Chapter 20 Sonam
She’s surprisingly funny and
She’s rude and crass and I can’t wait to be rid of her.
Sooah wakes me a few hours later for my turn on watch. She has a small fire burning, sparked to life using the shavings of what was once one of Wen’s arrows. The flames are dim, flickering with its last sparks of life.
She brings her fingers up to poke at the space between my brows. You frown even in sleep, she tells me, teasing in a sisterly fashion. Your face is going to get stuck.
“We both know it already has,” I say with a good-natured huff.
Warily, I glance over my shoulder. The fox appears sound asleep in the opposite corner of the pavilion. She lies on her side, knees tucked up to her chest. There’s something upsetting about seeing her all by her lonesome, cast out like the reject of the herd. But most distressing of all…
Yue holds her own hand as she sleeps, held out just beside her weary head.
She lies there with her fingers threaded, the gentle rise and fall of her chest barely perceptible.
Every now and then, the muscles in her jaw twitch.
Not once have I thought it possible for demons to dream. What haunts a monster’s nightmares?
“Anything to report?” I ask Sooah in a hushed tone.
She shakes her head. All quiet.
“And how are provisions looking?”
Sooah checks the leather pouch attached to her belt. Enough for one more day, I think. Maybe two, if we’re careful.
I set my jaw and ignore the tightness in my throat.
This isn’t ideal, though I can hardly blame her.
It wasn’t as if Sooah knew to pack for an indeterminate trek through Hell.
If these trials don’t kill us and we don’t find ourselves in the fox’s jaws by morning, starvation could quickly become our greatest concern.
What are we to do? I have a responsibility to see Wen and Sooah from this forsaken place.
They are more than just my guards—they are my family.
I am closer to them than I am my own blood, and I refuse to see them suffer.
I could attempt to play this by ear, see what the next Court of Hell will present us, though its name might suggest we’re in for trouble.
Once the last morsel has passed our lips, what can I do to ensure our survival?
“Get some rest,” I tell her.
Sooah nods, walking a short distance to lie down next to Wen. His mouth hangs open in a raucous snore, but we’re used to it by now. Years spent around the campfire together have acclimated us to each other’s greatest strengths and faults, Wen’s mouth breathing included.
I scan the perimeter for any movement but find none.
The fox hasn’t left its corner. My friends sleep soundly, enjoying respite that’s well deserved.
As the minutes drag on, I find myself taking stock of my weapons once, twice, three times just to have something to do.
All the while, my mind races, my thoughts too loud and my heart too skittish.
Without food or water, a human can last about a week, give or take a day.
With just water, we may be able to survive a moon or two, but even now I’m aware of the dwindling weight of the canteen strapped to my belt.
I’d heard old stories from my assigned tutors that, in times of war and extreme desperation, soldiers would turn to drinking their own blood in order to stave off their thirst. It was but a temporary solution, a small patch on a massive wound, yet if it comes down to it…
My chest grows painfully tight. I’m unable to draw a deep enough breath.
My hand trembles when I bring it to my throat, powerless to loosen the invisible noose that’s slipped itself over my head.
It is far too early to succumb to this helplessness, yet my terror only grows—a monstrosity in and of itself.
Hell is playing tricks on me, twisting my fear into outright panic.
With the fire now reduced to little more than embers, I cannot help but wonder what horrors lie waiting in the dark.
With a deep breath, I reach for my hunting log. My fingers shake as I tear out a few pages from the back, ripping them into thin strips. I move slowly, setting the paper down to catch flame. My unease subsides as the fire grows, banishing my apprehension along with it.
When I look up, I find a pair of dark, fierce eyes watching me from across the way.
“You alright?” Yue asks, staring with unbroken concentration. It’s disquieting, her stillness. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking. Will she remain, or will she pounce?
My cheeks burn. How much has she seen? “Fine,” I reply gruffly, disregarding the way my heart rails against my chest.
Yue snorts. “Humans and your lies.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Fear has a smell, you know.”
“I don’t care—”
“It’s sour,” she interrupts. “Like curdled milk left out on a hot summer’s day.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I’m glad we’re in agreement. You’re turning my air foul.”
