Descendant of the Crane(45)

She passed the cypress grove and went down to the inky waters. Tomorrow, she would come here again and negotiate with the Crown Prince. There could be only two outcomes: war or peace. Success or failure.

But it had to be done, and she had to be the one to do it, underprepared or not.

With unsteady hands, Hesina set to work, stuffing oil-soaked cotton gauze into each lantern’s bamboo cradle, transferring her watch lantern’s flame to the cotton with a reed, setting them free in the order they’d been made: Sanjing. Lilian. Caiyan. Ming’er. Akira.

But Akira’s never took off. A gust of wind killed the flame mid-ascent. The lantern floated down, drifting several reed lengths out into the black water.

According to the Tenets, the Eleven had tipped in five thousand barrels of ink, lured both relic and Kendi’an troops into the lake, and escaped while the two armies decimated each other, foe and friend indistinguishably dyed.

And that, explained Hesina’s tutors, is why the waters are black.

She could take their word for it without a midnight swim. But the lantern taunted, its pale paper sphere bobbing like a second moon in the expanse of black.

Elevens save me. Sighing, Hesina knotted up her skirts and shucked off her traveling boots. The freezing water didn’t agree with her cramps, and as she waded deeper, she concluded that the night couldn’t possibly get worse.

Then it did. The lantern finally drifted within reach, but before she could grab it, Hesina collided with something. Her hands shot out—a feeble attempt to stabilize herself. The water punched into her face as she fell, and she choked as she sloshed, her limbs tangled with ones that weren’t her own.

Spluttering, she resurfaced and stood. Beside her, another form broke out of the water.

Hesina couldn’t believe her eyes. She wiped at them, just to be sure. “Akira? What are you doing?”

He sat up, coughing, fully clothed and soaked. “Floating.” Inky rivulets snaked down his temples. “Well, not anymore.”

She would not be reduced to speechlessness. She would not. “But why?”

“Er. Moon-gazing?”

Moon-gazing.

Speechless, Hesina raised a sleeve. It was drenched in black. That settled one matter; she would have no choice but to wear Lilian’s ruqun to the negotiation.

A perplexed laugh escaped her, then another. Before she knew it, she was doubled over in laughter, teeth chattering in the cold. Who would have known that a good, icy dunking was what she’d needed all along?

It was Akira’s turn to stare. “You’re not here to moon-gaze, I’ll guess.” He looked about, his gaze landing on the lantern. “Is that yours?”

“No.” She sounded out of sorts and out of breath. “Well, yes, but I made it for you.”

“Leave it. I don’t need people making lanterns for me.”

“Too late.” She lifted her sopping skirts and resumed wading. “I’ve already fallen into a lake for you.”

He reached the lantern first and scooped it from the water. “What did you wish for?”

She snatched it before he could see. “For you to be free—”

From the things that trouble you in your sleep.

“—From your crimes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them.”

Akira rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ll need more than one lantern, then.”

“How many merchants did you rob?”

“I don’t remember, but definitely more than one.”

Another laugh burst out of Hesina. She welcomed it and the bewilderment from which it was borne. It freed her from all the things she was supposed to do, feel, say. “Well, have you had your fill of moon-gazing?”

“After this?” Akira pushed back his wet bangs. “For a few years, yes.”

Said the one who’d been half-submerged in the first place.

With a shake of the head, Hesina offered him her hand. “Let’s go back.”

Her heart did a funny little dance as he grasped it. It was as if she’d never held a hand before, which was almost as preposterous as floating in a lake to moon-gaze. But she couldn’t stop from homing in on the feel of his hand in hers, and how hers might feel to him. Was it too cold? Too pudgy? Could he detect her quickening pulse?

Better question: Why was it quickening at all?

She almost pitched forward again when Akira pulled himself up.

The camp was still empty when they returned. Hesina built up the fire and set the lantern on the embankment of stones to dry. Then they sat to dry themselves. A zither melody warbled in from the direction of the village. She recognized it from a play the imperial troupe performed every autumn.

It was said that nine suns once flamed in the sky, roasting rice paddies and people alike. A great warrior rode out in her chariot and shot down eight. The ninth consumed her. Her mother spent the rest of her life reading all the scrolls in all the libraries of the world, looking for a way to recover her daughter. She breathed her last over an open book, and the gods, impressed by the tenacity of the mortal mind, brought the woman back as a sage. They blessed her with immortality and gifted her with a giant crane that flew her up to the lunar palace, where the warrior’s spirit resided. Thus, mother and daughter were at last reunited.

It was a story as old as the sun and moon themselves, inscribed on turtle bones by shamans that predated the sooths. The relic emperors had interpreted the crane as the key to immortality. The Eleven had interpreted it as wisdom. Hesina picked neither. She didn’t care for living forever when one lifetime was hard enough, and she was, in general, biased against stories of devoted mothers.