“We have to say our names when he calls for us.”
“That’s it?”
“Don’t miss the moment, or Father won’t be happy.” Seika looked as if she wanted to bolt. She kept wiping her hands on her skirt and shooting glances at the exits.
“Father is never happy.” Ji-Lin looked closely at Seika. “Hey, don’t panic. If all we have to do is say our names, that’s not so hard.”
“I’m not panicking.” Her eyes were wide. She looked like a cornered mouse. “Princesses don’t panic. All right, maybe they do a little bit. It’s just that I want to do it right. If I mess this up, I might die of humiliation.” Her voice was such a soft whisper that Ji-Lin had to piece together the words.
“You can’t die of embarrassment. Trust me. I’ve tested it out.”
Master Vanya said, “The islands were encased in a magical barrier, with the man, the lion, and all the people and lions who followed them within. The man became Emperor Himitsu, the first emperor of the Hundred Islands of Himitsu, named for him; his sibling, who had accompanied him, became the very first imperial guard, responsible for leading all the warriors on the islands against the koji that remained; and the winged lion founded the Temple of the Sun, dedicated to the teaching of future generations.”
The emperor continued, “Every generation, the emperor’s heir journeys across the hundred islands and renews our bargain with the dragon, ensuring the continuation of the barrier for another generation. The heir travels only with her or his sister or brother and one winged lion, as Himitsu himself did long ago. I ask: where is the one who calls herself heir?”
Seika took three steps forward, toward the dais but still in the center of the courtyard, and spun in a slow circle so that all could see her. Every eye was on her, Ji-Lin saw. “I am here,” Seika said. Her voice shook at first, and then, as if she drew strength from the audience, she continued in a stronger voice, “I am Seika d’Orina Amatimara Himit-Re, firstborn daughter of Emperor Yu-Senbi of Himitsu.”
“And where is your sister, the one who will protect you on this journey?”
Ji-Lin thought of all the times she’d dozed off in ritual class and wished she could wake her old self up. She imitated Seika, turning in a slow circle, hoping she was doing the right thing, hoping her father and Master Vanya didn’t regret bringing her here. She was supposed to be the warrior, the hero who protected the heir, not front and center in the ritual. “I am—” she began.
And then a tremor shook the courtyard.
It ripped like a wave through the water. A few people screamed as they were knocked against walls or off the edge of a crowded roof into the bushes below. The stones beneath Ji-Lin’s feet buckled, and she crouched down.
A moment later, the quake ended, and everything quieted again.
A few people were brought inside, to be tended to. No major injuries that Ji-Lin could see. Just scrapes, bruises, and sprains. There were murmurs, a few excited voices, and then the emperor boomed, “Continue.”
Straightening, Ji-Lin stood. “I am Ji-Lin a’Tori Eonessa Himit-Re, second-born daughter of Emperor Yu-Senbi of Himitsu.”
“And I, Alejan of the Temple of the Sun, will fly with them!” Alejan added a roar to punctuate his words. His mane was fluffed out, the way it always was after the earth shook—he hated quakes, even the little ones—but other than that, he appeared strong and confident, exactly the way an imperial guardian was supposed to look. Ji-Lin hoped she looked as strong and heroic. You can do this, she told herself. You are a hero. Or will be. Someday.
The crowd cheered wildly.
Seika waved, and the crowd cheered louder.
Again imitating her sister, Ji-Lin waved at the crowd—she wasn’t nearly as graceful as Seika, but the people didn’t seem to mind. They were throwing flower petals. The wind caught the petals and swirled them across the courtyard; they landed on the dancers, the mosaic tiles, and even the emperor himself. The drums and trumpets started again.
Soon Ji-Lin found herself waving more enthusiastically. Listening to all the cheers, she wanted to cheer too. The Emperor’s Journey! She was going to do it! Cross all of Himitsu! Meet a dragon! The dragon!
Looking up at the petal-filled sky, she saw blue against the sharp green lines of the mountains. Birds flew: herons with their broad wings soaring in wide curves, fish hawks circling the canals, and songbirds darting from spire to spire. She saw them scatter, startled by the drums and trumpets. And then she felt a poke in the middle of her back.
Master Vanya had tapped her with a claw. “You’re supposed to mount.”
