by Julie C. Dao
“Cover your faces! Keep going!” Sparrow screamed.
Tendrils of fumes clawed into Jade’s nostrils and lungs. She coughed, desperately urging her frightened horse on as her chest burned with the poison. The empty tengaru clearing lay just ahead. She kept her eyes on the crystalline pond and placed her hand on her sack of relics, to reassure herself that they were still there. Behind them, people shouted and screamed and horses whinnied as swords clanged and the skirmish began.
Jade charged over the first bridge onto the island of willow trees. It was as peaceful and beautiful as she remembered, completely at odds with the blazing devastation in the woodlands. “I can make it from here,” she told Sparrow breathlessly. “I’ll be safe behind those gates.”
The assassin needed no further encouragement. “The gods be with you,” she said as she and her women raced off to join in the fight.
Fu looked as unnerved as Jade felt by the peace and quiet of the clearing while fire and pain raged in the woodlands outside. She dismounted inside the enclosure while Fu positioned himself at the gates. She had seen the dragon die in her vision, its water-blue body collapsing and golden eyes fading, but nothing could have prepared her for seeing its corpse in person.
The great creature lay wrapped around the trunk of the tree, submerged beneath the pond Jade knew had bled from its veins. Oh, Mother, her heart wept, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand and empty her sack of treasures. Tendrils of incense scraped her insides, digging for gaps in her resolve. Pungent black smoke hung in the air all around the dragon.
It’s here, too, Jade realized, coughing as her lungs struggled against the poison.
Her hands felt slow and awkward, like moving underwater. She laid out the relics shakily: the crane feather cloak, the rose, the fishbone, and the sword of Tu Lam. In this clearing, they glowed with uncanny light. Images of sky and fire flashed in the shining blade of Silver Arrow.
“One last relic,” Jade whispered, her mind cloudy.
The fragrance of the apple tree wound its way through the toxic incense like a single pure note in a harsh mess of music. She rose to her feet with effort. A strange, soporific stupor had taken over her muscles, so that each movement felt increasingly slow and exaggerated. The apple blossoms blurred and bled together like water on ink, but one object stood out perfectly: a single red fruit, like a beating heart in a bed of snow-white flowers.
The treasure of the Dragon King, the god of gods.
Jade did not feel the water soaking into her boots as she stepped into the pond and reached for the apple. It came away easily in her hand, fitting perfectly in her palm. Everything else was hazy, but she saw the most minute details of the fruit: the single delicate leaf on the stem, the sheen of pink and gold through the red skin, the gloss of light on its crisp surface.
Her head spun. Her stomach rumbled desperately.
She could already feel the apple’s tender skin breaking beneath her teeth, taste the sweet pink nectar as it coated her mouth. This tree had waited here for all the ages of the world, guarded by the tengaru and then the dragon. And it had produced one perfect fruit, just for her.
Jade blinked as her surroundings came in and out of focus. The sounds of the battle faded behind her until she heard nothing but her own heartbeat.
Eat, daughter of dragons, the breeze seemed to whisper. Claim what is yours.
She lifted the apple to her lips. The fruit smelled intoxicating, like the first clean, cold breath of spring after a long winter—yet there was an undercurrent of black soil and damp caverns that reminded her of the dark world into which she had fallen in the desert.
“Jade!” a faint voice called, and for a split second, Jade’s eyes cleared.
“I shouldn’t,” she gasped, but when she breathed in once more, she returned to her state of fuzzy confusion. Her hand holding the apple moved closer as though another person stood there, gripping her wrist and forcing it toward her mouth.
The apple touched her lips, the flesh smooth and yielding. She could no longer resist.
She bit into the fruit, and it was as sweet and delicious and fragrant as she had imagined. But there was a strangeness to the taste, an underlying tart bitterness like regret. It coiled around her tongue and slithered down her throat. Her lungs tightened and her chest ached as she fell back on the ground, struggling to breathe, the apple slipping from her hand. The branches of the tree seemed to spin above her as she pressed her hands to her neck, choking desperately for air.
