CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
N ight is spent in restless slumber, trapped between dreams. A girl appears in a field of flowers.
She has a small mouth and pointed chin, her hair in two braids.
The warmth in my chest when I look at her is the same as when I saw the young woman in my dream, the one running—a wholeness that reaches beyond time, memory, and sense, to fill this nameless void in my heart.
Maybe they are the same, this girl a younger manifestation?
As she tilts her head up, one of her braids slips down, revealing a scatter of moles on her neck.
The skies above her darken, something soaring above, the size of a large bird.
My chest spears with sudden anguish. I cry out, bolting upright in bed, my palms damp, my head pounding—my emotions seized in a vise.
Someone raps against my door. “Yining, are you all right?”
Jin’s voice. I dart out of bed, pulling on the clothes I tossed off last night—just as the door is pushed apart. Jin stalks in, but at the sight of me half-dressed, my hair disheveled, he swings around, the back of his neck reddening.
An unexpected urge to laugh grips me, dousing any embarrassment. “Why are you here, Jin? Why are you flushed?” I needle him.
“I heard you cry out… I was worried.”
Unlike his usual calm, these words fragment, his breathing uneven. A lightness rushes through me as I dress slowly, taking the opportunity to study his back, the tautness of his shoulders, how the ends of his hair curl along his nape.
“How did you hear me?” I ask.
“Your room is next to mine.” He turns to me, nodding at the wall. “These are thin, poorly constructed like the rest of this inn.”
His hair is rumpled, as are his clothes, like he pulled them on in a hurry. An image flashes through my mind of him sleeping, his eyes closed, his head thrown back. I clear my throat, my mouth gone dry. “What would you do if there was a trespasser?”
“Wake you?” he says with a grin, himself once more. “You’re skilled enough with a dagger.” His gaze falls on the one left on the table, the gold scabbard gleaming. “A rare weapon. Where did you get this?”
“Prince Zixin gave it to me after I helped him fend off assassins.”
A pause. “Imagine if you hadn’t helped the prince that you are now running from.”
“They would have killed me too.” Suspicion blooms. “Did you send them?”
“No.” He frowns. “Why would you think I did?”
“Starfire? His Highness carries one,” I remind him. “Why do you want it?” Maybe it’s because I’m half asleep, because of how he rushed to my aid—but I want him to confide in me, to prove I’m not just his pawn.
“Doesn’t everyone desire it?”
I keep my face expressionless as my heart dips. Pawns are only told what they need to know; they shouldn’t ask for more.
“Why did you cry out?” he asks.
“A dream.” My guard is up once more. “It could be sleeping in a strange room or dinner last night.” I wince, recalling the coarse noodles slathered in a thick sauce that tasted more of flour than meat.
Jin’s mouth thins as he glances around the cramped space. The morning light streams through the cracked window, falling upon the dirt-encrusted floor and thin mattress. “Market day is a busy time; this was the only inn available. Do you mind these quarters?”
“You forget where you met me.”
“Oh, I remember.” His smile stirs something in me that I swiftly smother. “After living in the Palace of Nine Hills, you might have acquired different tastes.”
“I’m not that changeable. A soft bed isn’t worth risking my life.”
A pause. “Do you think Prince Zixin will hurt you?” He sounds surprised—almost angry.
“Not right now,” I reply honestly. “But who knows what he’ll do when I stop dancing to his tune—when I’m too tired to pretend.”
“I won’t let him harm you.”
And though I still don’t trust Jin entirely, this makes me feel better.
By the door, he inclines his head. “I’ll see you for breakfast. We should leave for the duke’s residence soon.”
Once alone, I change quickly into a moss-green silk dress, the only one I brought. Appearances seem to matter to Duke Yuan, along with the people of his city.
As I enter the dining room, I join Captain Hong and Deng. An awkward silence falls as I take my seat, the first time we’re sharing a meal together. Captain Hong looks away from me, while Deng waves over the proprietor, a stern-faced woman with a stained apron tied around her waist.
“We come from the Iron Mountains,” he announces. “Bring us your best dishes.”
The innkeeper’s mouth purses. “Even if you’re the king himself, all meals must be paid upfront. One silver piece for the lot of you.”
An extortionate amount for this dilapidated inn.
But I hold my tongue as Captain Hong lays the payment on the table.
The woman swipes it up without a word of thanks, marching toward the kitchen.
Shortly after, a girl appears with a large tray, setting down bowls of porridge that appear watery yet lumpy, a plate of boiled meat with a thick rind of fat, braised peanuts, and pickled vegetables.
The tea poured into my cup is a watery brown, thin stalks floating on the surface.
Deng sniffs it, wrinkling his nose. “Back in the palace, they’d use tea like this to water the plants.”
“A month in the Palace of Nine Hills and he’s fussier than the prince,” Captain Hong remarks, raising his cup.
I pick up a piece of meat with my chopsticks, taking a bite. It’s tough and underseasoned, but at least not rancid. I don’t take meals for granted. The soldiers start on their food, their faces set in grim determination as they spoon porridge into their mouths.
