The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 4

4

T he prison smells of sweat, piss, and shit.

They drag me through the winding labyrinth of stone, nothing but flickering torchlight to illuminate the way forward. The prison sits at the very edge of Jiaoshan, well hidden from the general public’s view. I can’t tell how deep we are underground, but there’s a stale dampness in the air that clings to my skin, chilling me to the bone.

The anguished groans and whimpers of prisoners, along with the haunting rattle of their chains, echo loudly off the walls. My eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness, though I can still make out the bloodshot whites of their eyes as they grip the bars of their cells, desperately begging for water or food—or a merciful death.

The soldiers cut my bindings and throw me into a cramped cell like a sack of flour, dumping me upon a rough bed of moldy straw. It’s uncomfortably slimy, smearing my hands and knees as I scramble to my feet. They slam the cell door shut, the sickening scent of rusted hinges flooding my nose.

“Please,” I say hurriedly, “this is all a misunderstanding. You have to let me out. My mother needs her med—”

The captain surges forward and slams the scabbard of his sword against the bars. They ring out angrily, rattling my eardrums.

“Silence!”

“Listen, my friend, what happened between us earlier… I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps we can put this entire incident behind us? I’ll give you free food and drinks at the teahouse forever. What do you say?”

“I say I’ll cut your tongue out if you utter another word.”

Desperation claws at my throat. “My mother is very ill. I’m her only son, so I’m charged with her well-being. Please, find it in your heart to understand!”

“Listen here, you backwater degenerate—”

“That is enough, Captain Tian.”

The voice belongs to someone I can’t see, resonating from the safety of the shadows. Whoever he is, I figure he must be of great importance, because the captain’s whole body goes rigid before he bows deeply.

A man steps out, his features highlighted by the shifting orange glow of the torchlights.

He is, in every sense of the word, overwhelming.

Dressed in flawless silk robes whose threads are dyed in the rarest of golden pigments, the man is a walking tribute to all the kingdom’s splendor. The intricate pattern of a snarling five-clawed blue dragon is embroidered into the silk, starting with its tail on the bottom right corner, then wrapping all the way around his back, and over the shoulder to rest upon the man’s heart.

His hair is well-maintained and shiny, even in the dim lights of the prison, pulled into a regal bun held in place by an ornate pin sculpted of shimmering gold. His fingers are adorned with thick jade rings, and his fourth finger and pinky on each hand are protected by sharp, clawlike nail guards.

While most people would gape at his obvious and exorbitant wealth, the only thing that catches my eye is his thread.

It’s gray, just like my own, except his thread has been completely severed, dangling loose just inches from his little finger.

How is this possible? If his Fated One were dead, then he would have a closed black loop. The cut looks almost deliberate, as if he took a blade to it. I know this cannot be, however. Our threads are indelible, gifts granted to us by the Gods to help link two ardent souls. I have never been able to physically grasp hold of one—they might appear like living things, but they can only be seen, never touched or altered by those who possess them. The act of cutting a thread should be impossible.

I know I have been staring too long, because Captain Tian’s arm shoots through a gap between the bars and grabs me by the hair, forcing me down into some semblance of a bow.

“Insolent wretch!” he growls. “Have you no respect for your emperor?”

My heart thuds anxiously. Did I hear that right, or has the deafening roar of blood past my ears somehow caused me to hallucinate? Keeping my eyes glued to the floor, I realize that I’m at a loss for words. It’s not something that happens very often. I dare not speak, for the possibility of losing my tongue is suddenly very real, should I displease His Imperial Highness.

Unsure of what else to do, I risk a glance upward. The emperor reaches into one of his sleeves and pulls out the vial the soldiers confiscated from me. The long stretch of silence that follows makes me squirm. I find the emperor studying the scale with the slightest of amused grins.

I take a moment to study his face. He looks surprisingly young for a man who has ruled the Northern Kingdom for longer than I’ve been alive. Strip him of his ostentatious garb, and we might even pass for brothers. His eyes, however, give me pause.

They are ancient. Wise beyond centuries and dripping with something…

Cruel.

Nearby prisoners break out into frantic whispers.

“Is that—”

“No, it can’t be,” someone else murmurs. “He should be nothing more than a decrepit old man.”

“He has shamans,” whispers another. “I hear they use blood magic—they sacrifice virgin concubines, and it grants him eternal youth.”

“He’s the Son of Heaven, appointed by the Gods. A god himself! What need has he of such nonsense?”

Captain Tian bangs his scabbard against the bars of my cell door again, the metallic twang shocking everyone back into silence. “The next to speak loses their head.”