Koichi, she thought, as stars danced before her eyes. Wren.
Someone called her name again. Jade thrashed on the grass, the fingers of one hand clawing for the apple. She had to unite the relics. If she did not, all of their efforts would have been for nothing. The war would be lost. Xifeng would win and delight in torturing each and every person Jade loved . . .
Her vision went black.
Over the roaring in her ears, she heard a terrified cry: “Jade, no!” It sounded like Fu.
His voice was the last thing Jade heard before she died.
Swords clashed. Men and women and horses screamed. Bones and blood and carcasses of black serpents tarnished the pristine grass. As the fires raged and the plumes of incense billowed upward, Koichi leapt off his horse and rolled into the shrubs, shouting to Wren. She crouched beside him, tearing strips off her tunic to wrap around their noses and mouths.
“I lost Jade in all the smoke,” he gasped, his words muffled. “Did she make it?”
“Sparrow would have made sure she did.” Wren watched avidly as the Crimson Queen speared a man from collarbone to navel, her mouth twisted with hatred, and her lieutenants slashed and stabbed at opponents around her in a perfect dance.
Wren had never heard such music. It called to her, made her blood flow faster and her muscles tense for flight. She had only ever dreamed of battle, of using her rage to fight evil and injustice. Everyone had mocked the little girl swinging blunt swords and handling crossbows twice her size. Everyone kept telling her, “You are a woman, and war is not a place for women.”
Yet here she was on a fiery battleground, watching female warriors trade the Imperial soldiers’ strikes with fire and ferocity, blow for blow. The Crimson Army moved so fast, she saw only a whirl of swords and daggers and bodies. It sang to her, the power and the vicious beauty of these women—the strength and the fury with which they reclaimed control of their shattered lives and disposed of their enemies.
She pulled out her weapons, ignoring Koichi’s hushed warning, and rose to her feet with a blade in each hand. She considered where to begin. Perhaps this soldier ten feet away with his back to her, busy attacking one of the female warriors, would be a good place . . .
Wren waited for the perfect timing, then launched herself at him and embedded her dagger into his neck. He collapsed at once, his body folding in upon itself as a thin stream of smoke emerged from his armor. Within seconds, nothing lay there but a dead serpent.
“Well done,” the assassin managed to say, before spinning to clash swords with another Imperial soldier, her long braid swinging behind her.
Wren had no time to study her first kill before another soldier came charging at her. She ducked his blow, but lost her balance and fell to the ground. His arms lifted, ready to bring the blade down, but she executed a move her brother had taught her long ago, sweeping her leg behind his knees forcefully. He collapsed, and she dug her knife straight into his masked face.
Two down.
“Look out!” Koichi shouted.
She spun to see an Imperial soldier racing toward her. Koichi dashed out from the shrub, tripping him. The man executed a neat flip on the ground, rising to his feet, but it was enough time for Wren to stab him through the chest with both weapons.
“Thanks for the warning,” she told Koichi breathlessly.
“Let’s see if we can get to the cle
aring and Jade.”
Reluctantly, Wren left the battle and followed him. The air was cleaner away from the fighting, where incense hung over the battleground like fog. They scurried along the perimeter as a familiar voice cut through their concentration.
“Well, well, how the lowly have risen. From princess’s handmaiden to warrior.”
Kang stood apart from the fighting, wearing full black metal armor. Behind him sat a rosewood palanquin covered in red silk, protected by four masked soldiers. Unlike his men, Kang’s head was uncovered, and as he gave them a monstrous sneer, Wren could not look away.
He had ridden past them once on their journey, but aside from that, she had only ever seen him at court with a condescending look on his fleshy face. Now, he had been transformed: his eyes had grown larger and the whites had disappeared, leaving only black pupils; his stark-white skin was lined with red veins; and his mouth opened to reveal sharp teeth and a long red tongue.
