The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 26

26

I t’s a brisk winter morning, the air thin and the breeze light. We have spent the last two days recovering from our journey across the Western Wastelands, though I never truly settled in. I can sense Jyn’s growing restlessness. I can feel her itching to leave this place.

She has kept her distance ever since our kiss came to an abrupt and awkward halt.

“Oh, dear,” Chyou murmurs, cradling her baby close to her breast. “Why won’t she stop crying?”

We’re gathered around the small fire in front of Chyou and Ming’s family tent, an iron pot of bone broth and root vegetables simmering over the low flames. Little Jia has been sobbing all morning despite her mother’s best efforts. No amount of feeding, burping, changing, sleeping, or playing stops the poor child’s piercing screams. At the very least, it’s nice to know that she is blessed with strong lungs.

“Perhaps I can try holding her for a while?” I offer. “Please, help yourself to something to eat. I can keep watch. Just until Ming gets back from tending to the chickens.”

Chyou smiles appreciatively, the dark circles beneath her eyes unmistakable. “Thank you, Sai.”

I hold the baby to my chest with the utmost care. My experience with children is minimal, though I like them well enough. A-Ma always used to call them little bundles of endless potential. Who knows what great feats they may accomplish one day? What wonderful people they might become?

Chyou stands and stretches, then helps herself to a bowl of soup. “I can’t help but notice that your darling is not here. Did something happen?”

“My darling?” I echo. “Oh, you mean Jyn. You have it wrong, I’m afraid. We’re only—”

“Travel companions?” she teases, her eyebrows raised. Chyou sits back down beside me and takes a sip of her stew. “Please, Sai. I sincerely doubt that ‘travel companions’ act as passionately as we saw the two of you doing last night.”

My ears burn, either from the cold or my rising embarrassment. I keep my eyes on little Jia, who has fallen quiet for a moment, perhaps to catch her breath. She squirms and wriggles in her blanket, one arm outstretched. Her little fingers flex up toward the sky as though to grab onto it, and her cries fade into discontented whimpers. Anything could set her off again.

“Things are… complicated,” I admit.

“Do you have feelings for her?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes, but—”

“But what? Love is never that complicated, dìdi .” Little brother .

“?‘Love’ is putting it very strongly. We only just met.”

“Really? You two look as though you’ve known each other for ages.”

“Well, it certainly feels that way.”

“Do you know if she feels the same?” Chyou asks bluntly. I admire her candor. It makes it surprisingly easy to say what’s on my mind.

“I can’t be sure,” I confess. “But regardless, I won’t force her to reciprocate. That wouldn’t be right of me, nor fair to Jyn. I suspect…” I trail off.

“What is it?” she urges.

I’m silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I think. “She’s been through something harrowing. I don’t know what, and I doubt she’ll ever tell me, but I do know she carries the burden of it entirely on her own. I don’t wish to trouble her with my feelings.”

Chyou gives me a sympathetic look. “May I offer a word of advice?”

“Of course.”

“I think you should be up-front with her. There’s no time like the present.”

My stomach flips. “But what if—” I sigh. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Then at least you’ll know. You’ll both be able to move on, though I very much doubt it will come to that.”

“What makes you say that?”

Chyou grins at me. “Do you not see the way she looks at you?”

“The way she—?”

Her eyes flit up to look across the way. I follow her line of sight, curious. Past the tents and the movement of the other villagers, I spot Jyn at the base of a steep hill, surrounded by a group of young girls, the same ones from the banquet. They’ve taken a liking to her. They run around her in circles, giggling as they play. Jyn sits on the grass, legs tucked to her chest while her chin rests on her knees, arms wrapped around just so. As much as she feigns irritation, I can feel her contentment softly humming over our bond. Even at a distance, I can sense her quiet amusement.

Something tugs at my heart. Jyn looks surprisingly comfortable and right surrounded by these little ones. Motherly. There’s an ease to her now that I haven’t witnessed before, a sweetness to her small grin as they hand her bouquets of fallen leaves tied together with long blades of grass. Jyn humors them, holding on to these little trinkets protectively as the girls babble on.

For just a moment, our eyes lock. Is she looking at me, or the newborn in my arms? I can’t be sure. But there’s a fondness in her gaze, something patient and tender. Then she realizes she’s staring and looks away.

Only to shift her eyes back to me when she thinks I’m not looking.

My heart skips a beat when Jyn stands up to come this way. The little village girls chase after her, one of them going so far as to hold her hand as they traverse the frozen grounds. She trips, but Jyn expertly holds her arm up to keep the girl from falling flat.

Chyou smiles wide upon her arrival. “Ah, good timing. Would you care for some bone broth, Jyn?”

“No, thank you. Perhaps later.” Jyn glances at baby Jia, who has begun to stir again. “Still upset, I see.”

Chyou lets out a breathy laugh. “Unfortunately so. I fear the rest of the village will cast us out at this rate. We’ve been trying to get her used to solid foods, though as you can see…” Chyou gestures toward her red-faced daughter.

“Have you any honey and goat’s milk?” Jyn inquires.

“I believe we have a little of each in the stores, yes.”

“If you could please fetch both, as well as a clean towel.”

Chyou tilts her head to the side, considering. “Very well. I shall return.”

Jyn takes her place beside me, kneeling gracefully on the grass. She extends her hands out for the baby. “May I?”

