“Blessed hindsight,” Khine agreed, not really wanting to broach the subject further.
“You’re a responsible man, Lamang. Fairly respectable, too, from what I gather.”
“I feel like you missed out on my numerous crimes, but I’ll bite. Where are you going with this?”
“My son,” Rai said, glancing at the dragon-tower. “I don’t want him here. They will descend on him like vultures, my own mother included. She will kill him. If I stand in her way, she will kill me. And if there was one thing Tali made me promise, it was to make sure Thanh lives.”
“So you want me to watch over him.”
Rai nodded. “For now. This land… it needs to be stabilized if it will ever be safe for his rule. It may take a long time, but I don’t know who else to trust. Namra, perhaps—but I need her with me. She’s the only one who can explain all this agan business so that they can understand what happened here.”
“Maybe they don’t have to,” Khine said. He shrugged. “It’s not like they’ll listen. Let her… rest in peace, Rai.”
“I suppose. Still… it seems wrong for her to have done all of this and not at least let them know that their queen never abandoned them.”
“I know. But it doesn’t matter. She didn’t do it to be remembered. She did it to be forgotten.”
Rai took a deep breath. “The boy prefers you, if that makes you feel any better. He thinks Namra is too… stuffy. I can only imagine what he thinks of me.”
“I wouldn’t ask.”
Rai frowned.
“Give him a few years,” Khine continued. “He has no memories of you beyond all of this. But what you did out here for him and his mother will be a start. Give him a reason to remember you as his father, and not the man who abandoned him. You have more than enough time.”
Rai gave a thin smile. “I will hold myself forever grateful to you for this, Lamang.”
“Khine,” he corrected. “You’ve got another Lamang to worry about. Inzali will be waiting for you. Tell her not to fuck it up for me.”
Rai grimaced for a moment before nodding.
Eikaro appeared on the horizon, gliding lopsidedly towards them.
“Keep him away from them,” Rai said. “Keep him safe.”
“With my life.”
They gripped their forearms in a handshake just as the dragon landed nearby, roaring into the sunlight.
“Where will we go?” Thanh asked when they returned to get their things ready.
Khine paused to stare at the boy. He didn’t know much about children, and to realize he was now this one’s guardian filled him with a momentary pang of terror. This boy, who like his mother carried war at his heels—could Khine really protect him? He could remember his own arrogance, the careless words he would throw at others while he wrestled with the emptiness of his own life. Now, gazing back at him with his mother’s eyes, the boy was a responsibility greater than he ever imagined, and he had to live up to it somehow. But this child was everything to the woman he loved, and quite abruptly, the terror was replaced with warmth.
“I don’t know,” Khine admitted. He paused for a moment before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small wooden figure of a rok haize, threaded through a thin rope. He handed it to the boy. “Here. Your mother would want you to have it.”
Thanh held it in his palm, his eyes taking in the intricate craftsmanship with the same intense observation his mother did with everything. She had claimed the boy took after his father, but Khine wasn’t sure he believed that. The boy was hers, through and through.
“Where did she get it?” Thanh finally asked.
“In Shang Azi,” Khine replied. “In this little shop by the fountain. That’s where I first met your mother.”
“Did you steal it?”
“Did I steal—of course not! Stealing is very, very wrong, Thanh. Never do it.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “I’m not so sure you’ll be a good role model.”
He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I’m not sure, either. I guess it’s about time I learn.”
Thanh suddenly looked thoughtful. “Shang Azi is in the empire, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like… it’s so very far away.”
“It is. Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not. I’m excited. Do they have airships there?”
“There’s plenty of things in the empire to see, Thanh.”
“I want to see airships.”
Khine ruffled the boy’s hair, choking back the sudden rush of tears at the sound of longing in his voice. He forced a grin. “Airships it is.”
EPILOGUE
Long trails of foam crawled up the golden sand with every crash of the waves, drawing back in layered white sheets like the edge of a wedding gown. The tide sometimes swelled so high that for the first few months, she was almost sure they would wake up underwater. But Khine had assured her the sea wouldn’t reach that far. Their little hut, and everything precious inside of it, was quite safe.
He had needed to do that more times than she was comfortable with. He told her it was normal, that she used to be worse. That she had slept for so long they didn’t think she would ever wake again. During their trip out of Jin-Sayeng, she seemed incapable of speech or thought, responding only to direct commands.
She couldn’t remember, but after seeing how upset he became recounting those days, she decided not to ask any further. There was much she couldn’t remember—giant, black gaps and shadows where memories ought to be. At first, Khine had been afraid she didn’t know him at all—they were on a ship and she had woken in the middle of the night screaming, and when he appeared she asked where her husband was. They were the first words she had uttered in months.
“Rayyel?” Khine asked, crestfallen.
She wasn’t sure why, but she knew it was a mistake the moment she had said it. “No,” she said, reaching for him, hands cupping his face on each side before slowly pulling him over her. “No, no, my love.” And she coaxed him to share the blanket with her, for warmth and comfort, and didn’t admit that it took another few hours for her to remember his name. She knew him, if not the details—knew his scent, the feel of his fingers, his lips. In that sea of uncertainty, something about him felt right. The rest could wait.
