Descendant of the Crane(88)

Lilian took her hands. “Of course, Na-Na.”

Hesina gave Lilian’s a grateful squeeze. Then she looked past her sister, across all the empty beds in the infirmary.

You hide, Lilian had said, but Hesina didn’t want to hide. To Lilian, she wanted to be herself. Be true.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “If I give the wolf a piece of what it wants, won’t it hunger for more?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The tale of Yidou.”

“That macabre thing?”

“You know it?”

“‘Yidou, Yidou, a finger, a toe, tricked the great beast and struck down the foe.’”

“Wait. He killed the wolf?”

“And ate it. How else would he have survived to pass on the tale?” Lilian asked, and Hesina paled. “Anyway, it’s just a silly little story. We used to tell it to each other when it was bitterly cold and our stomachs were empty. But now we have all the pork buns in the world. Why think about wolf meat?”

Why indeed.

But it wasn’t a wolf hunting Hesina. It was the people’s fear. She’d either rule with it, or be ruled by it. Either way, blood would spill.



The rest of the day passed in a blur. Ministers scrambled to prepare for the tour. Scribes hurried to transcribe the time and location of the queen’s decree reading, and couriers ran to post the notices all over the city. Pages streamed in and out of the infirmary with route proposals, guard numbers, and weather forecasts.

Sanjing stopped by in the middle of everything to bid Hesina farewell. He was dressed to ride and had a bronze helmet cradled in his arm. Hesina almost asked him to send a commander in his place before swallowing the words.

He guessed them anyway. “I’m useless here.”

“How do you know that? What if I need someone beheaded?”

Turn to your manservant then, she imagined Sanjing saying. Instead, he replied, “My place is on the field. Remember my promise?”

How could she forget? Long ago, before the incident on the pond, they would sneak out into the courtyards at night to practice their swordsmanship. Afterward, they’d throw themselves down on the watercress, the stars bright above, and Sanjing would turn to her and say, When you’re the queen, I’ll be your general, the best this realm has ever known.

Now he said, “I keep my word.”

Then he tossed her something.

It was the dog-lion seal. Hesina barely managed to catch it; she nearly dropped it when she did.

“I don’t want this.” She tried to give it back. “It’s yours.”

“Keep it,” said Sanjing. “And stay out of my rooms.”

His bravado was his shield. Hesina saw past it to a boy still hurting. She grabbed his wrist, pressed the seal into his palm, and curled his fingers shut over it. “Holding on to something isn’t weakness.”

Sanjing’s grin faltered. His throat bobbed. He turned to go.

Wait.

Tell him to stay.

“Jing.”

Her brother turned.

Hesina fumbled with the words. They’d only ever existed in her mind or on paper. “Stay safe.”

He blinked, slowly. Spoke, gruffly. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, I can’t end up as badly as you.”

She grimaced. “You kill me.”

“You kill yourself.” But there was a catch in his voice and a hitch in Hesina’s heart. She watched his shadow fade through the oiled-papered fretwork panes, until she could see it no more.

How long would he be away this time? Three months? Six? Or longer? They’d lost those simple days; a single misstep from either of them might send Yan spiraling into war.

Night fell. The golden turtles and yuanyang ducks on the beamed ceiling shimmered to life as apprentices lit the candles and laid fresh coals in the braziers. The Imperial Doctress examined Hesina’s back and, deeming the skin fully sealed, removed the bandages so the wound could breathe.

Once everyone was gone, Hesina spread the blank decree scroll; she’d been saving it for last. She put brush to silk, and wrote.

On the twentieth day of the first month, a citywide cutting, enacted sector by sector, ward by ward, will be conducted by authorized members of the imperial guard. Those who flame will be held in the city guard barracks and await further processing.

Her hand lost its steadiness.

The strokes bled.

Her head page came in just as she was stamping the yellow silk with her seal. “Minister Xia is throwing a feast in the Northern Palace.”

Could she even be surprised? She lifted her seal, revealing a perfect impression, the red ink crisp and not the least bit smeared, each squiggle of her name bold and unforgiving. She set aside the decree to dry.

“Relieve your people from watching him.” Xia Zhong had gotten what he wanted. There was no need to spy on him out of spite. These words made sense, unlike her next: “Reassign them to watching Yan Caiyan.”

“Understood, dianxia.”

It’s because I’m worried about him, Hesina told herself. She cared for his well-being, just as she cared for the well-being of a certain dowager queen. “My mother. Has she written?”

“There’s been no word from the dowager queen.”

“I see.” Hesina rubbed her temples. She didn’t have the energy for disappointment, let alone anger. The full-moon deadline had come and gone, but what would she even ask her mother? Did you know Father was One of the Eleven? That you married a man as old as the new era itself? She couldn’t justify sending a cohort to the mountains for an answer so obvious. And though her father’s poisoner remained unfound, she couldn’t justify searching for the assassin either. The truth couldn’t quell the chaos. The truth couldn’t bestow the power she desperately needed.