Chapter 19 Yue
Time is impossible to track in Hell. Has it been weeks, or mere days?
Despite leaving the arena behind, the stench of blood and sweat and aggression has seared itself into my nostrils. The fact that we have to survive eight more of these trials has me in a particularly foul mood, though I suppose progress is progress.
“The Court of Hunger,” Wen mutters as we make our way up the steps of another pavilion. “You reckon they’ll try to starve us to death?”
I snort. “How utterly imaginative.”
Sooah points toward a small garden just past the pavilion, drawing my attention to the open space and drooping wisteria trees.
They have no petals, their branches naked and thin.
Despite its barren state, there’s tranquility to be found here.
Especially after witnessing the carnage of the Court of Wrath.
She gestures slowly, and I’m able to discern her simple signs. She presses her palms together and places them on the side of her cheek, like a pillow, before pointing at the ground.
Sleep here.
“Good idea,” I reply. “You three need your rest.”
“Someone needs to keep watch,” Wen insists.
I take a deep breath. “I can do it. I don’t need nearly as much sleep as your kind does.”
Suspicion flits across Wen’s face—which is, frankly, unsurprising—but the captain has the final say.
Sonam nods, just once, before striding over to a jade bench.
He sits with a heavy exhale, slouching forward, the weariness of all we’ve seen bearing down on his shoulders.
He looks so much older like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if his troubles lead him to an early grave.
Sooah is the next to follow suit, shrugging off her laminal armor to find a seat of her own. Wen stares at me for a while longer, but I don’t detect his usual malice. I think he’s beginning to tolerate me, though I’m not sure whether to feel grateful.
While the humans settle in for the night, I climb the garden wall and sit on top of the cold bricks, taking in the view of the Jade Palace from my new vantage point.
It is a sight to behold, the heart of it all.
Smaller palaces exist within larger ones, an intricate network of nesting districts and neat passageways cordoned off with ever taller walls.
When I stare at the Jade Palace, I can’t help but feel miniscule. Insignificant.
If I die with a scream in my throat, will anyone remember my piercing cry?
If I go quietly, one final whisper of breath before the lights dim, will someone lay my body to rest?
Picking at my fingernails, I think of my sisters.
Even if I hadn’t run that day, the Maskmaker ensured there was nothing left of them to mourn.
They were burned beyond the point of ash, stolen by the passing breeze.
If I die, I might have liked a grave marker and flowers.
Wishful impossibilities, of course, but a demon can dream.
“It’s even more beautiful in the light of day.” Sonam’s voice is calm as he hoists himself up onto the wall beside me. He keeps a generous distance, roughly five arms away. A smart, safe choice. “And the gardens are normally lush and vibrant. From what I remember as a boy, anyway.”
I stare at him, my lips pressed into a thin line. “You should be resting.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Did Your Highness have bad dreams?” I mean to tease, but the way the words come out makes me sound sincere.
“Too anxious,” he confesses. His honesty surprises me. After a long moment, he asks, “Who’s the Maskmaker?”
I sigh. “He’s none of—”
“Don’t tell me he’s none of my concern,” he interjects. “This isn’t the first time he’s been mentioned. I think you can agree that his ability to wear our faces complicates matters. I need to know more, Yue.”
The sound of my name makes my breath hitch. He pronounces it carefully, precisely. The low rumble of his voice is much too soothing. I don’t trust it.
“When I was a pup, I found myself caught in a trap,” I explain slowly. “Wound up falling into a tar pit that local hunters concealed with leaves. I was stuck there for three, maybe four moons. The more I struggled, the deeper I sank. It was only a matter of time before I’d suffocate. Or starve.”
My jaw tightens as the memories unfurl in my mind. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about the Maskmaker. I would have been better off if he had left me in that wretched pit. My sisters might still be here.
“Then what happened?” Sonam urges.
“Then he showed up.” The back of my throat burns. “He was the one who pulled me free.”
“And he was the one who made your mask?”
I nod slowly, bringing a hand to the burnt side of my face. With the mask’s magic at work, it feels as though those scars don’t exist at all, perfectly concealed to sight and touch. “He was.”
“Can he make a mask of any face?”
