by Julie C. Dao
“The queen said everything had to do with you,” Wei told Xifeng.
For once, all of their eyes on her made her uncomfortable. “She was speaking to all of us, I’m sure,” she said quickly.
Hideki sighed. “As for the five kingdoms of Feng Lu reuniting, that will never happen as long as mankind exists. They won’t do it under the banner of one man, at any rate, as they did centuries ago for the Dragon King.”
“I wish you hadn’t ranted about the treaty,” Shiro told him. “It isn’t our place to decide the trade stipulations. A bit of jade is a small price to pay for peace, even if it won’t last long.”
Xifeng leaned forward. “I find it fascinating, the politics of kings.”
“What it must be like to be the Emperor.” A spark appeared in Wei’s eye, and he speared his fish as though he held a sword. “Marching into weaker territory, bribing and threatening to get what you want. Commanding an army to do your bidding where words fail.”
“True, but he can’t use physical might all the time,” Shiro said. “The politics of kings, as Xifeng put it, requires balance. He would not agree to this treaty unless it benefited both parties.”
“But mostly him,” Hideki added, and the dwarf sighed.
“It must be like using an apothecary’s scale,” Xifeng said. “Knowing when to add more of this or that. Evening out the two sides so they seem equal, though one may hold only dirt and the other gold dust.”
Shiro regarded her in surprise. “You’re a poet.”
“And you’re a nobleman.” She chuckled, gesturing to his plate. “No one in a poor family would risk dining that slowly.”
“I’ve emptied my plate three times,” Wei agreed, and they all laughed.
“My family is high in our king’s favor,” Shiro admitted. “But I’m the only one in his employ, whereas my brothers lead lives of leisure. When one has the misfortune of being born small among the tall and handsome, one must prove oneself in any way possible. What better choice than politics, the realm of the powerful?”
“You work directly for your king?” Wei asked.
Shiro nodded. “I had to work ten times harder than a regular official to get to the same place. But I got there. I ignored the taunting and focused on winning the respect of my kingdom. It didn’t earn me any more approval from my family, but what do I need of that when I have the king’s?”
Wei listened with his chin lowered. “But you are noble, and already that sets you far ahead of a poor boy. I don’t mean to imply your life has been easy, but your family’s relations with the king was your open door.”
Hideki regarded him with interest. “Do you wish to be an ambassador yourself?”
“I want to be a fighter. A warrior in the Emperor’s army.”
“And do his bidding where words fail?” Shiro asked, repeating Wei’s earlier statement.
“Swords speak a stronger language when needed. But where is that opportunity for me?”
“Perhaps in this journey we’re taking,” the dwarf said kindly. “You may find your goal at the end of it, but now, I believe sleep is what we should all find.” He grimaced, one hand flying to his shoulder. “It’s nothing,” he added, seeing their concern. “The scythe nicked me when I stabbed that attacker. I’ll wash in the pond first. Those waters must be cool and healing.”
“I owe you my life, Ambassador. He would have killed me.”
Shiro waved Wei’s thanks away. “It was what anyone would have done for a friend.” They bowed low to each other.
Xifeng smelled sweet jasmine and bamboo as she lay on her pallet. Wei pulled her closer and draped a blanket over them both, and she fell asleep instantly. But despite how tired and comfortable she was, she woke several times, heart racing from nightmares of a cave in which ink-black serpents glided toward her, their eyes like drops of blood.
The third time she woke, Xifeng sat up. Wei slept like a child, his hands pillowed under his cheek, and Hideki and Shiro slumbered peacefully nearby. The sky was still bright with stars, though low clouds had begun to shroud the moon. She padded down to the pond, savoring the sensation of the soft grass between her toes, and splashed water on her fevered face.
“You do not sleep well.” That ancient voice, like leaves of autumn and snow in winter. The tengaru queen approached, her body so frail it seemed transparent. In the dark, with her horns and tail less defined, anyone might think her simply a small, old horse. But there was no mistaking the human awareness in those eyes.
