by Jeff Wheeler
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Vengeance
Bingmei strode down the corridor alongside Kunmia. Dusk had settled over the palace of Sajinau, and the servants had lit torches and lamps to banish the falling shadows. Bingmei’s insides squirmed with worry. She’d told Kunmia immediately about the preternatural warning she’d received, and they’d set off to warn Prince Juexin of the danger. While Bingmei could no longer see Muxidi in her head, she felt the blade’s presence in the city. She was bound to it by invisible tethers that stretched but couldn’t break.
Each corridor of the palace looked equally splendid, but Kunmia navigated past the servants without asking for help. The master’s scent was troubled but still measured, like a pan of water with only a few bubbles seething at the bottom.
Turning another corner, they nearly walked into Prince Rowen. He looked agitated, not the expression one would expect from a man who’d been pardoned by a rival and forgiven by his father. Bingmei smelled his conflict, but he was driven at the moment by a different urgency. They locked eyes.
“Did you sense it?” he asked her seriously.
“What?” she demanded.
“The Phoenix Blade,” he said. “It just arrived in Sajinau.”
Kunmia looked at him in astonishment. “How did you know?”
He frowned. “The same way she does,” he answered, gesturing to Bingmei. “It has a powerful magic. I was coming to find you both.”
“We’re going to see your brother,” Kunmia said.
Rowen scowled. “Why him?”
“Because he’s the ruler of Sajinau. He deserves to know.”
“I was going to tell him later,” Rowen hedged, “but why not get the sword first?”
“Let’s be prudent, Prince Rowen,” Kunmia said. “Your brother has thousands of troops at his disposal; he’s in a better position to counter the Qiangdao.”
Part of Bingmei agreed with him. She wanted the sword back. Logically, though, she knew its magic was leading Echion to them. To her. To pursue the sword would be to give him what he wanted.
“As you say,” Rowen replied, bowing his head to her. And so he accompanied them down the corridor.
As they continued to walk, the prince asked in a worried voice, “Do you think Echion has come?”
Bingmei frowned. “I don’t know. I felt the sword, and I felt the Qiangdao leader we lost at the glacier. Muxidi.”
“Him? How did he get here so quickly?”
“By boat, probably,” Bingmei said with a little burr in her voice.
He smirked at her jibe and remained silent as they continued to walk. Around another corner, they reached a huge door decked with golden knobs like the ones she’d seen in the lost palace. Four armored warriors stood guard outside it.
Kunmia paused in front of them and bowed her head. “We have urgent news for Prince Juexin.”
“He is meeting with General Tzu right now,” said one of the guards gruffly.
“Please advise him that this is urgent,” Kunmia said.
The soldier snorted, but he nodded to one of his underlings, who slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him.
“How do you fare, Kunmia Suun?” asked the gruff guard.
“Well enough. Do I know you?”
“We’ve met. I served under General Tzu at a fight in the upper valley ten years ago. You were there. I recognized your staff.”
Kunmia’s brow wrinkled as she tried to remember, then softened again. Bingmei thought the man smelled like cooked tubers. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it also wasn’t sweet. There was no deception in him.
“We lost many good men in that war,” Kunmia said.
“But we also slaughtered many Qiangdao and threw their bodies into the river. King Shulian fought with us then.” His voice betrayed a tone of pride.
“Is your name Pangxie?”
The officer’s eyes widened in surprise. “You remembered?” he said. “I was a young officer then.” He smiled then, and the neutral smell of tubers gained a buttery warmth. It was a powerful smell, and it made Bingmei realize the power Kunmia’s goodness, her kindness, had over others’ emotions.
“It’s good to see you again,” Kunmia said.
The door opened again, and the soldier emerged. “If you please, Master,” he said, gesturing for them to enter.
As they walked into the vibrant council room with the glittering vases and excellent woodwork, they saw Prince Juexin and his sister speaking in hushed tones to a middle-aged man in ceremonial armor. Although he was not particularly tall, he was trim and fit. He had a huge blade in a scabbard at his waist and a glaive strapped to his back. His plumed helmet was resting on a decorative table. Also with them was a spidery man with a long mustache and pointed beard, dressed in normal street clothes without any silk or design. Jidi Majia stood with them, head bowed in concentration.
