CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
T he streets are quiet today, emptied of the crowds from yesterday.
A cluster of crows descends over the leftover spoils from the market: stale crusts, rotted fruit, half-eaten meat buns.
Jin and I walk in silence toward Duke Yuan’s residence, north of the city.
The red rooftiles shimmer in the sunlight, an arresting contrast to the yellow marble walls.
Instead of the sprawling courtyards and low buildings of the Palace of Nine Hills, the duke’s residence towers eight stories high, looming over the city like a fortress.
Vast gardens ring the mansion, flowers blooming in riotous splendor: peonies, camellias, and azaleas, wisteria cascading from the trees.
The lanterns emanate a gentle heat in some areas, while others are cooler with blocks of ice scattered around—like the seasons are entwined here, winter blossoms interwoven with spring.
A different type of magic, the type only money can buy.
An attendant shows us through the entrance, down a long corridor. Portraits are hung along the wall, mounted on brocade. They seem to stare down at us—some old, others young—the duke’s ancestors and descendants across the years.
Toward the end of the hall, a painting of a girl with long brown hair catches my eye.
I stand before it, recognition striking like a bolt through my chest. Her heart-shaped face is as fair as the moon, framing large, dark eyes.
It’s her, the young woman I dreamed of. I study her, yet there’s none of the warmth I felt before—maybe because this is just a painting.
“Who is she?” Yet as I recall my dream, those shining trees, the hooded figure who’d seized her… I already know.
“Lady Ruilin, the duke’s daughter.” Jin confirms my suspicion.
“The one we must rescue.” I speak quietly to conceal my excitement, trying not to imagine the danger.
“Do you like the painting?” he asks.
I make myself shrug. “Her face reminds me of someone.”
The attendant clears her throat impatiently, gesturing for us to hurry.
She leads us through the corridor, then up a flight of stairs.
At last, we reach the audience hall, surprisingly empty with just a handful of ministers in official-looking robes.
Trees sculpted from copper flank the entrance, their branches glittering with flowers carved from coral and quartz.
My fingers itch to pluck one, but too many guards are watching.
Cranes are painted on the lacquered pillars beneath skies of turquoise blue.
A thick carpet stretches across the floor, leading to the gilded throne at the far end.
A gong is struck, silence stretching in its wake. “All bow to greet Duke Yuan of the Amber Forest,” an attendant announces.
His appearance is as magnificent as his residence.
Pearls and amber beads are sewn on his red robe, his headpiece set with jade, gray hair peeking from beneath.
Small round emeralds gleam from his wide forehead, arranged in the shape of a small dragon.
As he settles on the throne, an attendant rushes to place a cushioned stool beneath his feet.
“All may rise,” the duke says with a sweep of his arm. “Today, only my most trusted ministers are present, along with the valiant heroes from across the realm who have come to aid us. I can’t risk word of this getting back to the magic-wielder; it would endanger my daughter.”
Only now do I notice the group to the side of the duke’s throne, clad in armor, different from those of the king’s guards.
“Duke Yuan, we are keen to learn more about the situation,” a tall woman says, her light brown hair braided with pearls. A large bow is slung across her back, a breastplate formed of silvery scales pulled over her long pants.
“General Suilan from the Pearl Ocean,” Jin murmurs into my ear. “Their women are famed for being powerful warriors.”
“What of the men?” I ask.
“I hear they dance remarkably well.”
“I would like to visit the Pearl Ocean; I think I’d like it.”
Jin smiles at me. “I will bring you there. I’ll bring you wherever you wish.” As he holds my gaze, something ill-advised and rash flutters in my heart.
“The rescue is a delicate quest,” the duke is saying.
“Negotiations have failed as the magic-wielder refuses to see reason. While my soldiers have the magic-wielder cornered, my daughter is being held under perilous conditions. We have summoned the finest warriors across the kingdoms, and the one who succeeds in rescuing my daughter will win the greatest treasure in my possession—the starfire.”
Jin steps forward and bows. “Your generosity is unmatched, Honored Duke. May we see this prize?”
“Do you doubt my word?” Duke Yuan snaps, though his eyes dart around uncertainly. Some of the courtiers are glaring at Jin, but the warriors are looking at the duke.
“His Highness Prince Zixin requested that we ask this,” Jin lies smoothly—astutely—as the prince’s name is the only one that might bear weight here.
