by Julie C. Dao
“No,” Jade said, the word reverberating through the cavern. “That is not the way. That is not my way. Had our mother been ruling Empress, she would have sooner put herself in danger than you or me or our brothers.”
“She was thought too gentle to rule, but perhaps they were all wrong,” Fu said. “Perhaps gentleness is necessary to temper a ruler’s ruthlessness, and not weakness at all.”
Though Jade’s heart was heavy, she felt a new lightness as she walked, too. As ruler, she would honor the qualities people had loved in Empress Lihua. She would be firm and fair and encourage her people’s truths and confessions, which they would give her freely—not because they feared her, but because they respected her enough to want her to know and judge them well.
She didn’t know if she would be successful. She didn’t care to make grand, empty promises—to herself or to anyone else—that she might be the ruler Feng Lu deserved. But if she ever reached that throne, she would try to be an empress of whom her family might be proud.
Yes, there was time yet to discover what sort of monarch she wished to be.
For if you wished it, you could light all the world.
Jade lifted the rose higher and raised her chin to face the darkness.
The following night, Jade found a crack in the rock wall leading to a narrow passage that wandered on for miles, angling upward. For two days, they climbed the winding tunnel slowly, stopping to rest often—or at least, Jade did, while Fu wandered off to explore. The air grew colder the farther they went, and after the desert, the chill seemed to creep into her very bones.
Upon waking on the third day, Jade found that Fu had gone off again. She ate and drank a little, studying the brocade map in the light of the rose. She wished for the thousandth time that Koichi were with her so he could see what had grown in size over the Dagovadian mountains: a slender sword embroidered in gold and silver thread. She knew he would have laughed with delight to recognize Silver Arrow beyond the shadow of a doubt, the great sword of Tu Lam, his favorite legendary warrior.
“I will claim it for you,” Jade told him softly, touching the stitched sword.
A pebble fell nearby and she looked up. The little enclave in which she sat was like a landing on the slope, small enough to see into the corners. There was no one.
She folded the map and replaced it in her sack, wondering when Fu would come back.
Another pebble fell.
Once more, Jade scanned her surroundings and saw no one. But as she turned back to her belongings, a heavy cloth slipped over her head. Quick, clever hands went around her throat.
“Don’t struggle,” a woman warned. “We won’t hurt you . . . right now.”
Jade stopped thrashing, wondering if her captor held a weapon. Her heart drummed in her chest as she felt herself being lifted to her feet. “Please, my belongings,” she begged, her words muffled by the cloth as a tight rope was secured around her wrists.
“We have them. Be silent and walk.” Strong hands pushed her onto the sloping path.
What would Fu think when he came back to find her gone? Can you hear me? she thought desperately, stumbling. But whether he heard her or not, she had no way of knowing.
“Careful, trespasser. Don’t try anything stupid.” The woman righted her. The clinking of metal on her person corroborated her words; she must have been armed to the teeth.
Trespasser? Jade’s breath came in hot, short bursts, and despair settled like a stone in her stomach. Somehow she had unwittingly wandered into a den of thieves or murderers. Her hands were tied, she couldn’t see, and her captor had three of the five Dragon Lords’ relics. Even if she escaped, she would be forfeiting the treasures she had endured fire, water, and sand to acquire.
They walked for a lengthy period of time, Jade breathing hard as the slope steepened. Every time she lagged, she felt the menacing handle of a sword pressing into her back. And then, when she thought she could go no farther, the woman turned her roughly to the right, where the rock wall should have been. Instead, there was empty space.
“Watch your feet. There are stairs.” The woman lifted Jade’s leg behind the knee to find one step, then another.
Jade counted at least a hundred steps in total and found herself gasping for air at the top from the woman’s fearsome pace. But when the stranger spoke, she sounded barely out of breath, like it was a climb she made regularly. “I’ve brought the girl, sister,” she announced.
“Remove her hood,” another woman responded.
