Descendant of the Crane(44)

It wouldn’t be hers. That much Hesina knew. She had enough on her mind, and she had no intentions of losing it to some idyllic fantasy.



They arrived at the Black Lake on the day of the harvest festival. As Hesina and the rest tethered their spent mounts in a cypress grove between the nearest village and the banks, the scout rode out to survey the region. She returned with a report on the terrain, and Hesina took particular note of the best retreat routes in homage to Caiyan.

The scout seemed more concerned about a cypress tree. Hesina followed her to the tree in question and looked to where the woman pointed.

“It followed me.”

Yellow eyes peered out from the dark net of needles. Her brother’s falcon. The message tube was still attached to the bird’s leg, but the letter was gone, replaced by a scrap from one of Sanjing’s banners.

Hesina wanted to shake the scrap at the heavens and demand an answer in plain Yan. “Any sign of my brother or his men?”

“Not in the radius of a li.”

So Sanjing hadn’t moved yet to answer her call. He knows what he’s doing, said a little voice inside Hesina. But it was drowned out by a louder voice that said Caiyan’s right. You’re wrong to rely on him. For all she knew, her brother could have torn her letter apart and shown the shreds to his lieutenants. See this? he’d drawl. My sister only writes when she needs me.

The worst of it was that he was technically right.

Her mood darkened as dusk fell. The guards built a bonfire, and laughter and cypress smoke soon filled the air, along with stories of the Thousand-Faced Ning Spy and the Ci Whisperer of Secrets, legendary antiheroes Hesina had read about between her Tenets studies. She wanted to join in but couldn’t bring herself to. Her presence would stifle things.

Alone, she wandered back to the tarps containing their supplies. She picked up the unreadable book, tried to read it, threw it, picked it up again, tried to read it again, and threw it again. As she picked it up a third time, she noticed Akira’s rod on the ground.

That was strange. Akira never neglected his rod. Frowning, Hesina glanced back to the fire. He wasn’t with the guards. He wasn’t in any of the other tarps either. That left the lake. With the full moon as her guide, she started for the banks.

“Must we go through this again?” came a voice from behind.

Hesina spun—into Mei.

Splendid. She’d found herself some unwanted company instead of Akira. “Why are you here?”

Mei leaned against the gnarled trunk of a cypress tree. “I go where errant queens go.” Her hood was down but her mask was up, and she wore her braid wrapped twice around her neck. “Has your arm healed?”

The question caught Hesina off guard, and she forgot to sound cross when she said, “It has.” She pushed up her sleeve and showed the scab to Mei. Then she remembered how unabashedly she’d bled over the swordswoman and figured some gratitude was in order. “Thank you for helping me that night.”

Mei’s russet gaze lingered on the scab.

Hesina dropped the sleeve, her embarrassment curdling to unease. “I didn’t happen to say anything…strange, did I?”

“No. Just the usual rhetorical questions.” Mei pushed herself off from the tree. “You should get some rest. For tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of it compressed the breath in Hesina’s chest. “Will you be coming with us?”

“Am I needed?”

Hesina toed the gravel by the tree roots. “No.”

“I’d recommend sleeping instead of wandering,” said Mei. “And on the subject of recommendations, be wary of those you trust.”

Hesina knew whom Mei was referring to; distrusting Caiyan appeared to be a prerequisite for Sanjing’s friendship. “Not you too.”

Mei pulled up her hood. “I’m suspicious of all the secretive ones. It’s a trade necessity.”

“You’re quite secretive.”

“Once again, a trade necessity.” Mei turned to go, then stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Your brother cares, you know. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Then she retreated into the shadows.

Your brother cares.

Like Elevens he did. Thinking about Sanjing cast another cloud over Hesina’s mood, which continued to blacken when she tried—and failed—to find Akira. That’s what she got for pardoning a convict. He’d run off. Left her alone with his stupid rod. The guards, on the other hand, couldn’t leave her alone. They didn’t actually want to bring her along to celebrate the harvest festival at the nearby village, but they, like she, had no choice. Hesina followed them, sulking the whole way. Then, just as a cramp panged through her abdomen, explaining her mood but not helping it, villagers swarmed her and she had to smile through the pain. Couldn’t they see that it was a lie?

Apparently not. She wasn’t Hesina anymore. She was the queen, a firm but doting mother to the people, a mother she had been without. Perhaps that was why Hesina didn’t resist the village girl who took her hand and pulled her into the newly threshed fields. She let the elders sitting on bales of sorghum rope her into making lanterns, and after several attempts, she fashioned a passable one for Sanjing. When it came time to write her wish on it, she wished for his well-being.

Then she made more. Her pile grew. The elders offered her a fishnet to carry the lanterns to the village square where people were setting them aloft, but Hesina thought of the lake and the moon and made the journey back to the encampment.