Silence descends. At last, the duke sighs.
“The starfire was taken along with my daughter,” he admits.
“I gave it to her on her eighteenth birthday, and she wears it always. I ask your discretion not to speak of this. If word gets out, it will attract fortune hunters and reckless adventurers. The Death Swamp sits on precarious land; it cannot be stormed, unable to bear the weight of many. We believe my daughter is trapped in the tower there, and any collapse will endanger her life.”
Jin’s eyes are bright. There was always the fear the duke would revoke his promise once his daughter was returned safely—but this way, he has no choice. Cunning, to offer what is already lost, but unsurprising for one who governs as he does.
“Did the magic-wielder make any demands?” Jin asks.
“The negotiations appeared to be a ruse to delay our efforts,” a stocky warrior replies, his armor’s gilded cuffs revealing him as one from the Amber Forest.
“Perhaps the magic-wielder wants the starfire, Captain Gao,” a minister suggests.
“Then he should have released Lady Ruilin after securing it.” The captain’s brow creases as he looks at us. “Are you from the Iron Mountains? Where is General Xilu?”
“He is not here.” Jin inclines his head toward me. “Miss Yining is the champion.”
“Impossible,” the warrior from the Amber Forest declares, scratching his chin. “I sparred with General Xilu once; this girl is not his equal.”
Everyone turns to stare at me, even Duke Yuan. I try to speak but my throat clogs. “I am,” I say at last, despite the quaver in my voice. “I challenged General Xilu, and I defeated him.”
The duke frowns as he examines me. “Your attire isn’t that of a warrior’s.”
“Not all warriors wear iron.” I sound steadier now, my mouth slanted into a hard smile. “I don’t need armor to kill a magic-wielder.”
General Suilan from the Pearl Ocean nods at me, then turns to the duke. “We have little experience with magic-wielders. What weapons or artifacts can be provided to aid us?”
The duke gestures toward the attendants, who approach, handing us each a fat pouch embroidered with the duke’s symbol of twin trees. “The coin is for your expenses. I have no tools or weapons to counter magic, hence our desire to seeks the champions beyond our borders,” the duke says.
As he rises and leaves the hall, the other ministers follow him. Last to leave are the warriors, their steps brisk, their faces alight with urgency. All eager to set out and save the duke’s daughter—all vying for the same prize.
Outside the duke’s manor, I rummage through the pouch given to us. “Silver and copper. The duke is cheap despite his grand house and clothes.”
“We have enough for our needs, we don’t need his coin,” Jin assures me. “Let’s gather the others and leave at once.”
I’m not eager to plunge into danger, yet worried to fall behind. “This will be dangerous. Not just the magic-wielder but the swamp too.”
“The hardest part will be to approach the tower. There’s a reason the magic-wielder chose it—easier to defend, especially with his abilities.”
“He will be expecting an attack,” I say, as we walk together. “What if we dress as messengers? Maybe we can get close enough to lay a trap.”
Jin nods. “We’ll hire seamstresses and pay them well to make haste. We won’t have much time with the others setting out soon.”
“It will be expensive,” I warn. “When tradesmen smell urgency, they’ll rightfully demand a higher fee.”
“Let them charge what they want, as long as they deliver what we need,” he replies. “I will make the arrangements.”
“With your fine clothes and profligate manner, they’ll charge us twice the price.”
He leans against the wall, tilting his head back. “As you did when we first met?”
“And yet somehow, you’re now in my debt.”
His eyes shine in that enigmatic way that makes me want to edge closer, to unpeel his layers. The danger of him lies not just in the sharpness of his mind, but how I’m drawn to him, how we work together to hone an idea into a blade.
The garments take the better part of the day to complete.
But while the head seamstress has the heart of a robber, her skills are excellent.
When we leave the city, I’m dressed as a young man, my hair coiled into a topknot.
I’ve also bought herbs from the market—those that will hopefully dull the magic-wielder’s senses and cloud his mind.
But for this to work, we’ll need to be quick, clever, and above all, lucky.
It’s quiet by the city entrance, a steady trickle of people leaving.
The scales on the guards’ table are pushed to the side, unused today.
Back home, the Iron Mountains’ wealth lies in its ore, the toil of its people to extract it—while those of the Amber Forest tax ambition and dreams. Perhaps this is the way kingdoms survive, feasting on the blood and hearts of their people.