“I believe so,” I confirm. “Both the living and the dead, so long as he’s seen it once before.”
“If he helped you, why are you after him?”
I ball up my fists, studying the way my knuckles turn white and my nails bite into my palms. How much can I get away with telling him?
I can’t lie, but that doesn’t mean I need to give him the whole truth.
He’s already pried more from my lips than I ever thought possible.
Sonam’s growing familiarity with me is jarring, to say the least. At this rate, there will be nothing left to hide—no distance left to keep me safe.
“Does this have something to do with those women we saw in the Court of Temptation?” he asks. “Your sisters, correct?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
“He killed them?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Yes. And for that, he must die.”
A blanket of silence falls over us. Fragile and thin, but not as uncomfortable as it could be.
“Thank you,” I mutter after a while. “For saving me from the boar demon. He might have killed me were it not for you.”
Sonam stares at me as though I’ve grown a second head. He nods once. I don’t think he was expecting words of gratitude, especially from me. “You held your own quite well,” he replies. “Impressive.”
“You, too.”
“Good work figuring out how to get into the Jade Palace.”
“Thank—”
“Though I’d appreciate a warning next time you have one of your little ideas. Damn near soiled myself.”
I can’t help but grin. “That’s not a very princely thing to say.”
“I’m no prince,” he grumbles, though he doesn’t seem wholly upset.
“Why is that?”
We fall into silence again. He very clearly doesn’t want to tell me, so to change the subject entirely, I mumble, “Show me that notebook of yours.”
If Sonam is irked by my request, he does an excellent job of hiding it. He produces his notebook and runs his fingers along the outer edges, almost bashful. It’s a strange emotion to see on someone normally so stoic.
“They’re not very good,” he says while clearing his throat, but hands it to me all the same.
I flip it open to the first page, taking great care not to tear any of the pages or smudge the charcoal.
The first entry is dated several decades ago, a detailed sketch of a water dragon so lifelike I’m convinced it could fly off the page.
He’s captured every single scale, every hair upon its flowing mane, and even the sharp hook of the creature’s front and hind claws.
“You saw a dragon?” I ask, astounded.
“My brother, actually. Far out east in the uncharted lands. He told me he was only brave enough to observe them at a distance. Said they were a family of three—one blue, one red, and one green. Rare, to find a whole family. He drew that one before handing the book down to me.”
I flip the page. Sure enough, there’s a substantial difference in the art style.
Where the dragon was constructed of confident lines, the next entry was clearly the result of shaky, inexperienced hands.
Oddly enough, I find myself smiling at the thought of a young Sonam trying to illustrate with pudgy, childish fingers and the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration.
It seems that the second creature he added to his hunting log was a forest spirit.
I’ve encountered a fair few in my lifetime.
Harmless little buggers, easily mistaken for a patch of weeds, though they have a nasty habit of trying to burrow into your ears and root themselves in place.
“Tell me more,” I say, flipping the page again. Sonam’s skills improve with each entry, his progress slow and steady. “About this brother of yours. The one who gifted you this book. None of the ones I met seemed particularly adventurous.”
“I have eight brothers, actually,” he says tightly. “Of which I am the youngest, all born to different mothers. The king has no shortage of concubines to sire his heirs.” He offers a small, tight-lipped smile. “It would be accurate to call me one of the spares.”
I look up from his book. “I only counted seven in the Court of Temptation.”
“Han, Li, and Sang were all born days apart in different parts of the palace. Then came Sìzi and Zhong a year later. And then there are the twins, Nin and Min. They’re both…
Well.” He makes a noise halfway between a grunt and a wretch.
It’s hard not to notice the way his expression grows more and more dour as he lists off the names of his siblings.
“I take it you’re not particularly fond of them?”
“It would be… unbecoming to speak ill of people I hardly know. They are no better than strangers to me.”
I snort. “I’ll do it for you, then. Your brothers all seem like arrogant cocks.”
Sonam presses his lips into a tight line, but it isn’t out of irritation. If anything, I think he’s doing his best to suppress a smile, though there’s always a good chance I’ve misread him.
“Now,” I say, “human arithmetic may not be my strong suit, but I’m fairly sure that counts seven.”