War of the Wilted

by Amber Mitchell

  The earnestness coloring his words catches me off guard. How can he continually find new ways to break my heart? Even though he hasn’t so much as looked my way today, he’s still been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about him. He still cares. At least that’s something.

  My fingers slip from his sleeve and I can’t meet his eye.

  His hand flexes on the door handle. “You can go up to the roof if you like.”

  “No.” My answer rides on the end of his statement. “I want to stay.”

  Even if I’m not a good match for him, it’s better to stay together. Being up on the roof would be an endless cycle of worry in case something went wrong. But if I remain by his side, I can help protect him.

  Instead of answering, he yanks open the inn door, heat brushing harshly against my sunburned skin. Roasted meat cooking juicy over a spit, stale liquor, and sweat all compete for prominence as the hot air blows my hair back and a roaring fireplace casts everyone’s shadow long and slanted on the farthest wall.

  Large blue paper lanterns hang from the ceiling, adding the only splash of color in the room besides a few potted plants. Women in faded robes, tied far looser on the top than is generally accepted, mill around with trays brimming with rice wine or tea sets and steaming hot mounds of mixed rice, panfried vegetables, and fish to the crowd that sits on worn pillows on the floor. A young woman, her shiny black hair twisted in a bun, leans over to place a tea set on a table.

  Scanning the room, I find Marin sitting cross legged on a pillow next to Arlo at a table in the corner. She’s speaking about something passionately, nearly knocking over a small, chipped blue-and-white cup in front of her. Arlo’s hand snaps out to catch it before it can fall over, and he slides it away from his sister as she continues to talk without even seeming to notice.

  “See anything?” Rayce asks.

  Just hearing his voice is a treat after so many days without it.

  “Only Marin and Arlo,” I whisper back.

  Through the haze of pipe smoke, an older woman stops by their table, offering Arlo a tattered cloth to wipe up a small puddle of tea that sloshed out from Marin’s cup. As she straightens up, a gleam of something silver catches my eye. Pinned to the breast of her dark blue robe sits a silver lotus pin, its curled petals colored pink against the metal outline.

  My hand hasn’t remembered that Rayce and I aren’t on good terms as I catch him by the coarse material of his sleeve.

  “Over there, talking to Arlo.” I nod in Marin’s direction. “On that server’s robe. But…the Gardener’s contact is a woman?”

  If I hadn’t been here to see it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. Every single person the Gardener surrounded himself with was a man. He’d barely trusted us girls to go on the stage unsupervised, and from the way he treated us, that was probably wise, but I never expected the person he’d send us to would be a woman. I study her thin frame and the creasing lines around her mouth, trying to figure out if I’d ever run across her in my years in the Garden. But she was certainly no Wilted I’d ever seen. So who is this woman that the Gardener would trust?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marin must sense my gaze because she turns our way and motions to the woman, mouthing “this is her” while Arlo continues to distract her, pointing to the brooch pinned up high on the left side of her robe. It gleams in the low lighting as if trying to confirm Marin’s statement.

  Rayce shakes off my grip. “Come on.”

  Following behind him as he winds his way through the tightly packed room is its own sort of performance, a twisting and lilting series of steps for me, but just like in the rebellion, people part as he walks past them. We make it to the back and I sit on the pillow next to Marin, staring up at the server.

  Wrinkles crowd around her sharp eyes and frame her mouth. Her silver-laced hair sits twisted in a loose bun, accenting her high forehead, and her long navy robe rests loose on her thin body. Something about her wide nose feels familiar, but I can’t place it. She greets us with a warm smile that touches her eyes.

  She bows her head twice in greeting. “Welcome to the Blue Heron. My name is Ya Liu. Are you joining this table?”

  Though the wrinkles on her hands and pronounced knuckles suggest many years of service, there’s elegance behind her movement like the bird this inn is named after.

  “My name is Rayce Sun.” Her eyes widen, clearly recognizing his name from the wanted posters, but he merely nods, not breaking eye contact as he introduces each of us. Though he motions toward me, he doesn’t turn to look at me. Ya does, though. “We find ourselves in this particular inn because the Gardener sent us.”

  The woman’s brow furrows and she sets down her tray on the table in front of us. “Jin Liu sent you? He’s working for the rebellion now?”

  I blink back my surprise. The Gardener has a name? I knew he did, had even wondered what it was, but hearing it so causually spoken rattles me. It’s similar to finding out that the monsters under the bed only exist in your head.

  Rayce and I turn to stare at each other, and I mouth “Jin Liu” back to him. He shrugs, clearly not as interested in that detail as I am.

  Rayce clears his throat. “If he’s the one that used to travel with a band of women called the Garden, then, yes.”

  That’s one grossly inaccurate way to describe the horror show the Gardener ran. I’d be more inclined to say it as the moving prison that held women hostage and ended the lives of any the Gardener didn’t feel worthy enough to make him gold.

  She nods enthusiastically. “That sounds like my Jin Liu. He’s such a good boy, my son.”

  “You’re that monster’s mother?” I study her with renewed interest.

  “Monster?” She drops a teacup in front of me a little harder than necessary. “No, you must have the wrong person. My son is a hero.”