It all began to make more sense when they reached the other shore, the city with the airships. Here, she began to get flashes of memory—nightmares, really, at random times during the day. She tried not to show her panic; it worried both Khine and Thanh, and she was sure they knew from the way she would squeeze one hand or the other. Some days it felt like a shadow breathing down her neck, one that could easily enter her lungs and strangle the breath out of her if she let it. Fending it off took all her strength.
She didn’t know how much time had passed. Long enough that the boy’s head was nearly up to her shoulder now, and there was dark fuzz on his upper lip that in another year or two might turn into hair. Sometimes it felt as if she had fallen asleep while he was a baby, that she had missed out on all those years of his childhood. Another thing Khine had to remind her wasn’t true. She had been with her son all this time.
She didn’t have the heart to explain to him it wasn’t the same. Even trying to put the right words together was a struggle, and most days she lapsed between frustration and anger, wondering if it had anything to do with the fog in her head or the brief flashes of terror that would come out of nowhere. Sometimes she would get the sensation of drowning and it was all she could do to keep herself together, to make it look as if nothing was amiss.
But Khine thought she was improving, and she tried to believe him. Anyway, it made him happy to see her making small steps forward, even if it was just to take a walk around the beach on her own or be left alone so he and Thanh could run errands. She didn’t like being left alone, but she no longer stopped them the way she did when they’d first arrived. Somehow, the darkness was becoming manageable. Small steps. She wondered
what Khine really thought, watching her leaning on her cane, unable even to walk without losing breath. A part of her was afraid he would lose interest in her scarred, fragile body soon. She tried not to dwell on it most days.
The sea, at least, was soothing. She settled on a rock, both hands on top of her cane, and took a deep breath, salt air seeping into her senses. In moments like these, she could almost convince herself she could pass off as normal. That she wouldn’t see things lurking in every corner or spend hours after waking up in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling, breathless in fear of something she couldn’t even name. That she could be strong again the way they said she once was—that sure-footed fighter, the warrior-queen. Almost. Any movement brought her back to reality—to the pain of being crippled, helpless as a child.
“Tali, look at this!”
She opened her eyes to see Khine striding up to her, a fish in one hand. It had deep-red scales, and its cheeks bulged, as if it had stuffed itself with too much food.
“First catch of the season,” he said. “The fishermen are pretty pleased. Think they’ll reconsider settling here. The elders will have something to do, at least—they promised there’ll be more than enough work mending nets and boats. Let me find a pot for this bastard. What do you think, should we stuff it with some onions and tomatoes?”
“You know best,” she replied.
“Or we could roast it over some hot coals…” He strode into the hut.
She gathered her breath and tried to get up to follow him. A sharp pain flared up her leg, and she decided to sit a moment longer. “Where’s my son?” she asked.
“He’s off with his friends somewhere.”
She was surprised about that. It must’ve been clear in her silence, because Khine came back out, wiping his hands on a towel. “The fishermen’s sons seem to have taken a shine to him. You should come down and visit with me. He’s safe, if that’s what you’re wondering. Everyone assures me they’re good boys.”
“Friends,” she repeated, shaking her head. “He’s never had friends before. Just like when I was growing up.”
“Well, you have friends now, too. We can pay Lo Bahn a visit. You’d give him a heart attack. It’ll be amusing.”
She looked at his hands. He was carrying a letter.
He glanced down at the wet envelope. “Fresh from An Mozhi. I can hide it with the others, if you’d like.”
She took another deep breath. “I think… maybe I’m ready for you to read it to me now.”
His face brightened. He wrapped the towel around his neck and slumped down next to her, thumbing his finger over the wax. She placed a hand on his shoulder before caressing his hair wistfully, relishing how it wouldn’t stay in one place.
“Here,” Khine said, flicking the letter open. “‘Dear Tali’—oh. It’s the first one he addressed to you.” He glanced up at her. “Should I keep reading?”
“Please do.”
“‘Tali,’” Khine repeated, trying to deepen his voice to sound like Rai, which made her smile because he still couldn’t erase the husky brushes of his own natural tone.
I hope you are well. I have been updated on your health, and that of the boy, and I am glad you have found a safe haven.
Jin-Sayeng is… not as it was. We may have solved a few problems, but it is worse than it has ever been. Without Yuebek’s guidance, every Zarojo soldier has either fled or been slaughtered by our combined forces. But now every warlord has proclaimed themselves kings and queens of their own domains. Oren-yaro is under Lady General Nor’s rule, acting as regent for a warlord-not-yet-named. They cannot decide if they should put forward the Tasho heir, Kisig, or Nor’s own daughter, Suya. Lady Nor has the proper bloodline, and without you she could petition to have their name changed to aren dar, but support for the Orenar clan is weak. I do not know how long before they unseat her. If she is wise, she will make preparations to protect herself and her family, but I have little clue what she is planning. I have sent her a letter and have yet to receive a reply.