Firelight assaulted Jade’s eyes as the cloth was whisked away. She blinked, bewildered by the huge room of stone before her. The ceiling soared above them, and the light of several torches danced on the granite walls. An immense table and chairs stood in one corner, and a man-made corridor led to a room full of sleeping pallets. One wall displayed an array of weaponry, reminding her of Ming’s tent in the desert: axes, gilded arrows, swords, daggers, and crossbows gleamed in the dancing firelight.
Her captors were all women dressed in warm, heavy furs. One sat on a high throne carved into the rock, reminding Jade so powerfully of Xifeng that she took a step back.
“You’re right to be afraid of the Crimson Queen,” sneered the woman who had pushed her up the stairs. She was young, perhaps twenty, but she was not like many females Jade had seen: strongly built despite her diminutive height, with a military stance full of authority and confidence. When she turned her head, Jade saw a vicious red scar on her left cheek.
She’s like Wren, Jade realized. They’re all like Wren.
All around her stood dozens upon dozens of women, strong and proud. Their black hair was cropped short or braided away from their elegant features, and they looked as though they ranged in age from twenty to seventy; Jade saw a white-haired woman who stood with no less power than the rest.
Female warriors. The Crimson Queen.
The realization struck Jade like a powerful gust of wind: she had ended up in the lair of the Crimson Army, the assassins of whom Wren had spoken so longingly. Once wives, mothers, daughters, sisters who had been ill treated and downtrodden, they had banded together in the peaks of Dagovad, training relentlessly to take their strength into their own hands and never again be at the mercy of another. They worked for whoever could afford to pay, and lived on the bounty of their kills.
The woman on the throne, the Crimson Queen, might have been in her early forties. Her intelligent eyes glittered above sharp cheekbones, and her hair was cropped just above her jaw. She toyed with a jeweled dagger in her hand, the gems shining blue and red.
Jade looked apprehensively at it, feeling their unfriendly observation, waiting to see what she would do. So she did the first thing that came to mind: she bowed to the Crimson Queen.
The cavern felt heavy in the ensuing silence.
“Why did you do that?” the woman asked.
“You were referred to as the Crimson Queen. I thought it only right to show you respect.”
All of the women burst into chilly, mocking laughter, and Jade’s cheeks burned red. She must have done exactly the wrong thing.
“These outsiders are quick to kiss your feet when they think you’re royal,” jeered the girl with the scar, and the others murmured in angry agreement. “She is called the Crimson Queen because she is our respected leader, not because she wears a crown or is some king’s chattel.”
“I’m sorry,” Jade said faintly. She didn’t even know why she apologized, since they were going to kill her anyway.
The Crimson Queen came down to meet her. She was shorter than Jade, but the way she held herself indicated that she was stronger and faster than Jade could ever hope to be. Jade forced herself to look back, sensing that it would be unwise to avoid this woman’s gaze.
“A young sapling, that’s all you are. You have a court accent, but you’re too sun-bronzed to be a noblewoman.” She scanned Jade’s
garments. “Your cloth is poor. A handmaiden, perhaps, who runs about in the sun on errands? What were you doing on the banks of the Bone River?”
Jade searched for words, but they did not come.
“Answer the leader when she speaks to you,” a woman hissed.
“I am not a handmaiden,” Jade said shakily. “I am a traveler. I fell through a hole in the desert into a jungle two weeks east of here. I freed a turtle spirit of Kamatsu from a dark god who had trapped it, escaping with my life and riding upon the turtle’s back down the river.”
The Crimson Queen studied her even more closely. “You escaped the dark god and lived to tell the tale? There is more to you than meets the eye. What have you found there, Sparrow?”
The girl with the scarred cheek approached with Jade’s sack. “Water pouches, dried meat, some mushrooms from the riverbank. And this is a fine cloak fit for a queen,” she said, holding up the turquoise brocade. “She told you the truth. No handmaiden is she.”
The leader’s scrutiny returned to Jade, sharp, appraising.
“Here is another cloak of crane feathers, a fishbone, and a single red rose.” Sparrow laughed derisively. “She claims to be a traveler, yet she packs such ridiculous possessions.”
“There is a purpose to each of them. Where did you get these items, girl?”
