Empire’s Curse (Drakkon #1)

Chapter 17

Daiyu and the prince left the dining hall and when there were no guards or soldiers present, snuck into the cellar beneath the fortress kitchen that housed most of the wine, rice, barley, and potatoes. It was apparently one of the only rooms that wasn’t frequented after dinner, and they found a hiding place between two large shelves stuffed with barrels of wheat.

They both kneeled in the small space. It was dark in the cellar, and the only light came from sconces attached to the cold, gray walls. Their breaths came out in white streams, and even though they were mostly alone—save for the occasional servant who came down to retrieve bottles of wine—she felt like there were eyes and ears everywhere.

“Lady Daiyu.” He held his hand out to her. “I can basically open a portal for us to see how your family is doing, but since I know nothing about where they’re located, I need you to create a mental image of your home, or a certain person you want me to locate.”

She slipped her hand into his clammy one. “I can do that, but …” Her blood ran cold and she swallowed down the apprehension climbing up her throat. She glanced at the cracks between the barrels of wheat, half-expecting someone to be staring back at them. “Does this mean that anyone with magic can peek into what we’re doing?” She didn’t like the idea of Muyang, or someone else, watching her whenever he felt like it. Or even Feiyu. All at once, it felt like her privacy was stripped from her and she wondered if that skin-crawling feeling she had felt in the palace—of eyes and ears everywhere—was because there truly were people spying on her like this.

“People who are proficient with this kind of magic are able to spy on other people, yes,” he said. “But don’t worry, anyone who knows how to use even basic magic can put up a barrier. I have a barrier on me at all times that protects me from it. So no one is able to peek into what we’re doing right now.”

Her relief was short-lived because it wasn’t like she had a barrier on her at all times like Yat-sen did. Muyang, Feiyu, and other mages could spy on her whenever they wanted to. Whether she was eating, sleeping, or … even bathing.

The thought sent a smoldering blush over her cheeks, and she was glad Yat-sen wasn’t able to see her in this darkness. “Well … that’s reassuring.”

“You can also buy a trinket or magicked jewelry item that has protection barriers on it,” he explained, tightening his hold on her fingers. “Anyway, let’s try to hurry before anyone comes in here.”

“Ah, yes, or course.” She couldn’t forget the task at hand: seeing how her family was faring. She came up with a mental image of her family home. With the tall bamboo fences around their garden, the leveled rice paddies surrounding their stone house, the smell of warm earth and grains and soft summer winds.

Yat-sen closed his eyes, his forehead creasing with concentration. A tingle of electrifying magic warmed their joined hands and Daiyu watched in amazement as a swirl of bluish-green energy buzzed a foot away from them. The tendrils of blue-green grew larger until there was a circular window in front of them, the edges hazy and glimmering purple. An image formed in the portal, and Daiyu gasped as she noticed her familiar home.

“That’s it!” she said, excitement leaking into her voice. “That’s?—”

But something was wrong. Even in the darkness of night, with the clouded moon barely shining onto the property, the leveled fields looked … wrong. There were no swaying tall rice stalks. The fence around the home was destroyed. The walls of the house appeared scorched and damaged. The shingles on one side of the roof were completely broken and marred black.

A dizzying panic took hold of her. Maybe it wasn’t her home—but that hopeful thought was quickly dashed when she recognized their smashed chicken coop with its distinctive green shade and swirling designs she had painted when she was a young girl. Even in the night, she could make out the childish whorls she had drawn to mimic clouds.

“It’s … everything’s destroyed.” The walls of the cellar seemed to close in on her and she couldn’t breathe, her chest contracting like someone was twisting a cork. Tighter and tighter, until she couldn’t think straight. Until her breaths came in small gasps. “My family?—”

The image shifted to the inside of her home, and she spotted her family sleeping in the living room. She counted the bundled figures, recognizing the twins by their pretzeled sleeping position across the floor, and sighed in relief once everyone was accounted for. No one was dead at least.

“Who could have done that?” Yat-sen asked quietly. “Your home … the rice paddies, the gardens …”

She shook her head, finding it hard to speak without breaking down in tears. Everyone was alive and she was grateful for that, but their livelihood—their rice paddies—were completely destroyed. She couldn’t even imagine how they would live without this year’s harvest. Her only consolation was that most of their home garden seemed to be intact, so they could definitely survive the rest of the summer with their vegetables and whatever was in their storage … But that would run out quickly, especially with six mouths to feed.

Why would anyone demolish it all?

“Did His Majesty …?” The question hung in the air and she didn’t want to voice it. Didn’t want to think about what it meant to make the emperor her enemy. And yet …

“No.” Yat-sen stared at the images of her sleeping family—of Lanfen with the covers up to her chin, of Grandmother lying on the extra cushioned bedroll, of her parents sleeping near one another, and her twin brothers sprawled closely together. “His Majesty gains nothing from harming your family. And trust me when I say that if His Majesty wanted to destroy their home … there would be nothing left. It appears like someone used magic to blight the fields? At least that’s what I think, since it seems too precise. Do you have any enemies?”

“No, of course not—” But then she remembered how someone had tried to poison her a few weeks ago, and she wasn’t so sure anymore. “Maybe.”

