by Julie C. Dao
“How long have you been traveling?” Wei asked.
“A month. We came along the western edge of the Dragon Scales. They’re glorious mountains indeed, and rightfully named,” Shiro said. “I could easily imagine myself walking alongside a Dragon Lord of old. Our island home has no such natural wonders.”
“Except for the jade deposits,” Hideki said bitterly. “If I didn’t trust in your integrity with all my being, Ambassador, I would not accompany you to have this treaty signed.”
“But friendship with Emperor Jun would benefit us,” Ken said, his childish face hopeful.
“Emperor Jun.” Hideki snorted. “He only married into that throne. He’s just a distant cousin of the Empress, not even a pure-blooded royal like her or her first husband.”
Shiro cleared his throat, lifting an eyebrow in warning as he glanced at Wei and Xifeng. “We should be happy the war between our lands has ended.”
“But for how long?” Hideki asked. “This peace is but a breath withheld. Soon enough, the games will begin again.”
Isao of the elegant mustache grunted. “I’m sick to death of lords and kings and emperors. What do they do but play games and let their people pay the price in blood? We have no quarrel with each other,” he added, gesturing between himself and Wei. “Only kings are arrogant enough to believe the world too small to hold other men.”
Wei leaned forward, drinking in their words. “But it must be an honor to fight for king and country. The Emperor’s men came two years ago to find recruits. I would have lied about my age to enlist, but my parents . . .” He trailed off. Xifeng remembered how, at seventeen, he had burned to join the war between Kamatsu and the Great Forest, when two Kamatsu nobles had gone against their king’s word, mustering an army against the Emperor in a violent bid for their kingdom’s independence from the empire.
“Enough. The treaty of friendship will be signed, and we must be content.” Shiro turned his handsome face to Xifeng. “Have you and your companion traveled far, miss?”
“Our town is a few hours’ ride from here.” She noticed he did not refer to Wei as her husband. The soldiers all turned to her as she spoke, and she sensed the monks listening as well. “We’re on our way to the Imperial City.”
Ken’s face brightened. “We’ll be traveling companions.”
“You’re going by way of the trading post as well?” Wei asked, moving even closer to Xifeng. “My horse can’t swim the river, as yours likely can, and that is the quicker path.” He looked at the fine black stallions grazing nearby. Even in the dark, they gleamed like living coals, their haunches exuding strength and vitality.
“They were bred in the fields and mountains of Dagovad, so we must take the long road as well,” Shiro said.
Wei’s eyes widened. “Those are Dagovadian horses?” He got up to stroke one of them, his hands running over the mane as though he touched the purest silk. The horse blinked its large, liquid eyes at Xifeng with an almost human expression.
While Hideki spoke to Wei about the horses and Shiro and Isao talked quietly, Ken took the opportunity to sit by Xifeng.
“I heard much about the Great Forest growing up, but I find myself intimidated by how vast it truly is,” he told her. “My grandmother told me stories of people getting lost in the woods. She said the trunks would move and confuse them, and they would perish from hunger.”
His eyes twinkled, but Xifeng couldn’t help shivering. Even here, on the woodland’s outer edge, she sensed an unsleeping vigilance, as though the trees watched them. “I’ve read a poem about light in the forest tricking the eyes,” she said. “It might make a man suppose a stream faces him when in truth, a rushing flood lies in wait instead.”
“And there are the tengaru, the demon guardians of the forest, who take the form of a horned horse with burning eyes.”
They looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“I’ve heard tales of your land, too,” Xifeng said. “Of how the sea has a temperamental nature: gentle one moment, violent the next.”
Ken winked. “It’s said that our king has the power to control the ocean. He ordains storms on purpose so that when ships arrive, Kamatsu is the loveliest sight the weary, weather-beaten passengers have ever seen. I’d love to show it to you.” He reddened when he realized the implication of his words. “How long have you been married?”
“If you asked Wei, he would say eight years.”
“But you can’t be much older than eighteen,” he said, astonished.
Xifeng laughed. “He asked me to marry him when I was ten.”
She remembered how she had kissed Wei that day—their first kiss, and her only answer to his proposal. It had remained her only answer for years, each time he alluded to marriage. Wei as a man still wanted what Wei as a child had wished for, but Xifeng’s heart stayed silent.
Wei turned in their direction, arms crossed, so Ken moved away to sit beside Shiro.
Xifeng closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire on her face. Guma would have lit the candles at home by now, circles of light pushing back the dark. And despite all Guma had done to her, she couldn’t help praying that her aunt would forgive her. She thought she could hear her whispering, if she listened hard enough.
You’ll never be free of me.
Her eyes flew open.
One of the monks had turned to face her, but in the shadows she couldn’t make out his face—only two eyes. They shone as they caught the fire, beady and lidless, like black jewels.
She gasped, startling a drowsy Wei beside her, and realized then that she had been asleep, possibly for hours. The monks lay motionless on the ground, and the soldiers lay wrapped in rugs and cloaks. She saw Shiro’s diminutive form, a dark lump beside the dying fire. “I was dreaming,” she said. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“For a good long while.” Wei pulled her close to him. “Close your eyes again now.”