Juexin’s brow wrinkled when he noticed Rowen accompanying them. As they approached, he said, “If you wanted to see me, Brother, you need only have asked.”
Bingmei caught the whiff of resentment exuding from Rowen, but Kunmia was quick to dispel it.
“We found him in the corridor, and I asked him to join us,” she said.
Juexin pursed his lips. “What is it? You look concerned.”
“There is reason to be,” she answered. “I apologize for interrupting, but the matter is quite urgent.”
“No apology needed, Master Kunmia,” said General Tzu in a placid tone, giving a little wave of his hand. “As I was telling the prince, the Qiangdao have been restless. We’ve seen three raids in the last fortnight within our own borders. And that doesn’t include the brazen attack on Wangfujing. Yiwu was also attacked two days ago.”
“The Qiangdao are on the move,” Kunmia said. “And one of their leaders has just entered Sajinau.”
The spidery man crossed his arms and stepped forward, tilting his head. “I would have known,” he said.
“Who are you?” Kunmia asked.
The man reeked of dishonesty. The stink lingered on him like smoke wafting off the clothing of someone who had stood near a fire too long. She sniffed loudly, trying to get Kunmia’s attention, and fixed her eyes on the man. He wasn’t Echion, but he wasn’t good either.
“This is Jiaohua,” said Crown Prince Juexin. “He’s the head of the Jingcha. Why do you think the Qiangdao have arrived?”
“They didn’t come in force,” Kunmia said, “but one of their leaders has come for Bingmei. Let me explain, if you will. When we returned from a mission last year, at the end of the season of the Dragon of Dawn, we were ambushed by Qiangdao. The leader of that band wielded a sword with the crest of a phoenix on the hilt and the pommel. He attacked us and invoked the power of the blade.”
“Did it summon the killing fog?” Jidi Majia asked, frowning.
“It did. The fog overcame the Qiangdao and even killed one of our own. We escaped back into the river, and when the fog subsided, I sent Bingmei to retrieve the weapon from among the sleeping dead.”
The spidery man frowned, giving Bingmei a disdainful look. “Her?”
The crown prince looked at the man with arched eyebrows and a reproving glare. Jiaohua’s expression was unrepentant.
“I believe the blade belongs to Echion himself,” Kunmia said. “He used it after being revived. When it is near, Bingmei can sense it. And so can Prince Rowen.”
Juexin frowned and looked at his brother.
“It’s true,” Rowen said. “I sensed it the moment it was brought here. It’s in the city, and I feel it coming closer.”
“My connection with it is stronger, I think,” said Bingmei, asserting herself. “When he summoned its power to find me, I saw a flash of his face. I know the man.” She allowed some of her anger to leak through. “He’s the one who killed my parents.”
Jidi Majia stepped closer, putting his hand on the table. “If he’s brought that weapon into the city, it’s a danger to everyone here. It could summon the fog
.”
“He must be killed,” said General Tzu. “At once.”
Juexin nodded in agreement. “If he can find you, Bingmei, then you can find him.”
“We cannot risk her life,” Jidi Majia said in concern. “Send the Jingcha after him. Send your brother since he, too, can sense the blade.”
By the look on the crown prince’s face, he didn’t like the suggestion. There was a flicker of rivalry again as the brothers held each other’s gaze.
“You cannot risk sending her!” the counselor implored.
Perhaps he was right—the man wanted her to come to him—but Bingmei couldn’t bear to be left behind. “He’s the man who murdered my parents. Killed my grandfather in front of my eyes.” Despite the story Kunmia had shared with her, and even what her own heart told her, she still wanted revenge. She craved it. Perhaps Echion was counting on that.
The spidery Jiaohua didn’t advocate one way or another. He waited for the command to be given. No doubt he would spin whatever choice was made to his own ends.
“Will you go, Brother?” Juexin asked.
“I already intended to,” Rowen said, meeting his gaze.
The prince turned to the spidery man. “Take him, Jiaohua. Take as many men as you need, including Bao Damanhur. Bring this Qiangdao alive for justice if you can. But if not . . . do what you must.”
