Empire’s Curse (Drakkon #1)

Chapter 21

Daiyu hated Drakkon Muyang more than anyone else, she decided as she paced her bedroom—his bedroom—for the hundredth time that day. She had been given a change of clothes soon after Muyang had left the room—no doubt his doing—and had eaten breakfast—also likely his doing. But all of that did nothing to stave the burning rage she felt toward the insufferable monarch.

He didn’t return to the room any time that day, and that gave her more time to think about her next options. There was no way—absolutely no way—she was going to stay here any longer. She didn’t want to forever be under his thumb, and now that her family had already lost their livelihood, it was probably better to just sneak out of here and run as far away as possible with her family. They would have to start a new life somewhere—maybe even change their family name just in case—but it would save them in the long run.

She didn’t have an escape plan, but later in the evening, after she had stuffed herself with a heavy dinner, she slipped into one of the storage rooms on the same floor as Muyang’s room, and waited by a glass window for the perfect chance to escape. The room was surprisingly clean, had crates of black and scarlet military style cloaks and uniforms, and had a large banner of the Drakkon dynasty pinned to the wall like a trophy. The dragon symbol seemed to stare at her, knowing her intentions of fleeing, and she couldn’t help the fear that gripped her tightly.

Soon, she told herself, pressing her forehead against the windowpane, she would escape this place. Her plan was simple: when it became night, she would break this window—the only glass window that wasn’t barricaded with intricate metal designs—and climb down the five stories with the rope she made from the cloaks stuffed in the boxes. It was an incredibly stupid plan—she knew that—but she was desperate. There was no other way she could leave this guarded fortress without alerting Muyang. Once she was away from the fortress, she would run to the nearest village—a day’s walk away. She could do it. She had to.

As night descended, her eyelids grew heavy and before she knew it, she dozed against the window. It was only when a door clicked shut that her eyes flew open. She sat upright, her heart racing. He found out. He found out that I’m trying to escape and now everything is doomed?—

But Muyang wasn’t in the room, and nobody was tossing her into the dungeons, and she was still alone in the room. She rubbed the side of her face and noticed the blanket that had been draped over her shoulders. It was heavily embroidered with golden dragons and seemed to be stuffed with feathers with how light it was. Her hands skimmed over the deep purple shade. She recognized it from Muyang’s bedrooms, and all at once, guilt riddled her.

No.

She tossed the blanket on the floor. She wasn’t so weak as to be swayed by a freaking blanket. Was she so morally starved from affection that this small, small act was enough to keep her here?

No, she told herself as she stretched her legs and stood. She remembered all the times he had humiliated her and made her feel terrible. And then she recalled their conversation earlier that day. About how replaceable she was, and the fires of her wrath were stoked once more.

Judging by the black skyline, it was well into midnight, and her plan was still in motion. Daiyu wasted no time running to one of the crates, shoving the lid off, and retrieving the cloaks she had tied together. She opened five more crates to unveil the rest of the makeshift rope and tied the sections together tightly before securing them onto the biggest crate—which held the metal armor. She tugged at the crude rope and prayed it was enough to hold her weight.

If she ended up falling to her doom, at least she had tried to escape, she thought grimly. At least she didn’t weep and wallow in self-pity. At least she had tried to change her bleak fate.

It must have taken an hour to get all the cloak sections tied together and secure, and the only thing left was breaking the window. She had to break it in such a way that she wouldn’t cut herself on the way through it, but she also didn’t want to cut up her hands in the process. After much deliberation, she went back to the lid of one of the crates and chucked it as hard as she could at the window.

The glass shattered immediately on impact. Daiyu gasped sharply and stumbled back as pieces of it sprayed the room. The blood rushed to her ears and she couldn’t hear beyond the pounding of her own heart. She waited for the guards to swarm the room, her gaze glued to the jagged window, at the shiny, sharp shards of glass glistening silver in the moonlight. She continued to wait, but nobody charged into the room. Nobody shouted from down below—from outside the fortress walls. And it was only then that she realized she had to move to the next phase of her plan: actually getting out.

Daiyu licked her lips as she approached the window gingerly. She wadded her hands with Muyang’s blanket and carefully punched the serrated edge of the window until it was smoother. She winced as a shard of glass cut through the padding and sliced open her knuckle. Hissing, she dropped the blanket on the floor and grabbed her hand tightly. Blood welled instantly, slipping from the wound and spotting against the shimmery glass shavings below.

Tears blurred her vision and she breathed out shakily. She willed herself not to break down in sobs, even as her throat constricted. This was a stupid, stupid plan. She was going to end up killing herself at this rate. But what other choice did she have? She couldn’t stay here with Muyang—that was another death sentence, albeit a slow and torturous one.

It took a full fifteen minutes of crying, applying pressure to her cut knuckle, until she was ready to move along. She tossed the end of her cloak rope through the window and watched with bated breath as it fell down the fortress wall. She couldn’t tell if it reached all the way down to the ground, but she was almost certain that it did—it had to, after all. Or else …

Daiyu didn’t let herself think too hard about what it meant if she failed.