“You!” Wren shrieked. She lunged forward with her blades, prepared to end the life of the monster that had killed her grandmother, but Koichi gripped her waist with all of his strength.
Kang’s sardonic gaze moved to Koichi. “Shiro forgot to mention that his son was a traitor to the crown when we visited him. I’ll have to call on him again.”
“With any luck, you’ll be dead before you disturb my father again,” Koichi spat.
“So brave for such a little man,” the eunuch said mockingly.
“That’s rich,” Wren sneered, pointing her blades at him, “coming from someone who styles himself the Empress’s huntsman but doesn’t even ride a horse into battle. I hope they put plenty of satin pillows in that palanquin for you.”
“I’ll teach you the meaning of respect yet.” Quick as a flame, Kang whipped out his sword and held the tip to Wren’s neck. The blade caught on her skin and a red-hot line of pain formed across her throat, but she met his gaze without wincing.
“Go on,” she taunted him. “Kill me, monster. We’ll see how far that gets you when . . .”
“When the Dragon Guard arrives?” the eunuch finished, clucking his tongue at their reactions. “You truly believed Her Imperial Majesty didn’t know what you were up to? You prayed we weren’t monitoring your every step as you collected the relics?”
Wren bit her tongue, her pulse pounding right below the cool tip of Kang’s sword.
“The Empress is more merciful than I am. If it were up to me, I would have killed you at once, but she advised patience. So we waited for your pathetic little ragtag band to gather the treasures, building and building up hope . . . for absolutely nothing.”
Wren gave a harsh laugh. “The relics have been found. The Dragon Guard is coming.”
The eunuch made a show of looking all around them. “I don’t see any heavenly warriors here, do you? Perhaps it’s because the princess has fallen into the last trap set for her. The apple, of course.” He leered as the color drained from Koichi’s face. “The poison made it irresistible to her, and quite deadly too.”
Koichi and Wren stared at each other, the same realization striking them both. Jade’s vision had shown the dragon dying of a poisoned wound and bleeding out a pool that had watered the tree’s roots. If the pool contained the deadly substance, it would have soaked into the trunk, the branches, and then the apple . . .
Without another word, Koichi turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Kang’s soldiers made as though to pursue him, but the eunuch shook his head. “Let him see that the princess died before she could truly reunite the treasures. The Empress’s throne is secure.”
“I don’t believe you.” Wren’s gut twisted with terror for the girl she had come to love like a sister. Perhaps Jade hadn’t eaten enough of the apple, perhaps Koichi could save her . . .
Kang seemed to sense her thoughts. “The Dragon King’s line has ended. No one but the heirs of his blood can enter and retrieve those treasures, so I’m afraid your precious Dragon Guard can never now be summoned.” He dug his sword deeper into her throat, and Wren hissed in pain. Suddenly, the sword was slapped away by another blade.
Ming positioned himself in front of Wren. “Step away, eunuch.”
Kang’s eyes widened in shock. “You!”
“Yes,” the former soldier snarled, “me.”
“I never thought you’d show yourself here again.” Kang opened his mouth to continue, but he fell silent when the palanquin’s red silk curtains parted and a woman stepped out.
“I always believed he would, Kang,” said Empress Xifeng. Her deep forest-colored robes swirled around her legs as she approached Ming. He pivoted to face her, his muscles tense and his sword clenched in his hand. His blade was close enough to take off her head with one swing.
“Kill her!” Wren screamed. “Kill her, Ming!”
Kang and his soldiers moved forward at once, weapons raised, but Xifeng held up a hand to stop them. “He won’t hurt me,” she said in a calm voice, looking up at Ming. “He would never hurt me. Isn’t that true, my dear one?”
Wren watched in horror as Ming sheathed his sword, bowed his head, and collapsed to his knees before the Empress. He leaned his face into her hand and closed his eyes.
“Wei,” Xifeng said, her voice very low. “The boy who loved me, and the man I will always love.”