  Did she just say hero? Clearly the woman has gone mad. A hero doesn’t murder the innocent, doesn’t throw young girls in cages to waste away, or force them to take their clothes off in front of an audience.

  Rayce interjects before I can respond. “Please, why don’t we all have a seat? Your son sends a message: fortune clings to the hand that wields flowers.”

  The woman turns her narrowed eyes from me to Rayce, and she sits down, tucking her tray underneath the table.

  “So he needs help, then,” she says, accepting the cup of tea Marin offers her. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Marin gives her an encouraging smile that she usually reserves for me. “That’s all we can ask for.”

  Are they really all going to ignore what she said about the Gardener? Perhaps if I wait until Rayce gets his information, he’ll be less inclined to interrupt me while I tell her the truth. All of the gory details. Let her call him a hero after that. Putting both of my hands in my lap, I glare into the white inside of the empty teacup before me.

  Arlo scoots closer, his voice lowering. “We came here to request that you arrange a meeting between us and the men still loyal to your son.”

  Marin pours a cup of tea for me, the steam bringing with it the floral and slightly nutty scent of the green tea.

  Ya considers his words, taking another long sip of her tea. She holds her cup delicately between her hands, her fingers pressed close together and completely straight. The lotus pin gleams in the dull, warm lighting, in sharp contrast to her unadorned cotton robe. It looks far too rich for a place like this, a peacock amongst a pack of hens. It’s probably worth more than half of the clientele here.

  “I can get in contact with these men for you. I have a name and an easy way to locate him, but it will take a day to complete this task.”

  “Do you know about how many men we can expect to meet with?” Rayce asks.

  She sets her empty cup down in front of her. “The last time I checked, there were five dozen or so, but it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a shipment of gold from Jin. Without payment, the risk of treason isn’t worth it, so their numbers may
have decreased.”

  “As many men as you can summon would be immensely helpful,” Rayce says.

  “Then I shall do what I can, for my Jin,” she says. “They’ll meet with you tomorrow when the sun is at the highest point in the sky, away from this town. I don’t need any problems here. We’re too close to the wall. There is a valley a few hours north from here before you hit the flatlands. I’ll arrange for them to meet you there. If you’ll excuse me, it seems I have some work to do.”

  Ya reaches under the table for her tray. No, she can’t leave yet. I can’t even count how many times Fern and I would whisper in the dark, trying to come up with where the Gardener was from. Her favorite one was that he was born from an evil wish in one man’s mind and he was so unbearable to be around that his mother abandoned him.

  She would have never believed me if I told her that the Gardener’s real name was Jin Liu and he grew up in a poor ricing village in the shadows of Imperial City.

  No wonder he used his stupid, made-up accent all the time. If people found out who he really was, they wouldn’t even spare him a second glance.

  “Your son will be very pleased to hear this news, I’m sure,” Rayce says.

  “Is Jin faring well? I haven’t received a letter from him in a few months now.” She pauses for a second, thinking. “Almost five.”

  Rayce clears his throat, his gaze falling on me for a second. “I can assure you, he’s being well taken care of and a great asset to our cause.”

  A genuine smile spreads across her face, deepening the wrinkle lines. “That’s good to hear. He’s grown into such an important man.”

  Ya leans over, reaching to grab my cup, and I lock my hand around it. “Wait. Can you tell me why you called your son a hero?”

  Having stretched to grab my drink, her face is only a few inches from mine. Her deep brown eyes flash defiant, clearly turning defensive at my question. Maybe she knows more about her son’s previous occupation than she let on.

  “Because he is a hero. My son saved my life and the lives of all of the people living here.”

  Being with the Gardener for almost a decade, I’ve never seen him go out of his way to help a single person unless it benefitted him in some twisted way. He’d probably sell his own mother if the price was right. Though judging by how gullible she is, she wouldn’t even realize she was being sold. I match her gaze with steel behind my own.

  “I’d love to hear that story,” Marin says. Her words slice through the tension. “I’m sure we all would.”

  She turns to Marin, grabbing a rag tucked inside the sleeve of her robe and begins to scrub down the table.

  “This land used to be owned by one of the elite officers within the city walls. All of our crops and any gold we might have made from it went directly to him.” Her eyes meet mine, and her next words are slow and deliberate. “My son bought out our debt and freed us to make our own living. Now we have enough food to eat, and we can make our own fortunes. Every man, woman, and child here owes him their thanks.”

  The ceramic cup cracks in my hands, splintering into several pieces that fall onto the table. Sharp pain shoots up my body as blood drips from where a shard sliced into my palm.

  “You realize he was only able to do that because he enslaved an entire group of girls and forced us to dance for that gold. If we didn’t he would beat it out of other girls’ backs. You’re son isn’t a hero, he’s a monster.”

  Ya’s face twists, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion, but anger bubbles behind her eyes. Her mouth sets in a hard line, accentuating the wrinkles there.

  “Clearly, there’s been some mistake here,” she snaps. “My son sent you here because you are his allies. Perhaps I should contact him myself instead.”