Hurriedly, Ji-Lin climbed onto Alejan’s back. He unfurled his wings. “Isn’t there going to be a banquet?” Alejan asked in a mournful voice.
Master Vanya rolled her large yellow eyes at him. “You must begin your journey. We will feast in your honor. When you have reached the island with the Shrine of the Dragon—”
Alejan’s ears pricked forward. “I’ll meet Master Shai! Do you think she’ll tell the tale of when she defeated—”
“Dignity, Alejan,” Master Vanya reminded him.
He subsided, but his tail continued to twitch.
The emperor crossed toward them, and for an instant Ji-Lin thought he was going to speak to her, greet her, say something about how he’d missed her or how she’d grown, but he didn’t. He knelt and swept his arm under Seika, lifting her as if she were a baby. He then placed her on Alejan’s saddle, behind Ji-Lin. Two guards stepped forward and affixed straps around her.
“Fly straight and fly fast. Take no unnecessary risks,” their father told them. “You will journey for five days and four nights in order to speak with the dragon on Himit’s Day, as is tradition. The following dawn, I will meet you on the volcano island in the fortress home of the Guardians of the Shrine—the lioness, Master Shai, and her rider, my brother, Balez—to celebrate the end of the ritual. Do not fail, my daughters.”
Ji-Lin wanted to say that she would not fail. She’d prove that even if the test had been just for show, she’d deserved to pass; she was ready, she could do this—but the conch-shell trumpets crescendoed, the drums boomed, and the cheers echoed louder and louder.
With a lurch forward, Alejan launched himself into the air. As they rose above the courtyard, the cheers began to fade away. “Can you believe we’re doing this?” Seika squeaked in her ear.
Honestly? No. She couldn’t. But they were! And she felt like crowing as loud as a rooster. She and Seika, with Alejan, together on their first real adventure!
Alejan spoke, his voice a soft rumble beneath them. “Please tell me no one peed on me.”
There was a pause.
“It was an orange,” Seika said. “A birthday orange. I think . . . I sat on it.”
Ji-Lin snorted and then laughed out loud. Below her, Alejan shook, laughing also. After a moment, Seika joined in, and suddenly it felt as if no time had passed—as if they were little kids again, sneaking away to a balcony to watch the Spring Ritual.
And they flew, laughing together, away from the palace.
Chapter
Four
SEIKA LOVED FLYING.
She’d imagined it a hundred times, but this . . . ! She loved the way the wind rushed around her and against her and through her. It pulled at her skin and at her hair as if it wanted her to play. Every time she breathed in, she felt the wind chase down her throat. It tasted fresh, like mint leaves crushed in water—she hadn’t expected the wind to have a taste. She loved the way her heart raced, fast as a hummingbird’s, and the way the sky felt so much wider and deeper and bigger than it ever had before. And she loved how the world beneath looked like art, displayed for her to admire.
Below, the imperial island of Shirro was laid out like a court lady’s dress. The lacy mountains were the shoulders, the farms were the embroidery, the villages were the beadwork, and the blue sea was the hem. Alejan dipped into the wind, and Seika bit back an unprincesslike shriek as she squ
eezed Ji-Lin’s waist.
“He won’t drop you,” Ji-Lin called back.
Seika wanted to ask, “Are you sure?” because it felt like he was about to let her fall to a messy, squishy death, but she knew it would be rude to imply she didn’t trust him. Instead, she twisted, trying to see if the straps were still tight around her.
“It would help if you didn’t fidget,” Ji-Lin said.
Seika froze.
“You need to relax. Enjoy this. Alejan and I have flown together lots of times.”
Lucky, she thought. “You’ve already flown across the islands?” Seika hadn’t been allowed out of the palace. So many times, she’d slipped away from her tutors and climbed to the tops of the spires, but cradled between mountains, she hadn’t been able to see out of the valley. In comparison to what Ji-Lin must have seen, Seika felt as if she’d been shoved into a closet for a year.
She told herself not to be jealous. She was here now, with the wind all around her and the world spread below her. Besides, jealousy was definitely unprincesslike, according to chapter five of The Examined Lives of Emperors and Empresses.