Safe within the nest of his arms, Xifeng slept again.
And if she saw more unblinking eyes and smoking incense in the dreams that followed, they had vanished with the moon by the time she opened her eyes again.
Xifeng woke before the sun. Wei and the soldiers still lay motionless, and the monks had left sometime in the night. She crept over to Wei’s slumbering horse for a spare tunic to ward off the chill. Something caught her eye: one of the soldiers’ shields, propped up against bags on the ground. The sky had lightened enough that she could see her own image in the polished surface.
She looked tired and dirty, and her hair was a mess. She knelt, distracted, and gasped when she saw her cheek. A huge red welt had blossomed overnight where Guma’s cane had bit into her skin, and a bruise bled from its edges. It was as unnatural as a third eye, staring balefully out from her flawless flesh, and the harmony of her whole face suffered from it.
Xifeng touched the injury with a shaky hand, heart drumming a frantic rhythm. Would it scar as Guma hoped? Last evening, she’d had the advantage of nightfall to soften the blemish, but soon it would be broad daylight and there would be no hiding it.
She scrubbed frantically at the welt, willing it to disappear, but it only grew redder and began to bleed. Panic rose as she stanched the weeping wound, cursing Guma. Her aunt’s punishments had always been merciless, but she had made a point never to tarnish Xifeng’s face.
“Gods,” she whispered. There was only one way she could hope to remove this disfigurement, and quickly. She dug into their bags for Wei’s dagger, the one he used to hunt small game, and it clanked gently against his sword. She glanced in horror at the sleeping men, but none of them woke, so she hurried off into the forest.
She made certain to leave their range of hearing before beginning her work. Gathering thin, strong twigs, she whittled and assembled them into a simple trap held together by strips of cloth from her tunic. She covered the snare with
dead leaves, as Guma had taught her, and found a hiding place. This was the hardest part, the part beyond her control: waiting for prey.
The sun began to rise and beads of sweat formed on Xifeng’s upper lip, but she resisted the urge to wipe them away. After what seemed like hours, a cracking noise came. She stilled even more, hearing another sound: pattering feet on a branch above her head. It took all of her strength not to look up. She hadn’t gone far from the clearing, but she was hidden well enough that if something tried to hurt her, it might be too late by the time the men heard her screams.
She listened hard, but the sound did not come again. Instead, she heard the shuffling of leaves as two fat gray rabbits appeared. She watched them hop forward, closer to the hidden trap. Move forward, she urged them. Just a bit more.
The trap snapped shut, caging both rabbits inside, and shook as they pressed against the wooden bars. Xifeng approached with the dagger, dread twisting her gut. There was a part of her she had to fight, even now, not to think about how bright their eyes were or how soft their fur. She tamped down her weakness, so that all she felt was hunger for their meat.
Quickly, before she could lose her resolve, she stabbed them.
The rabbits lay motionless as she pulled them out of the trap, and a memory resurfaced in her mind as she held their lifeless bodies.
She had been twelve, sobbing and clutching a tree squirrel caught in her trap. The poor thing had struggled in her hands, its heart hammering against her fingers.
“Please, Guma,” she had begged, “please don’t make me kill it.”
“You’re a fool,” Guma had snarled. “Remember what happened last time you let one go.”
Xifeng’s back had stung at the words, recalling how her aunt had whipped her until she fainted. She hadn’t known until that day that scars had a memory.
“Break its neck, or I will break your finger.”
Guma never said anything she didn’t mean. And so, heart aching, Xifeng had snapped the squirrel’s neck as quickly as she could. It had taken a few tries before the animal at last lay limp in her trembling fingers. A life gone from the earth, because of her.
That was the first time she had felt the thing inside her ribs . . . the coiling of the creature born from that first kill.
Guma had praised her and handed her a knife. “The heart of an animal, no matter how small, bears the essence of its soul,” she had said reverently. “To imbibe the lifeblood of another is to guarantee that your essence strengthens. The magic within you grows stronger, more powerful, and you heal inside and out. This power and this knowledge is ours, and ours alone. Our blood completes the spell. It is something that was taught to me long ago, and now I teach it to you.”
Xifeng had cried as she obeyed, though the squirrel suffered no more. Its little heart had tasted like iron and rotted meat, slipping down her throat like a hot worm. She had gagged miserably, though her horror had faded when Guma placed a hand on her now-smooth, unscarred back. The squirrel’s lifeblood had healed her wounds—every last one of them.
Xifeng stared at the dead rabbits, thinking of that day.
She had killed three times since then, but only on command, for spells and tonics Guma required. Her aunt had forbidden her from doing so to heal herself. The injuries inflicted upon her were meant to serve as a reminder of obedience—but now she was free of Guma, and she might do as she wished.
The stirring within grew more pronounced and she closed her eyes in prayer. Forgive me, great lords, she begged. Forgive me for the lives I have taken. But there was no answer, and no forgiveness . . . only a rising dread that beaded her skin with slick perspiration.