I nod, carefully transferring Jia from my arms to hers. It is a heartwarming, natural gesture.

“How have you been?” I ask, my throat uncomfortably dry. “I’ve not seen much of you lately.”

Jyn rocks the child slowly in her arms. “I’ve been… thinking. About your question.”

My heart leaps up and lodges in my throat. It takes all my willpower to keep my voice even as I say, “Oh?”

“I’ve decided to tell you the truth, Sai, but…”

“What is it?”

“You must promise that you’ll listen fully and not act rashly.”

I lean a little closer, suppressing the excitement vibrating in every fiber of my being. “I swear it, Jyn.”

She nods, though apprehensively. “I’ll tell you when we’re alone. This isn’t the place.”

I, for once, agree wholeheartedly. The huntress has been lurking about the village. I may not have seen her these last few days, but I know she’s keeping watch somewhere—best if we don’t discuss such things out in the open.

Chyou returns with the requested items, the goat’s milk sloshing about inside its cup. “What should I do next?” she asks.

“Mix the honey in with the milk, then soak the rag in the mixture,” Jyn instructs. She speaks with confidence and ease, as if she has done this a thousand times before. Once Chyou finishes the task, Jyn takes the cloth and brings the corner of the rag to the baby’s lips.

Miracle of miracles, the child latches on at once and begins to drink, too distracted by the sweet concoction to keep up her noise. Around us, the entire village seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Chyou gasps.

“I can finally hear my thoughts again,” I jest.

Jyn rolls her eyes. “This should tide her over for now, but don’t give it to her regularly. It should be reserved for the most difficult of fits.”

Chyou nods gratefully as she takes her daughter back. “How did you know this? Do you have children of your own?”

Jyn manages a nod, though her eyes are empty and tired. “Just one. He has… long since left me.”

The weight of those simple words crushes my chest, and I swear I feel my heart fracture in time with hers. I can’t just sit here any longer.

“Jyn and I were thinking of going for a walk,” I tell Chyou. “Will you be all right by yourself?”

Chyou waves me off with a grin. “Of course. Ming should be back soon. You two have done more than enough.”

I offer Jyn my hand. She takes it without question.

Together, we make our way back to our tents. There are so many questions brewing within me. I have no doubt that Jyn can feel my anticipation, because I sense a slight tug on our thread, almost as if she is trying to reel me in.

“Leaf Water!” Feng barks, marching over with a determined look in her eye. “I need to talk to ye.”

Gods, give me patience.

Jyn tosses me a wary look over her shoulder. I only nod in response. She goes on ahead while I remain behind. The more distance I can put between my dragon and Feng, the better.

“Still here, I see,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I thought for sure you would have returned to the Southern Kingdom by now.”

She reflects my stance, crossing her arms—which I daresay are far more muscular than mine—and snorts. “Ye haven’t answered my questions.”

“I already told you, I remember nothing.”

“And why don’t I believe ye?”

“Because—no offense—you have a very distrusting nature.”

“It had ye in its claws ,” Feng presses on. “Why didn’t it eat ye?”

I shrug. “Perhaps I smelled too ghastly.”

She squints at me, scrutinizing every inch of my face. “What aren’t ye telling me, Leaf Water?”

Unease bubbles right beneath my skin, my hands suddenly clammy and stiff. She’s a determined one, I’ll give her that, but Feng will have to work a hundred times harder to pry the truth from me. I can’t and won’t expose Jyn. Even if I tell her the truth, that me and Jyn are a fated pair, I doubt Feng can be swayed to give up her hunt.

“Ye were on the brink of death when it carried ye away,” she says firmly. “An easy meal.”

I grind my teeth so hard, my molars squeak against one another inside my skull. “It sounds as though you wanted to see me eaten, huntress.”

“Not that. It’s just the more plausible answer.”

“It must have dropped me. I have nothing more to say on the matter.”

“How’d ye survive such a fall?” Feng leans in close, her brows knitted into a deep frown. “Those soldiers beat ye to a pulp. I heard yer bones break.”

I sneer, an overwhelming heat rising into my chest. “Close enough to hear, and yet you did nothing to stop them?”

“I couldn’t give away my position.”

“I needed your help.”

“Not my fault ye ran in headfirst.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“And it almost got ye killed.” I’ve barely taken a step toward Jyn when Feng scoffs. “Hey, where do ye think yer goin’? I’ve still got questions, Leaf Water.”

“We’re done here,” I growl, turning away.

“Ye slayed it, am I right? Ye killed the beast and hid it somewhere so that ye could claim fame and fortune for yerself!” She grabs me roughly by the shoulder. “If ye won’t tell me, I’ll ask yer woman—”

Anger flares up from my core. It’s sudden and blinding. It’s not in my nature to snap, and yet I can’t control myself when I whip around and grab Feng by the throat. I pin her against the post of a nearby tent, snarling in her ear with a fury I have never experienced before.

“Leave us alone!” I seethe. My blood is on fire, my heart a war drum. “I’ve already told you, I don’t know where the dragon is. Now, cease this incessant barking and return to the mountains whence you came.”

Feng gawks, startled by my about-face. She gasps against my hold, clawing at my wrists. “Yer eyes,” she rasps, her own wide with alarm. “They’re red .”