We set a swift pace as we ride, veering south toward the Death Swamp.
We don’t stop for rest; there isn’t time, the incessant thud of hooves ringing in my head.
In the distance, a river coils, its dark waters shimmering.
The radiance of the sky fades as the sun dips lower.
Only then does Jin call for a halt. As I dismount, sliding to the ground, my body aches but our horses show no sign of strain, their manes not even damp with sweat.
“Your horses are remarkably strong,” I remark.
“You should see them in their natural forms. Silver antlers, manes of gold, shining like creatures of starlight,” Jin tells me. “They are even quicker then.”
“Impossible.” My laugh emerges jittery. “They look just like the horses here.”
“Their true forms are disguised to allow us to pass unnoticed.” As Jin pats my horse, its brown coat shifts to an iridescent silver beneath his fingers. My gut churns at the realization I’ve ridden this creature all this while.
“Don’t be afraid,” Jin says quietly. “Our horses are like yours, gentle and peace-loving, when treated right. They might appear different, even startling to you—but they look just as they should to us.”
I study the horses, watching them gulp down the water from the river, some nuzzling the grass. My unease fades, replaced by curiosity. “I thought your people had no magic.”
“That doesn’t mean our realm is devoid of it. Magic manifests in different ways.” He’s answering in that evasive manner, trying to conceal more than he reveals. “Sometimes it’s hidden, sometimes it flows in the very water and earth. Sometimes, it’s been seized or stolen.”
I think of the creature in the Shadow Wing, of what I’m keeping from him. The impulse rises to tell him—but I stifle it once more.
Jin’s soldiers move swiftly to set up the camp, opening sacks of provisions, erecting tents, and building a fire to cook our meal.
As the smell of food fills the air, I grind the herbs I bought, trying to draw their essence out—though I’ve never been taught, it feels instinctive.
Then I soak the duke’s pouch in it, the one embroidered with his emblem.
Jin strides forward, holding a tray with two bowls of rice, a plate of sliced cucumbers, skewers of grilled meat, and cups of water. “Would you eat with me?” he asks.
Caught by surprise, I nod—realizing I want this too. Rising, I follow him. Away from the camp, it grows quieter, the chirping of crickets soon drowning out the soldiers’ voices. Feathery reeds arch over the river like elegant dancers, glints of light flickering across the water.
As he hands me a bowl, our fingers graze, a heady lightness sweeping through me. “Why did you ask me out here?”
He leans back, resting his palms on the grass. “I like being with you.”
Heat creeps up my face; I don’t want him to see it. But I like being with him too, not a stolen encounter laced with danger or the fear of discovery, but simple, quiet moments as these.
“What is Thorn Valley like?” I ask as we eat.
“To us, it’s beautiful.” He pulls up a knee and rests his elbow on it. “Some trees tower as tall as pines, others are only half your height. We have lakes there, as still and clear as mirrors. Our flowers grow wild, nothing like the pruned bushes of the duke’s gardens.”
It sounds so different from what I’ve heard. “What about the thorns?”
“You have to get past them first.” He holds my gaze. “If you come, I’ll show you how; I won’t let them hurt you.”
The moon breaks out from behind the clouds, pale shafts of light gliding over us, illuminating his features.
Our eyes lock; I almost forget to breathe, lost in their depths.
As the wind blows his hair across his forehead, my hand reaches out to brush it back before I realize what I’m doing.
Jin grows very still, then he shifts closer, his nearness almost intoxicating.
My heart quickens, my mind spinning. Yet I’ve been dazzled by the Prince of the Iron Mountains, fooled by Songmin’s smiles.
Being hurt has made me afraid… and I haven’t figured out yet whether it’s cowardly or wise.
With a wrench I turn from him, wrapping my arms around my knees. Jin draws back, his expression guarded like he’s read all the wrong reasons for my withdrawal.
“We should return to the others.”
“Yes,” I agree, my voice hollow.
Back at the camp, the fire is dwindling to glowing embers, thin trails of smoke rising high.
Most of the soldiers are sleeping, just a few on guard.
Despite the quiet, I’m anything but calm.
Right now, Jin and I tread the same path, but soon it will diverge.
Regardless of his words, I’m no one to him—just a small part of his plans, someone he’s played well and will keep playing… as long as I let him.