  “No,” Rayce says quickly. “There’s been no mistake. We’re here because Jin sent us. I’m sorry for my friend. She’s upset, but please understand that while your son did right by you, it was because he did horrible things to others.” He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a few tiny coins with the emperor’s symbol stamped into the gold and leaves them on the table. “Thank you so much for your help.”

  Marin shoots up from the pillow, grabbing my bleeding hand with a napkin. “We appreciate you taking the time to talk with us, Ya.”

  With both of their strength combined, they manage to pull me up from the table. Her words set every inch of my body trembling, and the need to punch something rolls in my stomach. This town might have been saved by the Gardener, but they’re only free off the sweat from our backs, off every cut and welt on the Wilted’s bodies, off the trembling feet of each Flower. How many innocent girls had to die so these people could sit around and praise a monster?

  My mind still hasn’t accepted what the Gardener’s mother said even after they drag me out the little wooden door into the fresh air. After being among the heat for so long, the cool night air kisses my cheeks, trying to tempt my anger out of me.

  “Rose? Hello?” Marin snaps her fingers in my line of sight. “I asked if your hand hurts. Will you let us look at it?”

  Some part of me feels the warmth of my own blood still running down my arm into the sleeve of my simple brown robe, but the only thought that will come is that Rayce stopped me.

  “Why didn’t you let me continue?” I ask. “She should understand exactly what kind of person her son really is.”

  The sun descends back into the ground, burning the sky pink and purple and casting an even longer shadow over the town like a giant hand wrapping around a neck. It makes everything feel so much darker. Hopeless. Strangled. Even the chill in the air grows uncomfortable, slipping through the scratchy cotton of my clothes. In profile, it’s easy to watch Rayce’s jaw clench.

  “Because, if you make her angry, you could risk our entire mission.” His gaze flicks to mine, revealing the rage simmering behind his carefully measured words. “Even now, I’m not sure it was enough, and we cannot afford for her not to follow through with our request.”

  A nervous chuckle bubbles up from Marin. “Rayce, you don’t happen to have a first aid kit on you, do you?”

  He ignores her, boring into my eyes as if he can see past them into my mind. The ghost of the night we spent together before we left surfaces, releasing a floodgate: his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my neck, the sound of his laughter rolling through his chest, his arms wrapping me in the safety of his heat. How much more time will he take before all of those things become foreign to me? Every day, they slip further away.

  “She called him a hero. The man that tormented me for years, the man that killed Fern.”

  “To her, he is a hero,” Rayce says, weariness coloring his voice. “People call me a traitor; they say all I want is to sit on the throne. Unruly, childish, misguided. They say the people I lead are a group of thugs, no better than the lackeys that used to travel with the Garden. Or they whisper that Oren was a silver-tongued devil who tricked me into waging war on my uncle. But the point is it doesn’t matter what people think. As long as you know the truth, it will come out.”

  It’s a pretty concept. One that I don’t buy. Not after everything I’ve seen. The Gardener is evil even if he has done one good thing in his life. That doesn’t change the last seven years I’ve been forced to live in fear.

  “So I’m just supposed to sit back and let her believe that he’s a good person?”

  He’s quiet for a long moment. “You’re supposed to believe in the cause you promised your life to. And yet, you chose to ignore your oath and risk our mission.” He might as well have slapped me. His words hurt worse than the raw, angry slice in my palm. He heads for where our horses are tied up, his long legs taking easy strides that pull him farther away from me. He stops a few feet away, his hands clutching his pant legs uselessly. “Marin, make sure to get that cut gets cleaned up, please.”

  “Are we really going to trust the Gardener’s mother?” I ask him. For a second, I think he might not have heard me, but then he sighs
and turns around.

  “On second thought, I’ll wrap her hand,” he says to Marin. “Could you get the horses ready?”

  Marin looks from my bleeding palm to him and nods. “Of course, shogun.”

  As she rushes off, he takes her place, holding my bleeding palm. He doesn’t answer my question, pulling a first aid kit from his belt and grabbing his water pouch. The cool water hits my palm and I suck in air, the stinging nearly forcing me to pull my hand away from him.

  “Are you going to trust her?” I ask again.

  He focuses on unrolling the white gauze from his pack. His voice manages to be soft and absolute at the same time. “I think we can. She might not have liked what you said, but she seemed to want to help. We’re going to go through with it.”

  “And if it’s a trap?”

  He doesn’t answer, but his hands say everything he can’t. Even now, even when he’s this frustrated, he still wants to help. He wraps the gauze around my wound, his large fingers softer than the kiss of sunlight after being underground for a few weeks.

  He freezes after he finishes, his jaw rippling like it’s working to keep what he wants to say inside. I pull my hand back, pressing it against my chest.

  “Thank you, Rayce,” I say.

  He hesitates, an ocean of different emotions flooding his face, but they all flicker and fade before I can figure out what each one is.

  “Make sure to change the bandage tomorrow morning,” he says.

  Before I can agree, he walks away, leaving me alone with a flurry of questions and no way to get any answers. But the fact that he stayed to bandage my hand is a glimmer of hope for us. The lingering warmth of his hand gently clasping mine fills me with faith that we can pull through this. I cling to it like I used to latch onto Fern’s voice in the darkness.