Jiaohua grinned and Bingmei saw some ruined teeth in his smile.
Night fell over Sajinau. Bingmei paced within the council room, awaiting news of the confrontation. General Tzu had related more details about the restless Qiangdao—the raids had worsened to the point that the general believed that the Qiangdao were massing to invade Sajinau. With the king gone, it would fall on Prince Juexin to protect the people. Bingmei still felt the presence of the sword, however, and her craving for it grew stronger in her breast, making it difficult to concentrate on the discussion.
The prince’s sister approached, an elegant young woman in a beautiful green silk gown embroidered with golden thread, jade earrings, and a small tiara in a nest of luscious hair.
“I wanted to introduce myself to you, Bingmei,” she said. “I am Eomen.”
“I’m . . . I’m honored,” Bingmei said, feeling a little callow in her warrior’s pants and red shirt. She hadn’t expected the princess to approach her. The young woman smelled of flowers and yearning. She, too, had a conflicted soul. It was clear she cared about both of her brothers and worried about them in different ways. That gave the flowery smell a musty edge.
“You are so young. This must be a great burden on you,” Eomen said. “But can I speak freely and say that we are grateful you came to Sajinau. And I am grateful that you brought my brother with you. I’ve worried about him so.” She touched Bingmei’s shoulder as she said this, the gesture kind and solicitous.
“When did he leave home?” Bingmei asked.
“Several years ago. He liked to call himself Wuren even while he lived here. Do you know what that means?”
Bingmei nodded. “When we met him and Bao Damanhur in Wangfujing, that’s what he called himself. But his exile is self-imposed, I think.”
“It is, truly,” Eomen said. “We want him home.” She glanced at her brother, the crown prince, and something twisted in her expression. “Most of us do anyway.”
A strange feeling washed over Bingmei. Her spine tingled, and she felt her legs crumple. Distantly, she heard Eomen call for help, but Bingmei was already somewhere else. The familiar magic had yanked her away from her body. In an instant, she was in a dark alley. The Phoenix Blade glowed a wicked green color as Muxidi stomped forward.
“You’re a fool!” Jiaohua shouted. He stood behind nearly a dozen men dressed in normal street clothes, but Bingmei knew they were skilled officers in disguise. Rowen was beside him, eyes fixed on the Phoenix Blade, but his gaze darted up toward Bingmei’s disembodied presence. Did he see her?
She had no time to think on it, for the killing fog crept down the alley from behind the Qiangdao leader, its hungry tendrils seeking the blade.
“Stop it! You’re killing yourself!” said Jiaohua.
But the Qiangdao’s eyes were unafraid. He yelled in challenge and rushed at the front men, swinging the blade at them. They brought up their weapons and defended themselves with skill, striking back quickly. She sensed their determination. They knew what was coming, but they intended to stand their ground. They honored their sacred duty.
The killing fog engulfed Muxidi’s ankles, but nothing happened to him. The next man it touched shrieked in fear and pain. Bingmei watched in horror as the fog consumed him. He fell with a slump onto the pavement, eyes closed as if asleep. Dead.
Another man, caught in the grip of the fog, looked horrified, but the Phoenix Blade sliced through him before the killing fog could claim him. He, too, fell to the cobblestones.
“Run!” Jiaohua shouted. He raised a blowgun to his lips and sent a dart winging at the Qiangdao leader. Then another. But Muxidi’s reflexes were too quick, and none of the darts hit him. He continued to advance.
The officers and Rowen fled down the alley, away from the menace. Bingmei watched the fog coalescing around Muxidi, who massaged his neck with one hand and spat on the ground as he walked. The fog had claimed two more men who couldn’t escape fast enough.
Muxidi laughed harder as he sheathed the blade in the scabbard at his hip.
Bingmei gasped, sitting up on the cold marble floor, struggling to breathe. It felt as if she’d been drowning. Faces stared down at her from all sides. Prince Juexin had squeezed her hand into a fist and gripped it, his eyes full of pleading. Jidi Majia looked confused and afraid, and she smelled the sadness exuding from his bones. Kunmia had been holding her, as if she were a child, stroking her hair.