In the silence, the hunger began—deep and primal and fierce, stronger than anger, more potent than lust. The creature preened, its poison caress sending tingles of need into every fiber of her body. She was helpless in the face of its desire, for its craving was hers as well. Satisfying that hunger would cleanse her and restore the perfection of her face as it should be on a journey to her destiny.
Xifeng stabbed into the rabbits, snapping their bones to find their tiny hearts. She slipped both hearts, still beating weakly with the last vestiges of life, between her lips and chewed. The blood scalded her throat as it slid down deep inside her, and she felt a roar of satisfaction echoing from within. A feeling of sated, lazy pleasure filled her being.
She ran her fingers over her face, now as perfect as it had ever been. Her cheek felt raw and clean, like she had simply scrubbed the wound out. If she were to see her reflection again, this time it might be glowing with well-being, inside and out. The knowledge of this power—and of being able to harness it for herself, whenever she wished—was as heady and addicting as wine.
“Miss?”
Xifeng jumped, dropping the carcasses in her surprise.
Shiro stood nearby. He stared at her not with desire or admiration, as other men did, but with the dawning horror she’d felt the first time Guma had forced her to eat the squirrel’s heart.
Such a look might have made her quake moments ago. But now she felt strong, flawless. “I trapped these for our morning meal,” she said smoothly, with perfect calm. “I wanted to repay you for sharing your boar with us last night.”
His eyes remained on her. Xifeng realized she must have blood on her mouth still, and on her cheek where she had touched it. But he said nothing as she wiped her face, as nonchalantly as she would wipe away crumbs after a meal. “May I carry them back for you?” he asked courteously. Whether he had noticed the mutilated rabbits or not, he took them without comment and did not inspect them, as Wei would have done. Wei would not have had his tact.
Xifeng wiped the dagger on her tunic and sheathed it quietly.
“Rabbits are a delicacy, where I come from,” Shiro said, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “We don’t have many of them on our island.”
“But the seafood must be delicious,” she replied in the same calm tone, clearing her blood-coated throat. “My Guma and I could never afford very good fish or prawns.”
“I grew up in a region famous for its pearl oysters. Divers retrieve them from the depths for hours on end, resurfacing only a few times for air. They are always women. So I’m no stranger to having a lady hunt and provide for me,” he added, smiling. His eyes on her now held nothing but friendly admiration. Perhaps he hadn’t seen anything odd after all.
The tension eased as they made their way back. “I’ve read stories about the pearls of Kamatsu,” Xifeng said. “Does the queen truly have hundreds of them sewn into her clothing?”
“She does. And the princess used to weave them into her hair.”
“Used to? She does so no longer?”
“She’s dead,” he said shortly, and Xifeng made no further comment.
Back at the encampment, the men had all risen. Hideki was building a fire, all the while cursing and brushing ashes from his beard. Wei and Isao were feeding the horses, and Ken was packing his belongings. Their eyes moved to Xifeng immediately, moths to a flame, faces brightening at the sight of her. Wei frowned at the bloody rabbits in Shiro’s hand.
“The young lady has kindly provided our morning meal,” Shiro announced, and the men’s admiration changed to astonishment.
“Why so shocked? Don’t I look like someone who can hunt?” Xifeng asked, both amused and irritated. But she could see it in their eyes: clearly they thought her beauty, or the fact that she traveled with hulking, protective Wei, meant she couldn’t do anything for herself. They thanked her politely and returned to their tasks, but as she predicted, Wei wasn’t happy.
“You killed those?” he asked in a low voice, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You know I don’t like it when you kill. Let me do it, or one of the other men.”
“When it’s so easy? Let me contribute. I’m not useless.”
“You used to cry every t
ime Guma made you kill. It upsets you, even when done for food. Doesn’t it?” He scanned her face, eyes lingering on her unblemished cheek. His fingers hovered over her skin. “The wound is gone,” he said, his tone too close to suspicion for her liking. “How . . . ?”
Xifeng braced her hands on her hips. “I healed it with plants I found in the forest. And killing two small rabbits is certainly nothing to be upset about.” Wei glanced behind her at the other men, who were surely listening. “You’re determined to think me weak and fragile. I don’t need your permission to help if I want to. You’re not my husband.” She felt a pang of regret as soon as she had said it.
Wei turned away, his voice so quiet she had to lean in to hear. “You used to feel pain whenever you took a life. She’s stripped you of that as well?”
Xifeng came close and rested her head against him. “I’m still the same person,” she whispered. But he moved away without another word.
The rabbits tasted delicious, seasoned with herbs and salt Hideki had brought from Kamatsu. Wei ate in silence, not joining in the conversation, and it hurt Xifeng to see him sad. She crept close to his side, hating herself for the unkind words she had chosen. He loved her so much and believed in her goodness. Every flaw, every mistake she made, was Guma’s in his eyes. So she wrapped an arm around him and tried to understand. He shifted beside her, and gruffly handed her the best piece of rabbit meat.
Meanwhile, Ken was raving about the Dragon Scales, his face alight with excitement. “There was no time to go through the mountains, and we aren’t properly equipped. But how I would feel if I made it through alive!”