Flexing her hands and carefully brushing down the bits of broken glass on the windowsill with the blanket, she hauled herself onto it. A chilly night breeze ripped through her hair and she inhaled sharply against the cold, her breaths puffing out in front of her. She stared down at the ground, which seemed to loom farther and farther away, and swallowed down the fear gripping her.

You can do this. You don’t have a choice.

Breathing out shakily, she held on to the rope tighter. Her cut knuckle stung and protested, but she ignored it. She had to do this, she told herself. Muyang had driven her to a corner, and this was the only way she could attain freedom. The only way?—

Before she could change her mind, she jumped.

A scream almost escaped her lips as her hands slipped down the rope. Air whooshed over her face, ripping through her hair and freeing all the hairpins that had kept her hair in a low bun. She slid down the rope, the skin of her hands chafing raw and her legs dangling as she tried to get a grip. She was falling—fast.

The rough material of the cloaks shredded through her hands and a blind panic rushed over her as she continued to descend the rope—but not out of her own will. She tried to stop the breakneck speed in which she was falling, but she had no upper body strength that could hold her in place. Anytime she tried to flail her legs against the wall, her body slammed into it instead, and the wall scraped down her side painfully. She suppressed her own screams of panic and pain, and it wasn’t until she was a few feet from the end of the rope that she finally slowed.

She held on to the rope so tightly that she was sure her hands would detach from her body and the rest of her would spiral and splat on the ground. Her legs dangled and she finally dared to peek down below. She was at the end of the rope and was maybe five feet from the ground.

It was only then that her body gave out.

Daiyu screamed as she crashed down below. Her shoulder slammed into the hardened, packed earth and she rolled a few times, the rough terrain ripping through her clothes and scraping her skin. She finally rotated onto her back until she was staring at the star-speckled night sky. A tremor ran over her and she couldn’t stop from breathing heavily. Somehow, she was alive.

It took her several minutes to calm her breathing before she even attempted to sit up and assess her injuries. The adrenaline and shock kept the pain at bay, but she was in terrible condition. Her shoulder throbbed, the skin on her hands was completely ripped off and raw, and she had several cuts and gashes along her legs and torso.

But she was alive, and that was all that mattered.

She pushed herself to her feet and tightened the cloak around herself with numb, shaking hands. She headed straight for the woods—the same woods she had traversed with Atreus. The wind howled above her and her skin turned frigid against the wintry weather of Geru, but there was something exhilarating about it. She was free. Finally free.

Daiyu walked for hours, her legs throbbing with every step and the rest of her injuries aching excruciatingly. Now that the adrenaline and rush of escaping had left her, she was sore, in pain, exhausted, and freezing.

Her hair whipped around her with the wind and she turned her numb and frozen face away from the worst of it. She kept walking and walking until she wasn’t even sure where she was headed anymore. The sun rose and continued to dance along the skyline for hours. Hunger and thirst took hold of her, and every little noise—the rustling of leaves and barren branches, the scurry of wild animals—had her on edge and thinking that Muyang’s men had caught up to her.

It wasn’t until the afternoon that she finally stumbled upon a village. She wanted to burst in tears at the first sight of smoke streaming out of a chimney. When she reached the streets, she almost keeled over and collapsed from exhaustion. But she pushed herself forward.

People ignored her—with how bedraggled and torn her clothing had turned out during her escape, she couldn’t fault them. At best, she probably looked like a weary traveler, and at worst … she didn’t want to think about it. Did she look like a runaway, abused wife? Or a beggar? But one thing was clear: nobody wanted to involve themselves with her.

Daiyu approached an inn and pushed open the rickety, worn door. Warm air breathed against her instantly and she sighed in relief as she staggered inside. Her stomach growled, and she scanned the bustling room quickly. The inn was jampacked with men, all of them wearing thick fur cloaks and their voices bouncing off the walls. The smell of chicken stew and savory broth made her mouth water and she stumbled toward the back counter with stiff legs.

“We don’t have any empty tables, miss,” one of the men, who balanced a metal serving platter with six steaming tea cups, said as he passed her by to the crowded table to her left. He handed the drinks to the men and gave her a once-over. “You’ll have to share with others. Is that okay?”

Daiyu’s tongue felt heavy in her dry mouth and she bobbed her head quickly. She didn’t care, so long as she was able to drink water and fill her empty belly. “That’s fine,” she rasped, then coughed and rubbed her rigid fingers together.

He jerked his chin to one of the tables at the center of the room. “There’s an empty seat there. All we’ve got for today is hot chicken noodles. We’re out of beef or any other kind of meat.”

“That sounds delicious.” She licked her chapped lips. “Thank you.”

“I’ll bring it over in a minute.”

Daiyu nearly crumpled onto the empty chair the man had pointed out to her. The other men at the table barely paid her any heed, and she tipped her head back to stare up at the ceiling. She was beyond bone-weary. Every muscle in her body ached; not to mention the cuts and injuries littering her body like a patchwork quilt.

