his arm lightly to stop the tremor. That merely amplified it.
“It's not ,” Xiang ground out. “Just...wait a moment, my arm's exhausted.”
“Your mother's not going to wait. If you don't kill me, the ones waiting for an excuse to harm Family Li will, and then they'll kill you as well.”
“Why would they do that?,” Xiang snapped. His arm would not cease to shake.
“Ostensibly for being complicit in Prefect Li's death, by not executing the apparent accomplice.”
His mother would have implicated covetousness, of Family Li's power, as the motive, but Jiang had divined his cause for self-reproach accurately. Xiang suddenly found his hand steadily pressing his father's blade further. The shaking redoubled upon this realization.
“And what would they gain if I killed you?” Xiang reached across her shoulder to steady his trembling hand. Jiang shrugged in reply.
“People need to direct their hatred somewhere. And other people are the most convenient objects.”
Clearly the proximity of death was taking a toll on her reasoning. He felt her hand steady his, as she returned with a question.
“Do you intend to do this cleanly?”
“Your conversation is distracting; that's why my arm is shaking,” he ground out, angry with indecision.
“My apologies.” Jiang positioned his blade near her throat, and grasped his hand to help him pull.
But he still couldn't. Ancestral gods and all others watching, he wouldn't! Xiang wouldn't murder in cold blood. He grasped Jiang's hand tightly and threw the blade down. In the distance, he could hear the pounding of hooves, the twang of crossbows, and the shouts of men.
The crows took wing, ready to scavenge. High above, a crane flew. It looked to land on water.