Deng scoops half the dish of peanuts into his bowl. “It isn’t so bad if you don’t think about what you’re eating.”
“What do you eat back in Thorn Valley?” I ask curiously.
“Whatever wild game we hunt or vegetables we harvest. We also catch fish…” His voice trails off as Captain Hong sets his cup down a little too hard.
“Is Thorn Valley close to the sea? Are you near to Mist Island?” I probe, having imagined their country to be a barren wasteland.
“It doesn’t matter how close we are to it,” Captain Hong says a little brusquely. “No one can find Mist Island or enter it, nor do we wish to.”
Jin appears then, a black overcoat slung over his arm. He takes the only seat left, beside me, his eyes flicking across my dress before he greets the others.
“Shall I order for you, Sir?” Captain Hong asks him with a note of deference.
Jin glances at the food on the table and shakes his head. “Just tea.”
“Our Honored Advisor is particular, despite claiming he didn’t mind the room and hard bed,” Deng says with a grin.
“I don’t care what I lie on, but I do care what I put into my stomach,” Jin replies.
“What you lie on—or who?” Deng winks at me as he pulls his stool closer to the table. “The Honored Advisor was seen leaving another’s room this morning—”
“Don’t spread unfounded gossip,” Captain Hong reprimands him.
My face burns but I tilt away so they don’t see it. Jin replies curtly, “I heard a cry and thought Miss Yining needed help.”
He speaks so formally, his manner stilted—a sudden desire gripping me to embarrass him. I press my elbows to the table and lean toward him. “The Honored Advisor was most attentive, barging into my room when I was half-dressed.”
“That’s not… it’s not…” Jin scowls, but he can’t deny it—and I’m relishing the rare chance to watch him flounder.
As Deng’s mouth falls open, the prudish Captain Hong choking on his tea—my smile widens. This is far better than shrinking away and trying to hide.
Deng laughs. “Honored Advisor, I didn’t know you had this side to you.” As Jin glares at him, Deng adds in an exaggerated whisper, “Don’t worry, Sir. I won’t tell Shiji.”
An awkward silence falls. “Who is Shiji?” How normal my voice sounds, not at all like my jaw is clenched.
“A friend,” Jin replies.
I shove a bite of porridge into my mouth, tasting nothing, ignoring the cold that slithers through me.
The serving girl returns, carrying a plate of limp bean sprouts.
It’s the start of the day, and she already looks exhausted, beaten down.
But at the sight of Jin, her eyes widen—and when he smiles at her, she smiles back.
“Do you need a bowl of porridge, Noble Sir?” she asks eagerly.
When he shakes his head, the girl bites her lip, glancing at the surly innkeeper. A hard job, serving an endless succession of unhappy strangers, working for a harsh mistress who takes no pride in the establishment.
“He’ll have the same as us, and he’ll pay upfront too,” I tell her.
Jin offers the girl two pieces of silver with his usual indifference to money. But she doesn’t take it. “That’s far too much.”
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Mei,” she replies hesitantly, like she’s unused to the question.
I take the silver from Jin and tuck them into her hand. “Keep the rest.”
She doesn’t thank us, but her eyes glisten. “Is there anything else you need?”
It strikes me she must have a wealth of news, listening to the guests. “They say the duke’s daughter was taken by a magic-wielder. Do you know anything more?”
The girl shudders. “I remember when he came to the city, the night of a storm. A cloth was wrapped around the lower half of his face and he wore a straw cloak.”
I set down my cup, exchanging a look with Jin as the soldiers around us stiffen. “The magic-wielder stayed here?”
Mei glances around the run-down room. “Those who don’t plan their travels in advance usually end up here—but they rarely return.”
“How did you know he was a magic-wielder?” Jin asks.
Her forehead puckers like she’s thinking. “Something about the way he carried himself. The air felt different when he approached, just as when he left.”
“Did he ever talk to you?” I want to know.
“He asked the year of my birth, my family name. When he looks at you with those eyes, you’d tell him anything.”
“How did he take the duke’s daughter away?” Jin asks.
“They said Lady Ruilin was on the verge of a betrothal, but she never arrived at the celebratory banquet. She vanished, only seen later outside the city, the magic-wielder’s captive.”
As the innkeeper calls her name, Mei hurries away.
“We must leave to meet the duke soon,” Jin tells me, shrugging on his overcoat.
Dressed in these formal clothes, he reminds me of the stranger I met in the market—the one who seems a world apart from me, who only wants to use me, with secrets he doesn’t share.
My mind wanders to how different he looked this morning: rumpled, half asleep, his eyes alight with concern.
I’m curious about that Jin, the one who doesn’t think everything through, moving people like counters on the board. He’s someone I’d like to know better.
And I’m curious about this “Shiji” too, though I’d never admit it aloud. However, we’re here for reasons that have nothing to do with each other—he wants the starfire, and I want my ring. And to get either, we’re going to have to kill a magic-wielder.