“I found them on my journey,” Jade answered.
“You cannot be a servant of the dark god, but there is something about you.” The leader’s tone hardened like steel. “Do you serve that female viper who calls herself Empress?”
The accusation rankled Jade. “I would rather die before I ever served my enemy,” she said through gritted teeth, and the Crimson Queen’s eyes glinted with interest.
“Enemy is a strong word not even the bravest outsiders use when speaking of Xifeng.”
“Nevertheless, it is true. The Empress seeks to kill me, and I was running for my life.”
“Xifeng seeks to destroy many people. What is so special about you?” the leader asked.
Jade saw that the women’s faces were cold, suspicious; they would know if she was lying. A slash of metal rang out, and quicker than lightning, Sparrow’s arm went around her torso and her blade skimmed Jade’s neck. Jade felt the steel a heartbeat away from her pulsing veins.
“Who are you?” the Crimson Queen demanded.
“You hesitate too often,” Sparrow breathed in Jade’s ear. “That’s the mark of a liar. What do you think happens to trespassers who also lie?”
“Please,” Jade gasped, “with all due respect, I cannot tell my name to all who ask.”
The Crimson Queen lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. “A name that requires such care and secrecy. Tell it to us and you may live a bit longer.”
Jade closed her eyes as Sparrow’s blade pressed harder against her skin. “I am Jade, daughter of Emperor Jun and Empress Lihua of the Great Forest. I am the rightful heir to the throne, and Xifeng wants me dead.”
At a movement from her leader, Sparrow stepped away at once. The Crimson Queen came close, scrutinizing Jade. “Princess Jade’s body was found at the foot of these mountains last week, slaughtered by agents of the Empress. The girl had been accused of murdering women at court.”
Jade stared at her. “A body?”
“Riding a black-and-white mare.”
The spectre that led Wren and Koichi west, Jade realized at once. It had led them to Dagovad on the back of Ming’s horse—but where had her friends gone? “It wasn’t my body,” she said firmly. “It was part of a cruel trick to separate me from my companions. As for the women I’m to have murdered, the Empress killed them herself. She cut out their hearts and ate them to give her strength through dark magic.”
There was a long, shocked silence before the women all began talking at once.
“How do we know we can trust this girl?”
“She could be an imposter, a spy for Xifeng herself!”
“The Empress has long wished for our deaths. Xifeng would do anything to disband us!”
“Quiet, my sisters,” the Crimson Queen said. “Who on Feng Lu has not dealt with Xifeng’s jealousy, paranoia, and cruelty in some way? She learned from a young age to regard other women as enemies, not as allies and sisters.”
“I was raised by a good woman,” Jade told her. “I was surrounded by other women who were honest and steadfast, and I will carry their values in my heart until the day I die. I swear to you on my own life: I speak the truth. I have a mission to see through, and if you let me finish it, I will never reveal the secrets of the Crimson Army.”
“She knows who we are,” Sparrow hissed.
“And so she must know that we kill for money. But perhaps she doesn’t know our true objective and for whom we truly fight,” the leader returned, turning back to Jade. “We defend the defenseless. Women who are thrown from their homes, who are forbidden to find work and thus independence, who starve with their children because they are mere chattel to their men.” She gestured to the people standing along the walls. “These women have known suffering. Here, they have found family, purpose, and some semblance of kindness in this world at last. Xifeng would seek to destroy us and to take that away. Can we free you, not knowing who you truly are?”
“I speak the truth,” Jade said again. “I would never reveal your secrets.”
“Those are mere words.” The Crimson Queen paced before the throne. “We believed in Xifeng once. We thought a powerful woman at the helm of an empire would help other women, and we brought our bruises, our battered children, and our ragged souls to her care. But time and time again, she refused to help. She enjoys keeping other women down. Yet when I drew these lost souls together and we grew strong in our sisterhood, only then did she seek the Crimson Army’s blind allegiance. When we declined, she threatened to kill us.”
Sparrow’s teeth gleamed. “You see our position, you who claim to be princess.”