But the prospect of a warm meal and a warm bed to sleep in washed all her worries away. She would pay for a way out of here tomorrow morning, she decided as she thumbed the few silver coins in her pocket she had pilfered from Muyang’s bedroom earlier that day. Tonight, she’d sleep in her own room, without worrying about Muyang jumping into her bedroom. She wouldn’t have to deal with his dark, alluring gaze ever again.

When the innkeeper arrived with a cup of water and a steaming bowl of chicken, noodles, and wilted vegetables, Daiyu nearly melted in her seat. She downed the water and slurped the noodles like it would be her last meal. It was savory, salty, and garlicky, and even though she had grown accustomed to the decadent food in the royal palace for the past few weeks, this was the best meal she’d had in months.

It wasn’t until she was at the very ends of her bowl, with only a few tendrils of chewy, delicate noodles left and three soggy pieces of broccoli that she really noticed the men in the room. She slowed down on chewing and lowered her chopsticks, suddenly aware that all of these men seemed to be a bit too bulky. She had seen hundreds of men at the fortress bundled in fur cloaks with armor underneath, and that was the same kind of cumbersomeness these men seemed to have. Like they were prepared for a battle.

It’s not a big deal, Daiyu. She swallowed down a mushy broccoli. They’re probably just men from His Majesty’s army.

But even as she thought that, it didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t they be in the fortress if that was the case? And why were they wearing cloaks that didn’t have the royal colors or insignia on them?

She reached for her cup of water, almost forgetting that she had drunk it already. Her hands shook and she tightened her hold on it. She could remember Atreus’s warning that there were many villages that were harboring rebel soldiers.

It wasn’t her problem.

Daiyu finished her food silently, a nervous sheen of sweat coating her hands and body. She didn’t want to be involved in whatever trouble these men were looking for. And if they found out who she was, they would do the same thing the bandits Atreus had saved her from had done—kidnap her and sell her to General Keung, one of the leaders of the rebel army.

She hadn’t noticed it before, probably because she was starved and scarfing down her food without a thought or care in the world, but some of the men were staring at her from time to time. Particularly the ones at her table.

Were they staring because she was a woman, or because they suspected who she was?

Uneasiness crept under her skin. Had she unknowingly fled from one prison just to end up in another? She folded her raw, peeling, and damaged hands on her lap and tried thinking of a plan. She could stay here for the night and leave in the morning like she had planned, and forget everything she had noticed today. Or she could leave now and not take the risk of being found out. It was still mid-afternoon, so she could probably find a ride to a different village.

“What happened to your hands?” one of the men, a thin, lanky middle-aged man with a wispy beard and beady, narrowed eyes said as he nodded at her.

Daiyu jumped in her seat and laced her fingers together tighter. “Excuse me?”

“Your hands.” The man pointed a chopstick at her lap and then speared a hunk of chicken in his bowl and chewed it right off the end of it. All the while, he didn’t take his eyes off her. The other five men at the table were now staring at her too, and she stiffened at the attention.

The hairs on Daiyu’s arms rose and she forced a smile. She could tell by his lack of table manners that he was rude and brutish—not the type of person she wanted to converse with—and she hoped he hadn’t noticed anything strange about her. “I scraped them earlier. Not a big deal.”

“Huh.” He took a swig of his rice wine and belched loudly. “How’d that happen?”

“It’s a long story.” She rose to her feet and bobbed her head at the other men. “Good day to you all.”

It was better that she got out of this place as fast as possible. Whatever plans she had for a warm bed were instantly scratched off her priority list. She needed to find a ride out of here now.

She turned to leave, but the man suddenly grasped her wrist tightly. He smelled like sour wine and sweat, and Daiyu tried tugging away from him, but he held her firmly. His dark eyes narrowed. “Where’d you get that cloak?”

“Let go.” She snatched her hand away, her heart racing. The other men at the table were still staring, but now there seemed to be a renewed interest in her clothing, which they eyed wordlessly. Daiyu’s throat constricted and she looked between the lanky man, the others, and then down at her cloak. It wasn’t anything special—just a plain dark cloak with a deep-scarlet undercoat.

But all the color drained from her face as she noticed the metal dragon-shaped clasp that held the cloak together. Surely, they hadn’t noticed it? She barely noticed it until now.

“I found it.” Daiyu stepped back, glancing toward the exit and then at the room again. Nobody else was noticing the interaction, save for the people at her table. She fished for a coin in her pocket and placed it beside her empty bowl and cup. “Good day to you all.”

She spun around and made a beeline to the door. She wove between the seats, dodged a few drunk, swaying men, and exited the densely packed building. The frigid, wintry air slapped her the instant she stepped out, and she breathed in the frost clinging to the wind. This time, she welcomed the icy weather. It was less suffocating than inside.

Daiyu hurried down the streets, her gaze skating to the buildings and the sparse people in the streets. She needed to find the stables and someone who could take her out of here.

Glancing over her shoulder, her heart stopped. The six men at her table had left the inn and were now standing by the entrance. They looked around themselves as if looking for something—or someone—before one of them spotted her. He nudged to his companions and said something, and all of a sudden, they all turned to her.

Daiyu ripped her gaze away and rushed down the street, no longer caring about the horses or the stables or finding a way out.

They knew who she was.