“I’ve been dreaming, that’s all.”
“That’s all? Isn’t that everything?” The queen’s fathomless gaze took her in. “You interest me. You are divided. I knew it as soon as I saw you.”
“Divided?”
“Look at yourself in the water, and perhaps you will understand better.”
Slowly, Xifeng bent over her reflection in the pond, her hair spilling over one shoulder. In the moonlight, she could only see the right half of her face. The other half lay in shadow, the eye dark and wild as the night.
“You have two faces. Two beings live within you, struggling for control. One has a heart that thrives in darkness and feeds on the pain of weaker souls. The other longs to stretch a hand to the light, to live and love as others do. Have you never sensed this?”
Xifeng stared into the star-scattered water at her own face: one half bright, the other hidden, unknowable. Sweat bloomed on her forehead as she placed a hand below her heart. The creature was still and silent now, but she knew how it could come alive, writhing within the prison of her body.
“Warriors kill every day.” She pictured the bloodshed on the forest path: Shiro stabbing the scythe-wielder and Wei beheading him with one sweep of his arm. “Why are they not divided, as I am? Why is it my fate to have this creature? The cards tell me I have a destiny beyond all others, but . . .”
“It is not an honor,” the queen said sharply, and Xifeng turned to her, startled and chastened. “Your . . . aunt has done more harm than good in filling your head with this destiny. No, it is not a lie. You are indeed bound for the glory she foresees, if you choose that path. But isn’t it better not to know? Isn’t it better to wake up each day, living for the present rather than waiting for the future?”
Xifeng released a breath, her shoulders slackening. Though a part of her had doubted Guma, the truth was undeniable from the mouth of the queen. But her overpowering joy was tempered by the painful weight of what such a future would mean for her and Wei. “It is a secret I must continue to carry, then.”
The tengaru tossed her majestic head. “You will be Empress only if you are willing to take the dark road there. But you are not the only exceptional one, and you are not alone in being favored for greatness. The sooner you understand that, the better your choices will be.”
“I was annoyed with Shiro for assuming the attackers had come for him,” Xifeng confessed. “You are right to scold me. I told myself I questioned Guma’s prophecy, but all this time I wanted her to be right. I want . . . I need to be more than what I am.”
“You can be,” the queen said, her eyes gentle. “You can be, without taking this murky passage set before you. Your Guma wants wealth and power, but that’s not why you want to be Empress. What is your reason for wanting such a cage?”
“A cage protects. It sets apart what is inside.” Xifeng hesitated. “I want to mean something to a great deal of people. I’m tired of being no one. As Empress, I would have the right to choose for myself. Guma could not command me, and Wei would not own me.”
“But another man would.”
“I would sit on a throne,” Xifeng argued. “I would be feared and respected, not weak and powerless like Guma or my mother. I would raise up the ones I love.” She imagined her aunt well fed and resting instead of hunching over her sewing, and Wei in a high station in the palace. She could even find a husband for poor li
ttle Ning. “I would be Empress for them as much as for myself. My life would have a purpose, and I would do anything for that.”
The queen’s mouth twisted. “How quick you are to throw aside the blessings you already have. But you are young. You will learn and regret, as we all do.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Xifeng said, her confidence slipping. “What blessings do you speak of?”
“The truest love and friendship rarely come to those in power.” The demon queen bent her head into the pond, and when her horns met the surface, a beautiful pattern of ripples shook the night sky. They skimmed over the pond in the direction of the second bridge, the one leading to the apple tree, whose branches glistened. “That tree is the most valuable treasure on Feng Lu. I have guarded it all these ages on behalf of one for whom it is meant.”
“The one destined to unite the kingdoms and bring peace to the continent?” Xifeng’s heart thundered as she considered the possibility of being that one. Perhaps, as Empress, that was the glorious fate Guma had envisioned for her.
“The waters speak of a pair of great destinies, intertwined. One will lead to Feng Lu’s salvation—the other, to its ruin. That tree could be meant for you . . . or for her.”