Dai Kaggawa remains a prisoner of Yu-yan, and we have not heard from his daughter. Warlord Huan promises to keep me informed and remains an ally to our cause. I, for my part, retain Shirrokaru, which is in shambles. The handful of councillors who support me may change their minds very soon. I now sleep with a dagger under my pillow and Namra outside my door. In any case, none of this matters much. There is too much squabbling within the region, and no one questions my mother’s claim to the title of Dragonlord. She is, as far as we are all concerned, the new queen of Jin-Sayeng.
I will not weigh you down with the details. These things are no longer your concern. If it gladdens your heart, there have been fewer troubles with the corrupted creatures. We believe the ones that remain made the trade before the rift was closed, and so far it seems we have it under control. The attacks on the Sougen by the dragons seem to have waned—it has been a full few months since we’ve last seen one. There is a sense of peace for now, in a way that peace can be achieved when there are too many enemies but people still need to get fed. It will not last.
That said, while I am sure not everyone believes that you are truly dead, as both Namra and I insist, the farce serves its purpose. The land wants to believe it. It suits everyone’s ambitions; in the same way, recovering Thanh would not further anyone’s stance. Take what comfort you can from it, and do not let it trouble you. Stay where you are, wherever that may be. Stay safe.
Ever Yours,
Rai aron dar Hio
Tali blinked. “He’s taken his father’s name. He’s truly broken ties with his mother. And he’s—as an aron dar, he shouldn’t even be ruling a region, should he?”
“All your rules have gone to hell,” Khine said. “As it is, I believe he is ruling as regent, for your son’s sake. Thanh aren dar Orenar. He intends to have Thanh’s name changed in the records should… you ever want to return.”
“An Orenar, ruling Shirrokaru? Gone to hell, indeed.” She swallowed. “I could tell him it’s a fool’s task. I have no desire to ever return to that life. Queen Talyien is dead, and so is her son. There is no Talyien and Thanh anymore, only Tali and Tahan now. My father’s reign ends with me.” But even as she said that, she could feel the cold breeze prickle her skin. A wolf must remain a wolf. There were things she couldn’t quite shake off, no matter how she pretended she could.
She gazed back at Khine. The gentle look on his face always took her aback. Kindness, after years of bitterness and rage… still seemed too much to believe. “How long will you remain nursemaid to me?” she asked.
“For as long as it takes,” he replied easily.
“I’ve already been more trouble than I’m worth.”
“Don’t say that,” he said. “I need this more than you can imagine.” She realized he meant it. These were the same shores where his mother had died. Helping others had ever been his guiding light. They all had their prisons; you coped, however you could.
“Maybe I do want to go down to the village now.” She took his hand. She wasn’t sure if she really believed the words, but he looked so pleased hearing them that she felt she owed it to herself to try.
They strolled down the beach slowly. Every step felt like pins and needles. She forced herself to concentrate, to focus on Khine’s presence instead. It was a lesson she vowed she would always remember. Life was more than pain.
“In time, you’ll be able to walk without a cane again,” Khine said. “Which I may not be too happy with. I’m starting to enjoy having you as a patient.”
She smiled. “You’ve been enjoying it too much.”
“I won’t deny it.”
“You realize if I’m a patient that you’d have lost your standing with the guild by now.”
“Only if you complain. Do you, er… have a reason to complain?”
“Let me think.” She pretended to pause. “So far? No.”
“Then I’m glad I’m not a doctor.” Khine placed a hand on her waist and spun her
around so he could kiss her. His fingers lingered on her face. “You…” he said. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“No—” she began, before giving a soft smile. “Not often enough.”
“I’ll rectify that immediately. You are. From the moment I met you, I…”
“I don’t remember how we met.”
That shadow crossed his face, and she suddenly regretted opening her mouth. “What I meant to say,” she quickly added, “is that maybe you need to get your eyes checked. I am a ghost compared with that woman.”
“If anything,” Khine said in a low voice, “you’re more beautiful now, scars and all.”
She flushed.
They heard laughter in the distance. She recognized her son’s voice and pulled away from Khine to spot the boy shrieking as he scampered past one of the bridges. Scrawny limbs just like his father, hair as long as his shoulders now, bronzed from spending too much time under the sun. Her heart fluttered. “I have to tell him to be more careful. I—”
“He’ll be all right, Tali,” Khine said. “Those bridges are strong. We used to fly over them when we were kids.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Not that long, from your perspective.”
“You’re terrible.”
He grinned as they climbed the steps leading up to the first row of houses. “There you are, Khine,” a woman called out. She saw Tali and looked startled. “You’re here.”
“Thao,” Tali said, bowing.
She coloured. “You shouldn’t bow to me. You’re—”
“A nobody,” Tali said.
Thao gave a knowing smile. “So you say. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been trampled by a dozen water buffalo. Which is an improvement from twenty.”
“Your humour has returned, at least,” Thao laughed.
Tali glanced at the fish laid out on mats along the pier. There was even a bucket of squid and an octopus. Fishermen and villagers hovered over them, chatting away.
The Dragon of Jin-Sayeng Page 71