I shake my head slowly, as irritated as I am anxious. If there’s one thing I can trust Yue to do, it’s to put me in a worse mood. “You’re not much of a conversationalist, Fox.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Breakfast; I’m out of practice. This is the most anyone’s spoken to me in years.”
She stares at me, somehow both indignant and accusatory. The depth of her black eyes is haunting. I could drown in them, and she would laugh with delight at my suffering.
“What?” she snaps when I say nothing.
“Speaking of breakfast,” I reply. “You told me you didn’t eat that little girl. The seamstress’s daughter.”
Yue groans. “This nonsense again?”
“If you didn’t eat her, who did?”
“What makes you so sure she was eaten? The brat probably ran off.”
I shake my head. “It was a demon.”
“Always so quick to blame.”
“What other possibility is there?”
Her upper lip curls up into a sneer. I’m convinced she could cut me with a sharp enough glare. “Have you ever stopped to look inward? You humans are lesser demons yourselves.”
“How dare you—”
“You hide hatred in your hearts for everyone and everything. You know for a fact I’m right.”
I set my jaw, irritation simmering beneath the surface of my skin. “And you’re an expert how, exactly?”
“Because I watch,” she answers. “And I learn. Mankind hates what it does not understand and makes no effort to change its ways. Malice upon the man who speaks a different tongue, whose flesh is not a matching shade. Pity upon your women whose simple existence is an excuse to incur your wrath. Mercy for your children whose innocence will always be corrupted, either by time or by the hands of those they were taught to trust—”
“Be quiet,” I snap.
“Or what?” Yue smiles then, wide and daring. “Will you show me firsthand what your hatred is capable of?”
Shame washes over me when I nearly give in to anger, my fingers itching to draw my sword. Damn her and her wicked tongue. I refuse to let her best me.
“We’re not all like that.”
“Enough of you are.”
“You see what you want to see,” I tell her coldly.
Yue huffs. “I see what is there.”
It is strange to think that we’ve both walked the same green earth all this time, every step taken having led us to our unfortunate encounter. I do not believe in fate, only the possibilities we make for ourselves—yet I can’t help but wonder if we were always meant to cross paths.
Yue is the first to break eye contact, rolling over to turn her back toward me. “Do me a favor and try not to panic again,” she warns. “You smell atrocious.”
“Are you always compelled to have the last word?”
“Yes.”
I am a patient man, but she has a talent for wearing that patience thin. If I continue to challenge her, she’ll meet me in force. And yet, if I say nothing, I will have no choice but to endure her conceited satisfaction.
In the end, I decide on silence. I’ll be damned if I let the fox make a mockery of me. Ignoring her may be the only chance to keep my sanity. Flipping to a blank page at the back of my log, I allow my mind to wander, determined to fixate on the sound of charcoal gliding over paper.
My artistic ventures came reluctantly. As a child, I had no friends my age with whom I could play.
While my brothers enjoyed the luxuries of the Jade Palace, I was raised far away in one of the king’s many summer estates—an inconsequential son shunted to the side.
Drawing was a simple pastime; one I could easily partake anywhere and in solitude.
It’s more meditative than enjoyable. A useful way to keep track of my hunts, yes, but also a way to quiet the mind.
I sketch what lies before me, calmed by the warm haze of the dwindling fire. I pay special attention to the point of Yue’s chin. The way her hair falls neatly on either side of her face. I capture the sharp angle of her eyes—befittingly vulpine—as well as the fullness of her wicked lips.
Her beauty is ethereal. I have no doubts she could weaponize her allure to bring mankind to its knees. How many poor fools has she managed to beguile into becoming her dinner?
I will be the one to stop her. I have to.
It isn’t until I run out of space to draw that I finally lift the charcoal off the paper, staring down at my work in horror.
I’ve drawn her striking visage again and again, her aggravating gaze judging me at different angles.
Frustration licks up the back of my neck.
This must be some sort of demonic trick, unescapably worming her way into my mind.
You see what you want to see.
What the hell am I doing?
Gritting my teeth, I tear the page out and ball it up in my palm before tossing it on the fire, observing Yue from across the flames. She has fallen sound asleep—though I wouldn’t put it past her to only be pretending.
The fox is far too clever for my liking.
I cannot let down my guard.