CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I sit on the marble stool in my courtyard this morning. The pear blossoms have wilted without any sign of fruit, the ground littered with withered petals. This place feels smaller, more oppressive, after the freedom beyond.
The girl who left the palace is not the same one who returned.
I look at everything through new eyes: recoiling at the bright iron, the barren gardens filling me with fierce satisfaction that the only flowers that will bloom here are those of mourning and of death.
And when I imagine my mother dying alone in a shuttered room, her suffering and misery…
My hand fists but I force it apart, staring at the mark on my finger, the streaks around it darkening, a few almost stretching to the edge of my palm.
It’s becoming harder to keep it concealed, to pretend it doesn’t hurt, the headaches lasting longer, feverish chills beginning to tear through my body.
I’ve increased the dose of Dian’s medicine, dulling most of the discomfort…
but it doesn’t change the fact I’m dying.
Two weeks, maybe less, Dian said. I’m down to one.
A frantic unease writhes within. Since my return a couple of days ago, I’ve been confined here to await a summons from Prince Zixin.
Maybe he wants to make me wait—a taste of what it’s like to lose his favor, as when I angered him before.
I’ve had no chance to speak with Ruilin or Jin, only to those allowed through by the guards outside my courtyard, namely Shan and the attendants who bring my meals.
Madam Lau does not visit, and though it’s a relief to avoid her lessons, I worry what her absence means.
Regardless, I can’t sit here and wait any longer.
“Shan, where is Prince Zixin today?” I call out to him.
“His Highness is hosting a banquet this afternoon, in the garden by the Grand Hall,” he replies, hurrying into the courtyard.
“Do you still have one of the outfits that Mina prepared?”
“Why?” Shan’s eyes are wide. He thinks I’ve quarreled with the prince. From the scornful and pitying looks of my guards and the attendants who come by, they all believe I’ve lost the prince’s favor. If so—I’m going to win it back.
“I will join His Highness.”
Shan stares at me. “But… there was no invitation.”
“I don’t need one.” A hard smile slides across my face. I’ll find my own way in, just as I did before.
The sun shines brightly, a warm autumn day, many sheltering beneath the roofs of the pavilions.
Shan and I stand by the side of the garden, out of sight.
Attendants weave among the guests, pouring peach wine and offering trays of sweetmeats, bars of sesame candy, coconut pastries, and sugared fruit.
Wisteria blossoms woven from silk are draped across the branches of the trees, a few strewn over the grass.
They are exquisitely made, as are the waxed paper lotuses floating across the pond—yet a shadow of what it mimics.
Delicate wire-wrought cages hang from rosewood stands, each confining a bright feathered bird.
Their beautiful songs fill the air as they crane their necks for a glimpse of the sky.
Prince Zixin’s white robe is embroidered with gold pheasants, a wide black sash wrapped around his waist. The royal seal hangs from it, my fingers curling at the thought of the dragon trapped within.
Once we’re in his palace… we are all shackled to his will.
Ruilin’s warning echoes through me. She sits with Princess Chunlei, in deep conversation with her.
General Xilu stands across from them, his heavy-lidded gaze following the princess as it usually does.
His fingers crumble a piece of sweetmeat like he’s restless, like he needs to destroy something—a shiver running through me at the memory of his brutal attacks.
Jin is seated close to the front, his expression a mask of bored indifference.
Though I’m careful not to look at him, I’m glad he’s here.
Few notice as I approach the dais, all attention riveted upon a pair of bare-chested warriors on a raised platform, sparring by hand.
As one of the warriors deals a vicious punch to the other’s face, the thick scent of blood cuts the air.
Prince Zixin is in the mood for violence.
His eyes slide over the crowd, pinching in the way I’ve come to dread.
As he spots me, I smile and bow—but he lifts a cup to his lips, making me wait.
When he finally gestures for me to approach, I walk toward him, my skin crawling at his assessing gaze.
He hasn’t decided whether to trust me. When I left, I broke something between us—something that I need to fix.
Princess Chunlei calls out, “Miss Yining, Lady Ruilin told me how you rescued her from the magic-wielder. Was she as terrifying as the rumors claimed?”
“Every bit,” I reply. “She turned warriors into statues.”
The princess’s face clouds. “Lady Ruilin, did she treat you badly? You were her prisoner—”
“No!” Ruilin colors at her own vehemence. “She wasn’t cruel, only to those who attacked.” She stops, conscious of being too generous to her supposed kidnapper.
“Were you in danger?” Prince Zixin asks me in an aloof manner, as I stand before him.
The memory of the illusion, the kiss, sweeps through my mind. I swiftly banish it. “It was terrifying, Your Highness.” My voice shakes like I’m still haunted, trying to rouse his sympathy. “Fortunately, I was only a little hurt. I thank Your Highness for his concern.”
As an attendant places a chair beside him, I sink down on it gratefully. “I will ask the royal physician to inspect your injuries,” he tells me.
“There’s no need; just a few bruises remain.”
A brief silence falls, his fingers tightening across his cup. “I thought of you while you were away.”
“I thought of Your Highness too.” I seize the opening, though the words stick in my throat.
“Will you want to leave again?”
“Never,” I lie without pause.
I’m rewarded with a small smile, just as a cheer goes up from the crowd watching the wrestlers. One of the fighters has his head locked into the other’s elbow. If he can’t extricate himself soon, the match will be over.
“What does the winner of today’s fight receive?” I ask.