“I sense the truth in what you say,” the Crimson Queen told Jade, “but servants of Xifeng are clever. If you scurried back to her alive, she would find and destroy us in a matter of days. We are warriors, but even we cannot fight against her sorcery.”
“She was blindfolded. She couldn’t tell Xifeng where we are,” one woman pointed out.
“But she doesn’t seem unintelligent,” the white-haired warrior retorted. “It wouldn’t be hard to remember how to return here.”
The Crimson Queen watched Jade for a long moment. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she opened a hidden blade. Jade tensed, but the woman only used the knife to cut the rope binding Jade’s hands. “You’ll need to prove your identity to us with more than words. If you are the lost princess Xifeng seeks, and the blood of the gods runs in your veins, then you will show us.”
Jade glanced at the relics, knowing they must seem like a child’s silly playthings to these warriors. If she put on the crane feather cloak, they might think she was tricking them. If she let the rose burn, they might think it was a weapon. But the fishbone . . .
“The leftovers of your last meal?” Sparrow said mockingly as Jade reached for it, but the Crimson Queen silenced her.
Jade took a slow, deep breath, and recited:
Bones of my mother
Spirit in a fish
Bestow on me your kindness
And grant me my heart’s wish.
She held the fishbone to her heart and wished, with all her might, that she might prove herself to these women and earn their trust. In the long, still silence that followed, the women’s derisive snorts turned into gasps and stifled cries. They pressed against the wall to make room for the blue-and-gold dragon that had appeared in the center of the room.
It was only a vision, Jade knew—the essence of the dragon’s spirit produced by her wish. But it looked just as she had remembered, down to the golden talons, the graceful antlers, and the tran
slucent water-blue scales. It was as though Xifeng had never harmed it. This time, the dragon spoke in a grave, ancient voice like the wind, yet Jade could hear Lihua’s gentle tone, too. The sound drew her close, her heart aching and soaring as she gazed up at the spirit of her mother.
“You called me, cherished daughter, and I answer you,” the dragon told her.
The Crimson Queen stood in front of her sisters with her arms held out, protecting them, her eyes wide with awe and apprehension. “Is this some dark sorcery of Xifeng?” she hissed. “You are not proving yourself in the way I asked, Princess of the Great Forest.”
“I beg your patience,” Jade said. If she failed to convince them, they would kill her faster than she could draw her next breath. She bowed low to the dragon. “Benevolent One . . . Mother . . . these warriors think I am a servant of Xifeng. How may I prove the truth to them?”
The dragon looked down at her with soft eyes, then turned to the leader. “Deep in the bowels of this mountain, a monstrous carp lives in a bottomless pool. The carp once dreamed of being a dragon, but the gods saw for it a different purpose: to be the guardian of Silver Arrow, an ancient sword that once belonged to Tu Lam.”
Oh, Koichi, if only you were here, Jade thought with a pang. She had known the wonder of living in a story when they had followed Lihua’s trail of a thousand lanterns, and wished Koichi could know it too by looking upon the sword of the warrior he revered.
“The bottomless pool exists, and it is something only we know,” the Crimson Queen said, astonished. “But Tu Lam is a mythical hero of fairy tales.”
“Would you tell that to the carp? With a few careless words, would you eradicate the very reason for its existence?” The dragon’s antlers glinted menacingly. “Tu Lam was the greatest warrior among men. The god of Dagovad bestowed Silver Arrow upon him, and the Dragon King himself gave Tu Lam the honor of commanding his heavenly army.”
“The Dragon Guard,” Jade whispered, and the Crimson Queen’s eyes narrowed at her.
“After Tu Lam’s death, Silver Arrow was placed in the Dragon Lords’ shrine because no mortal was deemed worthy of carrying that sword. When the alliance broke, the god of Dagovad cast the sword into the bottomless pool, where the carp swallowed it, and there it remains.” The dragon regarded the Crimson Army. “If Jade retrieves Silver Arrow, will you acknowledge her place as rightful ruler of Feng Lu? Will you promise your army’s allegiance to her service?”