“Only over the imperial island. Students aren’t allowed to fly beyond Shirro until we’ve passed all the tests. Tomorrow, we’ll be flying farther than I’ve ever flown.” Letting go of the lion’s mane, Ji-Lin gestured toward the west, beyond the mountains and the sea, where dozens of tiny, mostly uninhabited islands lay. Seika wanted to grab Ji-Lin’s hands and force her to hold on again, but she didn’t dare release her own grip. Falling, she was certain, would not be nearly as wonderful as flying.
“I’m an excellent flier. Everyone says so,” the winged lion said, his voice a rumble beneath her. It felt so strange when he spoke. She could feel his voice through her legs. “I even did the Unmei Run in sixteen minutes, which is only one minute thirty-two seconds slower than Master Shai herself. Oh, Ji-Lin, do you think we’ll see her fly?”
“Alejan, focus,” Ji-Lin said. To Seika, she said, “What he means to say is that you don’t need to be afraid.” She sounded full of confidence, as if she’d aged five years instead of merely one, outpacing Seika.
“I’m not afraid.” Princesses weren’t afraid. Terrified, maybe. Her tutors would be appalled if she felt anything as common and small as fear. She was permitted to be terrified, though—but she was terrified in a good way, in a way that made her feel as if all the blood in her veins were singing. “Has he carried two people before?”
Alejan snorted. “We train with weights far heavier than you, little princess. I’ve eaten things that weigh more than you. Relax and enjoy the view. It’s pretty.”
She didn’t want to relax. They were flying! And it was more than pretty. It was beautiful: green mountains, blue sky, darker sea. Olive trees and fig trees, as well as rows and rows of grapevines, were growing on the slopes of the mountains. Houses were tucked into crevasses and built into cliffs. The tiled roofs were blue to match the sea and sky, and the walls were white, reflecting the sun. Right below them, Seika saw a woman in a garden, shooing away a flying monkey that was nibbling on her fruit trees. She also saw a sunbird perched on a roof, with its wings spread wide—it was glowing nearly as bright as the sun itself, exactly the way her books had described. A kind of phoenix, it burned with a magic fire that consumed its own feathers, which then were supposed to instantly regrow. Craning her neck, she watched the sunbird, hoping to see it burn and regenerate. It didn’t, but she thought she saw sparks dancing over its back, which was spectacular enough.
She could do this. Five days of flying, seeing new and wonderful things! She’d always wanted her own adventure. It was only that she hadn’t expected to leave the palace so soon, before she finished her training, before she was ready. But maybe Father wanted it to be a surprise, so she wouldn’t over-worry. She liked surprises, didn’t she?
Without warning, Alejan flattened his wings against his sides and dove. Shrieking, Seika squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed her legs around the lion’s torso, and squeezed her arms even tighter around Ji-Lin’s waist. Wind screamed past her ears until she wasn’t sure what was louder, her voice or the wind. She cracked her eyes open and saw the ground—Oh no, we’re going to crash! It came toward them, growing larger, the hillside rapidly approaching. She saw Alejan reach his front paws out. They were—
His paws closed around a rabbit, and then he swooped higher, higher, until the island receded behind them again. She swallowed her next scream but didn’t loosen her grip. Her heart was beating so fast it was like a string of fireworks inside her ribs.
“Alejan, you scared her,” Ji-Lin scolded.
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry; he sounded as if his mouth was full. “Peckish.”
“You can eat when we eat.”
“All right.” He sounded sulky. “I’ll drop the rabbit.”
“Don’t!” Seika cried.
“All right, I won’t.” His body convulsed as he swallowed.
Ji-Lin sighed. “You shouldn’t reward him for scaring you.”
“He surprised me, not scared me,” Seika corrected. Now that it was over . . . She liked the way her heart was pounding and her breath felt caught in her throat. She wondered if this was how the acrobats felt when they danced with fire. “Besides, imagine if you were one of those farmers down there and you were hit on the head by a half-eaten bunny that fell from the sky.” That was not the way to make a good first impression on their people.
“Oh. Yes. That would ruin anyone’s day.” Ji-Lin sounded as if she was on the verge of laughing. Seika grinned into the wind. It pulled at her cheeks.