“Honor. Gold. A promotion.” Prince Zixin sets his cup down, then gestures toward Ruilin. “Lady Ruilin, I hope your father will remember the reward promised to Miss Yining for her rescue of you.”
“I’m sure Father will—or if he forgets, a reminder from Your Highness will suffice.” Ruilin smiles as she adds, “Will Your Highness also reward Miss Yining for her valor?”
“Of course.” His eyes slide to my face. “Yet there are some who question the completion of the task.”
A coldness snaps across my body. “Who?”
Minister Luk steps forward and bows, the prince’s mouthpiece. “Miss Yining rescued Lady Ruilin, but where is the magic-wielder’s body? Where is the proof that she is defeated, no longer a threat to our realm?”
“Her body?” Ruilin repeats in a thready whisper.
I close my mouth before I say something I’ll regret. It’s safer to let Ruilin handle this—or Jin. I don’t want to rouse the prince’s ire by disagreeing with him.
“I don’t understand.” Ruilin sounds confused, a fine actress. “I am here, safe and unharmed. Why is anything more needed?”
“The magic-wielder was killed when we saved Lady Ruilin,” Jin interjects smoothly.
“Only through her death could the trapped warriors be freed from her spell. Did Your Highness not receive a report? It would be advisable to quash the rumors questioning the completion of Miss Yining’s task.
Should Duke Yuan hear, he might reconsider his reward, the one due to us. ”
Jin plays a delicate game as Prince Zixin’s eyes flash in annoyance. Yet the prince believes I would trade the starfire for my ring. He’s wrong; I’m going to take both. To hide my thoughts, I pick up a wedge of sugared mandarin, eating it though it’s too sweet, leaving a cloying aftertaste.
“I have a proposal for you to convey to Lord Chao,” Prince Zixin says in a commanding tone to Jin. “Thorn Valley is our close ally, and we are keen to strengthen our alliance. Perhaps a new arrangement might be sought to both our satisfaction, beyond any material gift.”
“We are secure in our friendship with the Iron Mountains. We need nothing else beyond the promised starfire,” Jin says flatly.
“The advisor should consult with his lord on such important matters.” Prince Zixin speaks with a thinly veiled contempt that grates on me.
“Lord Chao entrusted me, in his absence, with the power to speak on his behalf,” Jin replies, an edge in his tone.
“Very well.” Prince Zixin smiles tersely. “In place of the starfire, I offer a far more precious jewel: my sister. A marriage between our families, to cement our alliance for generations to come.”
Princess Chunlei stands abruptly, her hands clasped before her, her face pale. My heart wrenches at the realization this must be her worst nightmare, to be traded for her brother’s gain. “Honored Brother, let us discuss this matter in private.”
Many of the guests are looking at her and whispering, some shaking their heads in apparent disapproval of the prince’s offer. General Xilu remains silent, but his expression reminds me of when he’d drawn his fist back and struck my face.
“We can speak here, Sister.” Prince Zixin’s eyes glint like shards of onyx. He is ruthless, even to his own kin. “A union between yourself and Lord Chao would be highly advantageous—not just to you, but to our kingdom.”
I think of the buffoonish Lord Chao, who seems to care for little but food and wine.
Even if he’s as good a fighter as Jin claims, I wouldn’t want to marry him either—to be sent away, so far from home.
But all Prince Zixin weighs is the gain to himself and his kingdom; his sister’s misery is a price he’s willing to pay.
Princess Chunlei casts a beseeching look at her brother, but he stares back stonily. I want to assure her that she’s in no danger, that neither Jin nor Lord Chao would want someone from the Iron Mountains in their domain. But I can’t set myself against the prince—not yet.
“We are honored by the proposal, Your Highness. However, Lord Chao is not seeking a bride at the moment,” Jin says carefully.
“Return and discuss this with your lord.” Prince Zixin’s tone is impatient.
Jin’s eyes are dangerously bright as he dips his head in the barest incline. “I will. After Your Highness’s coronation.”
Prince Zixin leans back against his chair. “Of course. Thorn Valley is our honored guest. The coronation will take place in four days, on the auspicious date chosen by the astrologers.”
So soon? My heart almost stops. I take a candied strawberry and chew it to distract myself from the fear pulsing through me, teetering on despair.
All attention has shifted back to the combatants: Prince Zixin’s expression is cold, his sister’s tense, and Jin’s carefully blank.
The fight is winding down, both sides tiring.
One has a clear advantage: stronger, larger, more heavily muscled.
The smaller one is quicker, and I find myself rooting for him—though he’s tiring fast, each blow he suffers worse than those he inflicts.
His opponent is the crowd favorite, swaggering as though victory is already his.
Without warning, he charges forward, hurtling against the smaller one—but his opponent evades, swinging around to seize him by his neck, locking it in his elbow.
The taller warrior grunts as he kicks to get free—but the other clings tight, flinching from each attack.
Only once he’s proclaimed the victor does the smaller fighter release his grip.
He weaves on his feet, blood trickling into his eyes from a deep gash on his forehead.
Silence falls over the stunned crowd; many will have lost their bets today.
The warrior strides forward to accept his prize with his head held high.
His victory is unexpected, tasting twice as sweet—just as losing is twice as bitter for the defeated.
As the winner is crowned, applause breaks out.
Blood trickles from the victor’s wounds, his expression dazed but triumphant.
Leaning forward, I clap till my palms sting.
I don’t care about endangering myself for glory; I have the heart of a thief not a hero.
But like this fighter, I’ll need to defy the odds, to risk everything for a chance at winning it all.