CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
C louds blot the skies, the scent of rain sharp in the air.
Shadows crawl over the stone floor, cast by the jagged ridge of mountains ringing this place.
Their slopes glitter beneath the wavering light, traces of the precious metal mined in their depths.
If only the iron didn’t exist. Our treasury would be empty, but such wealth never trickled down to the rest of us anyway.
The main square in the palace has been transformed for the tournament.
Red canopies shield the guests from the changeable weather, over a hundred of them dressed in their finest, waiting to be entertained by the spill of blood.
The tower of bamboo and iron rears above the stone dragon in the square, its surrounding waters glinting darkly, a reflection of the skies.
Prince Zixin sits on a raised platform, his white robe embroidered with dragons, sapphires studding their eyes.
His gaze sweeps the crowd restlessly. Over the last few days I’ve continued the pretense of illness to avoid him, channeling my efforts into anything that might help me stay alive.
Jin helped me gather the peonies that were tossed out after the banquet.
In the quiet of my room, I experimented with the flowers, distilling their essence into a small bottle tucked in my sash.
Each night, I climbed over my courtyard wall, heading here to study the tower—planning my path, practicing on the tiers after the guards and workers had left for the night.
Already, I’m wishing this were over. I stand in a far corner, concealed within a grove of cypresses, my stomach roiling.
Once I step forward, life will irrevocably change, forging a path into the wilderness.
My mind lingers on the comforts I’m forsaking, those that tempted me once, those I want still.
As the shadow of death creeps closer, fear floods me that I’ve chosen wrong…
that I’m going to die. But it’s not too late; I can still slip back through the trees, leave Thorn Valley without a champion.
Once I tell Prince Zixin the truth about my ring, he will return it, he won’t let me die.
I’ll just have to pay his price, trapped in a different kind of servitude from that to Mistress Henglan—one that will last till the end of my days.
I straighten, my resolve hardening once more. The prince will have to procure himself another living ornament.
Courtiers gather around the square, those more fortunate beneath a canopy.
Princess Chunlei sits beside her brother, Jin on his other side, attending in Lord Chao’s place.
His fitted black robe is draped over a pair of long pants.
He’s not dressed in the flowing garb of the Iron Mountains today, a stark reminder he’s not bound by their rules.
Despite his inscrutable expression, tension radiates from him.
As the guests watch the battling warriors from the Iron Mountains, attendants wind among them, pouring wine into cups, refilling plates of sweetmeats, honeyed walnuts, and osmanthus cakes.
It appears a festival, if not for the groans puncturing the serenity, the hot scent of blood slicing the air.
Soon, I will join them—my insides clenching at the thought.
Though the first part of the tournament is almost over, the remnants of violence remain.
Warriors stumble to their feet, their armor darkly stained, their flesh split, still bleeding.
Shoulders slump, faces twisted, those with more grievous wounds unable to rise from where they fell.
More than anticipated showed up to challenge the general.
I cheered each on silently, wondering if Princess Chunlei sent some of the contestants to weaken him.
Maybe between us all, we’d carve a weakness in General Xilu.
He’d fought with almost inhuman endurance, his bloodlust seeming to rise the more he spilled.
At last, General Xilu is declared the victor of the Iron Mountains, his soldiers cheering enthusiastically.
Sweat streaks from under his helmet, blood trickling from a shallow cut in his arm, a jagged scratch along his cheek.
His chest rises and falls heavily, his forehead creased.
Good that he’s tired, even a little angry.
I look up at the tower, my mouth going dry. Six tiers in all, a precarious path of smooth poles and spindly ladders, the corners gleaming where they’re welded with iron. At the highest point, a jade tablet dangles, tied in place with a cluster of red ribbon.
The crowd quiets as the chief attendant moves to the front. “General Xilu will now face the challenger from Thorn Valley. The victor will secure the honor of being our champion to rescue Duke Yuan’s daughter.”
As General Xilu swaggers forward, my fear spikes. I’m trying not to think of his brutal strength and skill but of how tired he must be, impatient for victory. As Jin says, I don’t have to be stronger, just faster… and I’ve been running most of my life.
Jin steps into the grove of trees, moving toward me. “Are you ready?”
No. But I nod.
“My people will retrieve your ring from the treasury today. I hope to have news soon.” He holds out a black mask. “Wear this.”
