CHAPTER SIX #2
“It looks even worse close-up,” she continues to my surprise. The ring must have disguised its appearance, as the carp said. “What wood is this?”
“Nothing special—”
“You’re lying; the ring is precious to you. There’s a reason it was so hard to pull away; I considered cutting your finger off to get it. And that stupid fish only came to me when I held the ring over the water. With a net, it was easy prey.”
My nails dig into my palm. She tricked Little Dragon into thinking she was me. “Why did you kill it?”
“That fish was a malevolent creature,” she snarls. “Its magic was evil; it was trying to bewitch you—and you ate up everything like a fool. I’m protecting you; I promised your uncle I’d look after you.”
The urge to retch grips me. Mistress Henglan does bad things but never admits it, casting blame elsewhere. She didn’t do this for me; everything she does is for herself. Maybe she’s afraid of being alone, maybe she thought Little Dragon was taking me from her.
Whatever this is, it isn’t love… it’s the furthest thing from it.
“Think over your apology,” she says from the other side of the door, her voice despicably calm once more. “Make it good, else I’ll toss your ring down a mineshaft.”
I slide down to the floor, despair crashing over me as I bite down on the inside of my cheek. A future of being leashed by her threats unfolds. This time, there is no enchanted carp to help me… no way out.
“Where are you going, Step-Aunt?” To stop her, I must learn more.
“To the Palace of Nine Hills—the prince’s ball. We need money, after all.”
Silence stretches. She doesn’t speak to me again, nor does she answer my other questions.
At some point I doze off, and when I wake it’s already light.
Someone is moving around outside: Mistress Henglan making her preparations—ignoring me as I call out to her.
Finally, the front door slams, her footsteps receding.
I hope she fails tonight; I hope the palace guards arrest her for theft. But then… I’ll never see my ring again.
Grabbing a rusty shovel, I push the table against the wall and climb up to reach the window.
Raising the shovel, I slam it hard against the board, yet it remains fast, hammered in by thin nails.
I slide the edge of the shovel between the window and plank, slowly prying it away.
It’s wedged tight, but as I push down harder, it yields, crashing to the ground.
I tear away a strip of my skirt, wrapping my fist in the cloth, and punch through the window.
The thin frame splinters, scraping my hand.
Hauling myself up, I squeeze through the hole, then drop down on the other side.
I roll onto my back, staring into the sky.
It’s late in the afternoon, and the palace is a few hours away by foot.
Mistress Henglan would have bought passage with one of her acquaintances.
Mud cakes my face, my clothes are soaked in it.
I push myself up, rushing back into the house—empty, with no sign of my ring, but I pick up my knife from the table where Mistress Henglan left it.
The dress she demanded that I fix is gone, as is the invitation scroll.
I run to my room, shoving aside the mattress to find my handkerchief—a square of silk embroidered with a black-eyed tiger in gold thread.
I wrap my silver in it and tuck it into my waist. The silk has yellowed from age, the edges frayed.
Uncle told me that when he found me, I was clutching the handkerchief and refused to let go.
I don’t remember, but this is a precious remnant of my past.
In the kitchen, my hands tremble as I sift through the soup for the remains of the carp. Nausea rises at the sight of the pale chunks of flesh, speared with translucent bones, but I wash them carefully, wrapping everything in a piece of cloth.
Only then do I rise and leave the house.
I take nothing else with me. There are no cherished remembrances left of my family; Mistress Henglan has sold them all.
But my memories aren’t bound here; I’ll carry them always.
Without my aunt and uncle, this house is just three small rooms of brick and clay, for all that once made this place a home is gone.
Something snaps inside me as I turn and run into the forest. Close to the pond, I sink to my knees beneath the shade of an oak tree.
As I claw the earth, soil cakes my nails.
When the hole is deep enough, I place the bundled remains of the golden-eyed fish within.
Then I hunt for something to mark the grave, settling on a small piece of wood.
I hope Little Dragon will like this place, close to the pond where the wind rustles the reeds.
As I scoop the soil back into the hole, a leaden weight sinks over me. The carp searched for me, found me, then died for my sake. I won’t let it all be for nothing. A single thought resonates through my mind, one that keeps me moving: I must get my ring back.
And to do that, I must go to the prince’s ball.