Alejan rumbled, “A future empress should care about her people’s feelings. It’s admirable that you think of them, Princess Seika.” And then he burped.
“I won’t be empress for a long time.”
“You’re on the Emperor’s Journey. Once you renew the bargain with the dragon, everyone will celebrate and honor you. There will be banquets, with fish and roasted chicken and rare beef and lamb . . . Mmm, lamb, with fresh fig sauce and a side of goat brains . . .” He shook his mane as if shaking off a daydream. “Sorry. I mean, it’s good that you already think of the people.”
“Um, thanks.” She just thought half-chewed food was disgusting, but if he wanted to be impressed with her, that was fine. Lots of people liked to be impressed with virtues she wasn’t sure she had. The court ladies often claimed she was “elegantly reserved,” when in reality she was busy trying to figure out what to say to them. Her tutors praised her for dedication to her studies, when the truth was she had little else to do but read the old histories and tales.
The only one who’d ever seen her as just Seika—not Princess Seika d’Orina Amatimara Himit-Re, firstborn daughter of Emperor Yu-Senbi and heir to the imperial throne, long may her father live—was Ji-Lin.
And now they were together again! On their own quest! Flying on a winged lion! “If you wanted to dive down again, that would be fine,” Seika said.
“Happily,” Alejan said.
Seika laughed out loud as he swooped and soared.
They flew until the sun began to set in front of them. Seika stared at the silken yellow as it faded to orange, then red, spreading across the sky. She’d seen sunsets from the palace, the sun burning the tops of the mountains in a red glow, but she’d never seen it scald the sky like this. Clouds darkened around them, and the sea in the distance deepened to a blue-black. So beautiful, she thought. Forget a five-day journey—she could fly like this forever.
“Alejan, keep an eye out for the village,” Ji-Lin called to him.
“Only one, or can I look with two eyes?”
“You can look with three, if you want.”
“Master Shai once fought a koji with a hundred eyes.”
“Are you going to talk about her the entire flight?” Ji-Lin sounded amused, and Seika felt a tiny pang of jealousy. She wished she’d had someone to tease after Ji-Lin left.
Alejan was silent for a m
oment, as if seriously considering the question. “Yes. I think that’s very likely. Come on, Ji-Lin, you know she’s your hero too. You’re the one with a sketch of her in your room.”
“It’s a nice sketch,” Ji-Lin admitted. “She’s fighting a sea monster.”
“After we complete the Journey, I’ll talk nonstop about how lucky I was to carry two of the bravest, best princesses ever on my way to meet Master Shai, the hero of the Hundred Islands and the greatest Guardian of the Shrine.”
Seika smiled. He seemed like a sweet lion, even if he was prone to exaggeration. “You know, our uncle, Prince Balez, is the other Guardian of the Shrine. And Master Shai’s rider.” She remembered him as a friendly uncle who smiled much more than Father did and brought them presents: little animals carved from volcanic rock, books with pictures of Zemyla, and fresh kimi fruit. It would be good to see him again; he hadn’t visited in a few years.
“I’m sure he’s very heroic too,” Alejan said grudgingly.
“Just watch for the village, Alejan,” Ji-Lin said.
They were supposed to stop for the night in one of the fishing villages, a town named Tsuri that was founded just after Emperor Himitsu’s reign—Seika had read about it. The villagers would feed and house them. Each town on their route was supposed to play a role by performing part of the Journey ritual. It was, her tutor had once said, a way for the people to feel connected to the imperial traditions and to the imperial line. It was their first chance to meet the next heir.
Seika wasn’t sure she was ready to be met. They’d be expecting someone older, more experienced, more prepared. Not a twelve-year-old princess who had never taken the lead in a ritual before, much less a ritual as important as this. She wished they could just keep flying. “Is that it?” Seika pointed toward lantern lights flickering in the distance.
“Do you think they know we’re coming?” Ji-Lin asked.
“Of course. Father sent messenger birds to all the villages we’ll be staying in,” Seika said. “We’ll be greeted with a warm welcome.” She told herself she didn’t need to worry. The townspeople would know exactly what to do. The princesses would be offered food and a bed and entertained with tales and songs, and at dawn the villagers would celebrate the continuation of the Journey with the ritual dances.
Journey Across the Hidden Islands Page 4