Her. One word, filled with so much meaning.
The first meaning: It may not be for you. The second meaning: There is another woman. And the third: Her destiny may be greater than yours.
“The Fool,” Xifeng said flatly. Her vision blurred, as it had the day she’d seen herself destroying Ning. Every nerve in her body tingled with the sudden powerful desire to burn the tree down, to raise a torch to its branches and watch the flames weep crumbling ashes. One moment, a great relic protected by the tengaru, and the next, a mound of embers as fleeting as the seasons of the world. Then, they would see if the Fool—that beautiful, long-lashed, stargazing Fool—would be able to thwart Xifeng and fulfill that greater destiny.
But when her mind cleared, her anger faded as quickly as it had come. As Xifeng envisioned the pink-white blossoms withering away, never having lived, she felt a tear roll down her cheek. “If it is meant for her, I hope she finds it.”
“Ah.” Indescribable grief shaded the corners of the queen’s smile. She placed a paw on Xifeng’s hand. “I’m afraid life will always be a battle for you, but that is the part of you that you must never forget. Let it help you fight that darkness within, and perhaps you shall be the one to save us all.”
“I don’t know how to fight it,” Xifeng whispered, her eyes stinging. “How can I destroy this creature . . . this monster when it is inside me, always with me, no matter where I go?”
“You must choose.” The demon’s stare on her was fierce, wild. “You wish to be Empress to have control over your life, but you already do. You have both the poison and the antidote, and you can choose not to give in. But it will be a bitter struggle if he has anything to say about it.”
A movement caught Xifeng’s eye. The water was still rippling on the surface of the pond, and a spot of darkness had formed. It resembled the yawning mouth of a cave, and someone waited for her inside—someone she sensed had been waiting a long time. She turned away, knowing and fearing who lurked within.
“Who is he, this Serpent God?” she asked, and the trees themselves trembled.
“He means more to your Guma than she will say. Beware, Xifeng, of magic that comes too easily. There is a price for everything, as she learned and you, too, will learn. Some magic requires blood. Other magic requires a piece of your own self and eats away at your soul.” The queen tensed her paw, the buds of her talons pressing into Xifeng’s skin. “He taught her all she knows, but she has yet to finish paying him.”
Xifeng knew, instinctively, that the tengaru did not mean money. So what did Guma owe this man? The breeze brushed across the grasses and they seemed to whisper: you, you, you.
The pond rippled once more to show Guma, gazing up with a flicker of recognition. Her sad mouth moved to form Xifeng’s name, and the veil of water between them trembled.
“You are very like her. There is water in both of you, the element of resourcefulness. You drift toward each other, two streams from the same river.” The queen began walking away to her pagoda between the trees. The shadows of the bridge cast dark stripes on her coppery body.
Xifeng rose, her mouth dry. “Please don’t go. I don’t want to be alone.”
The demon turned around, a look of pity on her ancient face. “You are not alone. And all of your questions will be answered in time, but not by me. I will, however, give you one last piece of advice.”
“And I will listen.”
“Magic and knowledge often cost blood, but blood itself costs something, too. You pay each time you take it from a beating heart. Take care not to pay too much when you do not yet understand the currency. Beauty is not worth your soul.”
She knew about the rabbits. Xifeng felt a powerful rush of resentment. What could a demon understand about the power of her face, the only gift the gods had seen fit to give her? But when the queen came close, bringing the scent of the snowy lotus blossoms, Xifeng’s irritation dissolved into regret. The tips of the tengaru’s horns gently touched her healed cheek.
Up close, it was even clearer how weary the tengaru’s eyes were and how feeble her body, like the newly grown branches of the apple tree. The earth and Feng Lu would surely feel such a loss and would never again be the same. “Who will guard this clearing in your absence?” Xifeng asked, surprised by the sadness in her own voice.
“There will be another after me. Do not fear. We must all protect the treasures we are given and fight for them.” Her stare pierced the area beneath Xifeng’s rebellious heart.
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your kindness.”