“Traitor!” Wren bellowed at his back. “You led us to her! You’ve been working for her all along!” She hurtled toward him, blades at the ready, but Kang seized her upper arm. The touch of her grandmother’s murderer was like fire on her skin. Wren twisted in his grip and stabbed her dagger mercilessly deep into the eunuch’s bicep. When he let go, roaring with fury, she dug her two blades into either side of his left knee, stabbing sure and strong. He plummeted to the ground, screaming a curse as she pulled back, ready to stab the knife and dagger through his other leg. But he grabbed her foot before she had a chance, and yanked her onto the ground.
Wren fell hard onto her stomach and rolled over, kicking Kang in the mouth with her free leg, her blades slashing wildly as he tried to grab her. One of his hands slipped on the sharp edge of her dagger as he seized it, spurting his thick noxious blood on the ground, but it was enough to pull the weapon from her hand.
It was no matter. She used her free fist to haul back and punch him in the nose with all her strength, feeling some of the bones in her hand crack as she did so. Kang grabbed her by the elbow and wrenched, and Wren was flung onto her side like a rag doll. She dug the knife she still held into his uninjured leg, straight into the meaty part of the calf, but the eunuch was too strong for her. He wrenched that blade away as well and tossed it aside.
Now, free of weapons, Wren attacked him with her fists, legs, and adrenaline only, hatred and vengeance coursing through her veins. He hauled back and slapped her hard across the face, then seized her by the hair and bared her throat beneath his cruel blade.
“Ming!” Wren pleaded, but the soldier and the Empress were walking away together.
“There’s no one to help you now, you little witch.” Kang lifted the sword, preparing to decapitate her, but the next moment, an arrow the length of Wren’s arm pierced his neck. A tremor shook his thick body as he fell backward, and Wren crawled away as a second and a third arrow flew at the eunuch, embedding themselves in his chest and stomach.
Two women garbed in black, lips shining crimson beneath their masks, emerged from the trees and fired their crossbows at Kang. Lying on the ground with arrows piercing his body, the eunuch laughed and laughed, a wild, high-pitched sound that sent chills down Wren’s spine.
“No!” Wren shouted as one of the assassins prepared to take the final shot. Kang, his mouth still stretched in a gruesome smile, turned to her. “I want to do the honors.”
The warriors lowered their crossbows as Wren picked up the eunuch’s sword and brandished it. “Is this what you used to kill my grandm
other, monster?”
And despite all of the arrows in his body, Kang lifted his shoulders from the ground to bring his face close to hers. “I used it to slice up her heart for the Empress, too,” he whispered.
No sooner had he finished the sentence than Wren swung the sword with both hands like an ax. The eunuch’s head rolled across the forest floor and bumped against a tree, his lips still spread in silent mirth. The blood gushed from his neck onto the ground, steaming black, and Wren gave his body a savage kick, then another and another. It took a moment to realize that the violent sobs ringing in the air had come from her own chest.
“He’s dead. Let go now,” said one of the warriors who had helped her. Wren saw that it was the assassin with the long braided hair. She took the eunuch’s sword from Wren and flung it over to his head. “That was for saving my life earlier. You’re not half bad with a blade.”
“Thank you,” Wren managed to say, exchanging a nod with the woman, who ran off to join the battle again with her companion.
She allowed herself one brief moment of grief, leaning against a tree, before gathering her blades and sprinting toward the tengaru clearing. When she plunged into the field, she saw two people strolling hand in hand across the grass. She stared in disbelief at Ming and the Empress, talking quietly as though the Imperial soldiers and the Crimson Army weren’t felling each other in a mess of blood and fire a hundred feet away from them.
“Ming!” Wren shrieked, furious, but he did not even look in her direction.
I’ll deal with him later, she thought, clenching her jaw as she dashed onto the first bridge and across the island. Koichi was bent double by the silver gates, clutching his stomach as though in great pain. She seized his shoulders. “Where are you hurt? What happened?”