“She’s alive!” Eomen whispered in awe.
A painful tingling sensation filled her fingers and toes, but she ignored it. They needed to know what she’d seen.
Her breath was ragged. “They’re coming back,” she gasped. “I saw them. Muxidi . . .” She swallowed, her throat suddenly too tight to speak. She clutched her throat, gesturing for a drink, and someone fetched one quickly. She gulped it down.
“He’s still coming,” she wheezed. “He summoned the killing fog. And it didn’t . . . it didn’t even hurt him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Shadows and Regrets
When Rowen and Jiaohua returned to the palace shortly thereafter, Bingmei was finally beginning to feel normal again. It seemed to take longer for her to recover feeling each time she slipped away from her body. Was leaving her body this way akin to dying? Perhaps the strange ability had something to do with Jidi Majia’s vision.
Jiaohua’s scent remained tinged with smoke, but he was bristling with anger and rage. He’d lost several of his men to Muxidi, and he wanted revenge. Rowen’s eyes wandered the room until they landed on Bingmei. She sat on a small decorative sofa, Kunmia next to her, arm around her. His brow puckered with worry, and he approached them swiftly. He dropped onto his knee beside her. That pomegranate smell came again.
“Are you well?”
“I’m feeling better now,” she said, but that was only partially true. Her body felt like it would never get warm again.
Rowen glanced at Kunmia with concern. “Did something happen?”
“She fainted and started to convulse,” Kunmia said. “Then she stopped breathing.”
Rowen’s eyes widened.
“I’m all right,” Bingmei said.
Kunmia hugged her closer. “When she revived, she told us about your confrontation with the Qiangdao. How the killing fog didn’t harm him.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Rowen said. “I . . . I knew you were there, Bingmei. I felt you.”
Their eyes met. Neither understood what was going on. Whatever anger she’d felt toward him for keeping information from her and the others faded. She sensed he had his fated role in this mess, just as she did.
�
�It’s something about the blade,” Bingmei whispered. “It keeps drawing me toward it. You sensed me?”
He nodded. “I kept glancing around, expecting to see you. I thought you’d snuck off to join the fight.”
“Part of me wanted to,” she replied with a smile. “I don’t like being left behind.”
His gaze narrowed. “Did this also happen to you in Wangfujing?”
She blinked quickly, remembering the night she’d met him. “Yes.”
He pressed his lips together firmly before speaking. “When Guanjia showed me the Phoenix Blade in the treasury, I felt like someone else was there, watching us. Was that you?”
Bingmei nodded. “The blade drew me away that time too. I was asleep in bed when I left my body. I could hear the two of you talking.”
“Incredible,” Rowen said. “But traveling that way kills you for a while. Right?”
“I think so.” She looked at Kunmia. “It frightens me. I don’t understand why it’s happening.”
“I think it’s because you were chosen,” Kunmia answered, stroking her cheek.
“But why me?”
“Master Kunmia?” It was Juexin calling to them. He was conferencing with his advisors and gestured for them to approach.
Kunmia rose, and Bingmei followed. “I don’t like Jiaohua,” she whispered to the master in a low voice. “He’s dishonest.”
“One doesn’t need your power of discernment to recognize that,” Rowen said with a low chuckle, coming with them. “He’s the head of the Jingcha. He spends more time lurking in shadows than in the light.”
“Why does your brother keep him, then?” Bingmei asked quickly.
“Every king needs a man like him,” Rowen said as they arrived.
“Master Kunmia,” Juexin said. He gave his brother a dark look before continuing. “Jiaohua’s report matches what Bingmei saw in her vision. That Qiangdao was injured by the dart, which means he can be hurt and killed. General Tzu is stationing archers along the palace walls to defend the city, but we’re concerned what may happen to the populace.”
General Tzu nodded. While his face betrayed no emotion, Bingmei smelled his growing dread. “If you know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the outcome of a hundred battles. The Qiangdao are murderers—they are a threat we know. But we don’t know what Echion is capable of. It may be his intention to summon the fog and slaughter everyone in Sajinau.”