I suck in a sharp breath. A terrible chill scrapes its way down the back of my neck, leaving goose bumps sprawling in its wake. The emperor takes another step forward, unperturbed by the senseless gossip.

“Do you know what this is, boy?” he asks me, holding the vial up to the dim torchlight. His words are clipped, succinct.

I’m unsure how to answer. If I tell him the truth, will he think me a lunatic? A fool? I can’t think of anything more humiliating than having His Imperial Highness laugh in my face.

The emperor furrows his brows. “If you do not wish to answer, perhaps your friend will provide something more enlightening. Bring him in.”

A prisoner is brought out from around the corner, propped up on either side by an armed guard. The man’s small body is slumped over, his feet dragging upon the stone floor. His face has been beaten to a near pulp. Both his eyes are swollen and purple. They have broken his nose, and a trail of dried blood stains his lips and chin. I’m surprised the man still has enough strength to look up at me. When he does, I recognize him in an instant.

Doctor Qi.

The air pulls itself from my lungs.

“Wh-what do you want with him?” I ask, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

The emperor regards the doctor with general disinterest. There’s a darkness in his gaze, an air of superiority. We are all but cockroaches beneath his embroidered shoes.

“Where did you get this?” he asks Doctor Qi, holding the vial up before his battered face. “Answer honestly, and I may let you live.”

The doctor’s head hangs low, a mix of drool and blood dripping through the gaps of his broken teeth. I think his lip has split. “The South,” he rasps. “F-from… the South.”

“You had it smuggled past the border, correct?”

Worry weighs heavily on Doctor Qi’s features. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“And you know what this is?”

The doctor gulps heavily. “A d-dragon’s scale.”

“Do you know where to get more ?”

Doctor Qi casts his eyes to the cold, hard ground. “I c-cannot say exactly, but I know who might. My contact in the S-South. A huntress. She believes a dragon may yet live. She claims to have been tracking it f-for some time.”

My ears burn. I can’t begin to comprehend what’s happening. All I have the strength to do is kneel there, clinging to the bars, my mouth slack in disbelief.

A living, breathing dragon? No, that can’t be. Could the woman have mistaken a snake or some other beast for it?

The corners of the emperor’s lips curl upward. “Where is she now?”

“Last I heard, the huntress w-was spotted in the jungles just past the mountain border.”

“Does she go by a name?”

“I believe she goes by Feng, my lord.”

“You will find her for me.”

“With all due respect, Your Imperial Highness, my legs… They—they aren’t as strong as they once were.”

Emperor Róng hums in contemplation. “You’re quite right. I thank you very much, Doctor, for your cooperation in this matter.”

Doctor Qi lifts his head, a glint of hope in his eyes. “Does this mean I am free to g—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. The emperor raises his hand and brings it down like an axe; his command silent, yet plainly understood.

Captain Tian moves swiftly, drawing his blade with alarming speed. He raises his sword above his head, and the sharp edge slices through the air with an abrupt whistle. In one fell swoop, he cleaves the doctor’s head clean from his shoulders. It goes tumbling, rolling toward me, Doctor Qi’s face forever frozen in shock.

I’m racked with uncontrollable tremors. My skin is feverish, and yet I have never been so alarmingly cold. The world spins around me, dizziness plaguing my mind.

I vomit, hunched over on my hands and knees.

I barely have enough time to wipe my mouth clean on my sleeve when I see it. The thread of fate tied around Doctor Qi’s finger shifts from red to black, fading away like a candle’s wick left to burn until nothing remains. Then it disintegrates completely.

The emperor clicks his tongue, looking upon me with obvious disappointment. “You look to have two strong legs,” he says. “Tell me, boy, do you wish to live?”

There’s only one answer to his question, and yet I can’t find my voice.

He steps over the doctor’s still-warm corpse without a fuss, the fabric of his long robes soaking with blood. The emperor crouches before me on the other side of the cell. He smells of rich perfumes, though they do little to mask the stench of the prison.

“I have heard of you,” he murmurs softly. “They call you the Thread-Seeker.”

My throat closes up, choking what little air I have managed to swallow. His eyes are dead and soulless.

“Is it true?” he asks me. “Can you truly see red threads of fate? Or are my informants mistaken?”

I nod shakily. “I can see them, Your Imperial Highness.”

He lifts his hand for me to inspect. “Speak, then. Tell me what you see.”