“Is it kindness, I wonder? Good night, Xifeng,” the demon queen said softly as she retreated to her grove of trees. “And if you return to the Great Forest one day, treat it with respect. My body is meant for the earth soon. We will not meet again.”
Xifeng slept deeply, but woke the next morning still tired from the queen’s riddles and half-truths. Having the ability to destroy what lay within didn’t change the fact that she harbored a monster. And no matter where she was or how far she ran, it would still be with her.
She joined the others at the table, which had been replenished with roots, nuts, and sweet red cherries. But Wei and Hideki seemed more concerned about Shiro’s shoulder than the food. The ambassador’s injury had significantly worsened overnight.
“Gods, the wound is bleeding through your tunic.” Ignoring his protests, Hideki pulled the cloth away from Shiro’s shoulder, revealing a jagged cut that had turned yellow green.
Xifeng recoiled, despite having dressed the rotting skin on Guma’s damaged leg daily.
“It’s infected. That scythe was poisoned,” Wei said ruefully. “You wouldn’t have been wounded if not for me.”
“You are all worrying far too much. It was nothing.” Shiro yanked the tunic back in place. “You didn’t ask me to save you.”
“But you saved him all the same, and for that, we both owe you,” Xifeng said. “Let me get you some water to clean the wound.” She soaked some cloth in the pond, relieved that in daylight, the water did no more than reflect its surroundings.
Shiro sighed with relief when she placed the compress on his skin. “Thank you, my dear. That does feel better. But I’m sure it will heal in time.”
They were ready to leave within the hour. Wei and Hideki gathered their sacks while Shiro filled their pouches with fruit and water. Xifeng fashioned a broom from a fallen branch and swept the platform they’d eaten on. However the tengaru truly felt about humans, they had treated them with fairness and generosity, and she felt it right to repay them however she could.
Wei came over with flowers the color of the dawn sky: pink tinged with gold and violet, which he had p
ainstakingly woven into garlands. “I made them early this morning. For the queen,” he explained, and she felt a rush of affection that he’d had the same impulse.
One of the tengaru approached their little camp. “Our queen wishes you a safe journey. You will find the path again beyond the horses. Follow it north to the city.”
Xifeng and Wei exchanged glances. “We left the path over a week ago. Has it moved closer, for our convenience?” he asked.
Hideki chuckled, but the tengaru’s stare remained icy. “You have something for the queen. I will take it to her.” It bent its head so Wei could wind the flowers around its mane.
“Then we are not to see Her Majesty again?” Shiro asked.
“She is tired. But she wishes you well and asks that you remember to respect the forest.”
The demon retreated without another word, and Wei helped Xifeng onto the old gray mare. She turned her eyes back to the lake as the men prepared their own horses. Today, the blossoms strung over the pagoda had withered, their creamy petals yellowing in the sunlight, and there was no sign of the demon queen herself. Perhaps she had passed on in the night . . . or perhaps those deep, inscrutable eyes of hers watched them now from her shelter of trees.
“Great lords of the skies,” Xifeng whispered, closing her eyes, “take the queen’s spirit into your keeping and let her find peace in your eternal halls.” They had never cared to respond to any of her prayers before, but she hoped they would now.
She looked again at the water that was so like a mirror, it seemed a piece of the heavens itself, and wondered if she would ever see this place again. A part of her almost yearned to stay.
But then the others mounted their horses and they were back in the Great Forest, on the path winding through the trees, and the clearing vanished like it had only been a beautiful dream.
• • •
They reached the Imperial City before nightfall.
The path became a wide cobblestone road, flanked every mile by the Emperor’s banners. Xifeng gazed up at the dragon with a forest curled within its talon, remembering the emblem from the concubine’s procession three weeks ago. They passed people leading donkeys and pushing wagons full of goods. Soon, a massive stone bridge appeared before them. In the rushing waters below, men loaded small vessels with sacks of charcoal, lumber, and rice for the city dwellers. Across the moat, Xifeng saw two other identical bridges in the distance.