Was someone trying to dissuade her from marrying Muyang? But even the thought was laughable—she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Was it Feiyu? She found it hard to believe that he would want to hurt her family—after all, he gained nothing from doing that—but he hadn’t helped her when she was kidnapped. He was a powerful mage, so it was possible. But why would he even want to do that?

Her thoughts became cloudy and beside the guilt, horror, and angst swirling in the pits of her stomach, another raw, surprising emotion surfaced: rage.

Rage at the fact that before Muyang chose her, she had no enemies.

Rage at the fact that, even though she wanted to help her family, she seemed to be making life more complicated and difficult.

Rage at the fact that she couldn’t control her destiny and was forced to be a pawn in this game.

And worst of all, an overwhelming anger over her own uselessness.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help …” Yat-sen winced at their clasped hands, and she quickly released him, realizing a moment too late that she had been squeezing the life out of him. The portal of magic disrupted once their connection was broken and disappeared the next second. He rubbed his fingers with another cringe and looked over his shoulder. “We should probably leave soon.”

Daiyu could only nod, her legs numb from crouching for so long and her heart heavy. “Thank you for your help,” she said with a strained smile. The corners of her eyes burned with unshed tears and she quickly blinked them away, not wanting to weep in front of a stranger. She instead looked between him and the wooden barrels of wheat surrounding them. “I wish I could repay you, but … I don’t really have anything to offer.”

Yat-sen dusted his pants. “No worries. I didn’t expect this to be a transaction.” Even in the dim lighting, she could make out his small smile. “You were kind to me in this place full of vipers. I appreciate it. I just wish I could have helped more?—”

“You’ve done enough. Thank you.”

Because now, with this new information hanging over her head, she needed to come up with a plan faster. Her family needed her more than ever, and she had to find a way to leave here as soon as possible.

Daiyu barely remembered the walk up to her room. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, but she knew that the room she had bathed in—supposedly, her room—was on one of the top levels, so she kept walking up the flights of stairs. Her body and mind were numb, and the images of her destroyed home kept replaying in her mind like a horrible nightmare.

She rubbed her eyes when she reached a somewhat familiar-looking hallway. There were no guards on this level, but she could feel a denseness in the air that reminded her too much of Muyang. This was likely the floor he was on, she realized with a shudder.

“My lady?”

She jumped and whirled on her feet to find Commander Yao Bohai a few feet away from her, an amused expression on his face. She touched her chest, breathing out deeply. “You scared me,” she breathed.

“My apologies.” He chuckled and glanced at the hallway behind her. “Are you lost?”

“Ah, yes. A little.” She followed his gaze to the darkening corridor, with its waning firelight and the creepy, sinister aura encompassing it. “I can’t seem to remember which room is mine.”

“You’re on the right floor. It’s the fifth door to your right.” He pointed in the distance. “If you need help?—”

Daiyu gasped, the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu washing over her. “I remember you now!” How could she have forgotten the face of the man who had told her on her first day of the palace where the bathing chambers were? He was the reason she had that first awkward interaction with Muyang. “You misled me!”

Bohai’s warm, brown eyes reminded her of tree bark on sunny summer days as he chuckled softly. “Oh, that.”

“You …” She wanted to shout a string of profanities at him and scold him for placing her in such a compromising position, but seeing as how he was the commander-in-chief of the military, she didn’t think it was wise to make an enemy out of him. “Well, I suppose I have to thank you for helping me catch the emperor’s attention,” she said, trying to mask the bitter undertones in her voice.

“That’s one way to look at it.” He laughed again, and she wanted to wring his neck. He could have gotten her killed for that! “Anyhow, if that’s all, I’ll be off then. Good night, Lady Daiyu.”

“And the same to you, Commander Yao.” She could only give him a tight-lipped smile as he disappeared down the end of the corridor. If he hadn’t pointed her to the emperor’s bathing chambers that fateful day, was it possible that Muyang wouldn’t have chosen her to be his bride? If it wasn’t for that … She didn’t want to think about too many what-ifs, and her brain was mush after all that transpired that day, so she shoved her intrusive thoughts aside and dragged herself to her door.

Cracking the door open, she peeked inside. The last thing she needed was for him to point her to another wrong room and cause another strange interaction. But she breathed in relief as she recognized the two couches, the metal covered window, and the ornate hearth. The only thing missing was the bathtub, which someone must have hauled off after her bath.

Slipping inside, she rubbed her stiff shoulders and headed to the sliding door partitioning the room off. This probably led to the sleeping chambers, she thought with a yawn. She would love to crash onto a soft bed and forget about today. So much had happened—her tumultuous journey from the palace to this fortress, seeing Muyang again, and now her family’s misfortune.

She slid the door to the chambers open, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and shut it behind her when she entered. The only light came from the intricately interlaced windows, which showered slivers of moonlight onto the massive four-poster bed in the center of the room with silk curtains enclosing it.

She walked over to one of the dressers on the side of the room and took her hairpins out. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and she sighed in relief as she massaged her sore scalp. Then she slowly took off her outer robes until she was wearing her simple underdress.

Finally. She headed to the bed and unfurled one flap of the curtain. She could collapse onto the mattress and sleep?—

She inhaled sharply; all thoughts of slumber fled from her mind as she took in the sight in front of her: sleeping on the bed, with the gold-threaded blankets barely covering his chest, lay the emperor.

Daiyu couldn’t breathe as a mounting horror overwhelmed her thoughts. She was in His Majesty’s bedchambers.