Confusion washes over me. I’m hard-pressed for an answer. I stare at his severed gray thread in dismay. If I tell him the truth, this will surely upset him. Everyone despises the bearer of bad news. Would it not be better to wax poetic about how a great love awaits him?

In the end, I choose honesty.

“I’m sorry, Your Imperial Highness, but it seems that your connection with your Fated One is… no more.”

His face hardens, suddenly impassable. For a moment, I fear Captain Tian will strike me down without remorse. My chest is on the verge of bursting, my lungs blazing from lack of air. All is still and suffocating. And then—

The emperor smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What news have you heard concerning the Southern Kingdom of Jian?” he asks.

“Only that the border has been closed, and your Imperial Army has, erm… met great resistance in recent moons.”

“But do you have you any idea as to why we’re at war?”

“Not really,” I confess.

“Resources, boy. Great empires are only as strong as they are wealthy. I’ve already liberated the Kingdoms of Lang, Fen, Min, and your Kingdom of Xuě, and look how the people flourish under my guidance.”

Liberated? I nearly laugh in the emperor’s face, but manage to hold back. Only one head needs to roll today. I hadn’t even been born when the empire swept through and claimed my homeland, though the way A-Ma describes it, the people are no better off than they were before. It’s true that we share the same language, the same currency—but with such a large swathe of territory comes innumerable problems.

The Kingdom of Lang is known for their droughts, its farmers struggling to meet annual harvest quotas set out by the emperor’s own advisors. In the smaller Kingdom of Fen along the eastern coast, bandits roam the roads and pillage towns. The Kingdom of Min, located just to the west and bordering the Wastelands, is barely inhabited now. Most flock to Jiaoshan in the hopes of starting a new life, though life here is hardly a springtime walk, either. The year-long trade embargo has made normally plentiful goods difficult to come by. And the seemingly endless waves of conscription orders have made it near impossible to find capable workers.

But even with all these unchecked problems, the emperor still wants to claim the Southern Kingdom for himself?

I’m no ruler. I’m content with my simple life, making tea and serving cookies. Maybe matching a happy couple or two. I would never claim to understand politics or economics or the art of war, but this much I know: the emperor’s campaign in the South will serve no one but him.

“It seems you managed to escape the conscription order,” the emperor continues, one of his thick brows arched in a question.

I bite on the inside of my cheek, the memory of that day pulling to the surface. I heard the army officers approaching well before I saw them, the sound of their war drums announcing their approach. I remember their bright red banners flying overhead as they gathered at the city’s center, fanning out to cover as much ground as possible while delivering their ordinance.

“I was granted an exemption,” I answer tiredly, “in order to take care of my mother. She’s in poor health and cannot work. As her only child, it’s my duty to remain behind.”

“Ah, that would explain this, then,” the emperor replies, holding the vial up to the torchlight. “You do know what this is, yes?”

I swallow, my throat unbearably dry. “That I do.”

“The dragon this belongs to… It’s the last in existence.”

“How do you know?”

Emperor Róng observes me carefully, a dark glint in his eyes. I can’t fathom what devious plot might be stirring in his mind. “I wish to propose a deal,” he says, ignoring my question.

“What sort of deal?”

“Head south and find this huntress. Seek out my dragon and bring it to me. In return, you will receive my full pardon.”

My heart beats too quickly for me to distinguish each individual pulse. Has the emperor gone mad? I can’t deny the possibility of the creature’s existence now that I’ve seen its magic at work with my own two eyes, but—

“I’m no scout,” I insist. “And I don’t mean that to be humble, Your Imperial Highness. I have a lousy sense of direction.”

“Would you prefer death?”

I stare up at him, still on my hands and knees. No argument there. “How long would I be away?”

“However long it takes you.”

“But I’m free thereafter?”

“You have my word. I will even grant you a boon.”

“A boon?”

“Find my dragon,” he says, “and I will allow you to harvest as many scales as you should require from it to heal your dear mother.”

My guts are tied up in impossible knots, the precariousness of the situation coating my tongue with something sour. Of course I want my mother’s health to improve, but while I like to play the part, I’m no fool. When the emperor makes a request of you, it’s only ever a command. There is no denying him. My answer is predestined.

“What do you want with it?” I ask hesitantly. “This dragon.”

“That is none of your concern, boy. Answer me now: Do we have a deal?”

I take a deep breath. “As His Imperial Highness ordains.”

He nods just once and pockets my vial. “Excellent. You shall embark immediately.”

Concern jolts through me. “But I must inform my mother. She requires the last of her medicine, or else—”

Captain Tian slams his scabbard against the bars once more, cutting me off. “The emperor has spoken.”