I slip it on, fastening it around my head.
Holes are cut in the material allowing me to see and breathe, yet covering most of my face.
I hate it, feeling trapped beneath a second layer of skin.
My leather armor is the lightest I can get away with, yet even after wearing it for practice these past days, its weight still strains me.
Beneath it, a long sash is wound around my waist as an additional tool.
Jin is looking at me, his brow furrowed. If I fail, he’ll lose his chance at securing the starfire. “Be careful. Don’t risk yourself unnecessarily. Try to goad the general to rashness,” he advises. “Don’t be afraid; I’m with you.”
But the truth is, once I’m on the tower, I’m alone. And only I can help myself.
Jin leaves shortly after. I draw a shaking breath, each moment stretching like an hour, yet going by too quickly. I should make my way forward… but can’t; I’m not that brave.
“Where is the challenger for Thorn Valley?” the chief attendant calls out.
General Xilu stands with his legs apart, arms folded. I force myself to move, leaving the safety of the trees, though my limbs feel frozen over.
Jin rises to his feet at the sight of me. “Our challenger approaches.”
“Your name?” General Xilu demands.
“Our challenger prefers to remain nameless,” Jin replies on my behalf to avoid the risk of another recognizing my voice—at least while the tournament can still be called off.
It won’t matter once we’re on the tower.
“They will fight in place of Lord Chao, who was attacked and grievously wounded here.” A harsh rebuke rings in his tone.
General Xilu scowls as he peers at me, trying to see beneath my mask. “Does your challenger not speak? Are they ashamed of their name?”
“The general must earn the privilege of my name through unmasking me.” I push my voice down to a low rasp.
“With pleasure, boy,” General Xilu snarls, straightening to his full height. “I’ll tear your face off too.”
His vicious condescension smothers my fear. I flick my gaze over the general’s muscular frame. “Size isn’t all that matters.”
The spectators laugh, the general’s eyes squeezed to slits of coal. He’s out for blood, but I wasn’t being rash. I want to tip the general over the edge… and he’s close.
“Do you know the rules of the challenge?” the chief attendant barks. As Prince Zixin’s loyal servant, he’d want the general to win.
I crane my neck to stare at the highest tier, my limbs stiffening. “Don’t fall?”
“For your own sake. The first contestant to retrieve the jade and return here”—the chief attendant points at the ground—“will be the winner. The only weapons permitted are these daggers, crafted of our finest iron.” He nods at the tray before him, the two blades glittering brightly.
As General Xilu and I each take a weapon, the chief attendant continues, “Should a contestant fall to the ground before retrieving the jade, they will be disqualified and the other declared the victor.”
“What are the other rules?” No killing, I will the chief attendant to say. No bloodshed.
“There are none.” The chief attendant’s smile is wide. “Use any other means necessary to retrieve the jade.”
General Xilu hands his sword to his attendant.
He strips off his iron armor, another attendant slipping a leather one over him, similar to mine.
His helmet remains, a wise decision to guard his head.
He grins, all yellowing teeth and malice, as he jerks his chin toward the nets erected along the base.
“It’s a steep drop and these nets won’t hold. It’s not too late to surrender.”
“Take your own advice,” I hurl back, yet my voice quivers. He’s toying with me, as I hoped to do with him—trying to inflict wounds before a step is taken.
He pats one of the poles. “These are as familiar to me as stairs. When I first joined the army, I trained daily on similar towers.”
It isn’t easy to smile, raising my chin. “Then it’s been a very long time since you’ve been on one.”
His mouth twists. “I’ll teach you some manners, boy. Give you the thrashing your mother should have long ago.”
I think of my kind and gentle aunt, and then of Mistress Henglan’s cane whistling through the air before it struck, of the dread, pain, and blistering humiliation. My hands fist. Now I don’t just have to beat him—I want to.
“Is it the starfire you’re hoping to win, General?” When he doesn’t reply, my voice shifts, needling him. “Or is it the princess?”
“Silence!” His tone is guttural, his outburst telling.
“For what it’s worth, you’re wasting your time,” I say rudely. “It’s evident to all that the princess would rather you look elsewhere. Anywhere, but at her.”
A beat of silence. “I’m going to enjoy hurting you.”