Descendant of the Crane(40)

There had to be something she could do. There had to—

“Milady, you may not want to hear this, but as your advisor, I must speak.”

“I’m listening.”

Caiyan paced back to the bed. “Some will doubt your performance today, especially if they saw her burn with their own eyes.” He knelt before her. “Some might even suspect you sympathize.” He took her hands and squeezed. “Your first priority is to put those suspicions to rest. Make the people feel safe.”

“Make the people feel safe…”

His hands rose to her shoulders. “If you felt something for her and her people, you mustn’t show it. Not through your words. Not through your actions. Promise me, milady.” His voice tightened with his grip. “Promise me you won’t jeopardize your rule.”

Hesina met his gaze. She saw his intentions. Caiyan wanted the best for her. When had he not?

Yet she didn’t promise. “You’re asking me to do nothing.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.” But she’d never snuck out into the city without him, or kept something as big as starting her own private investigation from him.

She knew they both must have been thinking that, and her guilt rose, compelling her to say, “And I promise.”

The tension in his chestnut eyes mellowed. “Thank you.” He lifted his hands.

A new force held Hesina still. “Have you…” She wet her lips. “Have you ever felt something for them?”

For the sooths.

The question alone, spoken to the wrong person, could have been construed as jeopardizing her rule, and she worried that Caiyan might reprimand her for breaking her promise so soon.

Yet all he did was shake his head. “No.”

Her blood cooled, mostly with relief. “Good.” She didn’t want him haunted like she was. She didn’t want him to see the stories on the silk facades, watch the plays of the imperial troupe, and wonder if the heroes of their legends were actually the villains.

But it also meant she was alone in her torment.

After visiting the Imperial Doctress—whose lecture brought her closer to the brink of death than the cut itself—Hesina lay awake. The nights were cooling, but her bed was hot. Her silken sheets cocooned her as she tossed and turned. Her blankets ensnared her limbs.

She hurled them off and sat up, breathing hard.

She had let her people’s fear fester while waiting for a Kendi’an reply to her letters. She could wait no longer. If she couldn’t quell a war, she would have to find the truth before it erupted.

Hesina padded to her desk and lit a candle. Her mother’s chest glowed like a jewel in the flame, the silver lock kissed to gold.

Think, she ordered her mind as if it were a courtier. Somewhere in her memories, there had to be a nugget of information that would explain why her father’s birth year was not the combination to her mother’s lock.

The number had to be something significant. If not 265, the current year in the new era, and if not 906, the year it would have been by the relic calendars, then perhaps it was the difference of 906 and 265. She knew 641 was the year of the relic emperor’s death, the last year recorded before the Eleven reset the calendar to zero—so that all lives could be reborn, her father had explained when she’d asked why. Young, old, rich, poor, male, female—we all became children of the new era.

Hesitantly, Hesina spun the first dial to a 6, the second to a 4, and the third to a 1.

641.

She tugged on the lock. It didn’t budge. She shoved the chest away from her. That didn’t budge the lock either, and after a long staring match, Hesina groaned and pulled it close again.

If not 641, then what? 000? The year immediately after 641, when the Eleven had started the calendar anew?

Hesina scoffed, but spun in a 0. Another 0. She almost didn’t do the third. It was too simple. Too obvious. Too—

The last 0 slid into place, and the lock sighed apart.

She couldn’t lie to herself; part of her had hoped the combination wouldn’t work. Her mother’s love for her father was the only thing she and her daughter had ever shared, and Hesina wasn’t ready to lose it. Still, she grasped the lid with both hands. If the contents of this chest could help her end the trial before it hurt anyone else, then she could squeeze her eyes shut. She could lift.

The weight of the lid swung back. The hinges clinked. In the dark behind her lids, her thoughts unspooled.

The denial will pass, said the Imperial Doctress.

Nothing you do will bring him back, said her mother.

The truth might destroy you, said Akira.

But one voice silenced the others. Knowledge is truth, Little Bird.

The edges of her mind feathered like diluted ink, and a conversation from many years ago bled back in.

Why do you think so many scholars live in the imperial city? her father had once asked as they strolled by the city moat.

Because they’re wise.

Yes. A ruler must keep the company of sages, because knowledge is truth. Those who refuse to learn live in a world of falsity. Do you remember how the relic emperors stopped themselves from learning?

They burned books.

Her father nodded. They closed their eyes to the plights of their people and executed their critics.

But didn’t the Eleven burn books too? Hesina asked before she could think better of it.