Jade Fire Gold(29)

Warm.

A fist wraps itself around my heart, squeezing. I gasp as hot tears roll down my face. This is real. She is real. Everything is a hazy cloud of memories and pain.

“Come, brother. Come with me.”

She leads me to the spring. The dark bottomless pool is inviting, its waters whispering a promise of redemption.

All I need to do is to go in.





11


Ahn


I can’t take my eyes off the premier.

Lesions, long healed, run down the side of his neck to the collar of his silk tunic. Even though half of his face is hidden behind the silver mask, it’s like I’ve seen him before. That aquiline nose, those dark, dark eyes—I recognize him. Could he be? No, he can’t be.

He can’t.

For years, I hoped my parents or a distant relative or anyone would show up. I prayed that my parents left me in Shahmo by mistake. I prayed that as a silly child, I wandered off and got lost, and it was all my fault, not theirs. I even prayed that my parents were ambushed and killed by bandits, and that I was the only one spared. I was desperate to believe they hadn’t abandoned me.

But as time went by, no one came. My prayers went unanswered. Hope dwindled and starved. Eventually, I accepted my fate and stopped appealing to the Heavens, for the gods had turned a deaf ear. My grief was spent, and I decided my parents were gone forever. Blood relative or not, Ama was all the family I had.

And she was enough.

But now, now this masked man stands in front of me. Not just any man, but Zhao Yang, the esteemed Premier of the Shi Empire.

I thought my father dead. Of all the wild places in the world, I never imagined I’d meet him in the Imperial Palace.

“Ahn-er,” says Zhao Yang. “After all these years, I—I’ve finally found you.”

He takes a step closer. I retreat and bump against the rosewood table. The white and cobalt-blue vase on it wobbles and crashes on the floor. Pieces of fine porcelain scatter everywhere.

“I’m so sorry!” I stoop down, gathering the broken fragments, but one of the attendants shoos me away.

“Be careful. Let them handle it.” Zhao Yang takes my elbow and guides me out to the garden.

Numbly, I follow, barely aware of the two guards who flank us as we walk. We stop at a secluded spot among tall willow trees near the lake, and he dismisses the guards.

“Please, sit down,” he says.

I collapse onto the stone stool. My head feels light, my heartbeat too rapid. Part of me thinks this has all been a dream and that I’m still in my small village, delirious from the heat.

“I apologize. I must have startled you earlier.” His manner is less certain than before. My silence must unnerve him. “Do you recognize me?”

I nod. “I—I think so.”

He sits across from me, resting his arms on the small round table between us.

“This is all rather surprising, to you and me both. I have been searching for you for so many years, reaching out far and wide. But despite my vast resources, I’ve failed time and again. Until now—” His eyes land on my jade ring. “This ring! I thought I’d never see it again. I gave it to your mother many years ago before I left for the war. You look so much like her.”

Still, I remain silent. Words stay lodged in my throat. What do I say to him? What do I say to this stranger? I want to believe he is my father, but everything seems so surreal. Maybe I’m exhausted from my journey here. Maybe my injury is still bothering me. My head starts to hurt. I press my fingers to my temples, trying to recall my childhood. It feels like there’s something there, but I remember nothing.

He peers at me curiously. “Do you remember what happened to you as a child? Do you remember anything?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” I manage.

“That’s all right. Don’t worry.” He smiles and reaches out to me and I shrink back. The hurt on his face shames me. “This is difficult, I understand. Especially since it seems that you have forgotten what happened. But I remember you, Zhao Ahn.”

Zhao Ahn. That name echoes in my ears.

For years, I was like my name: Ahn. Singular. Cut off and alone. Without something that came before. Without history. Without family. I don’t remember what happened during the first six years of my life. There’s a void in my mind where only a single memory lives: a voice and a blurred face.

And that voice is speaking to me now. I stare at him, not quite believing he is real.

Not quite believing that my father is alive.

I finally nod and take a deep breath.

“Father.”

That single utterance from my lips shakes us both. There’s a tightness in my chest and it’s hard to breathe. My father sits motionless. Emotion flickers in his eyes. They go to my mother’s ring again. His finger grazes it. He flinches like the ring is a hot flame, burning his skin. Then, he looks away with a strange, sad smile.

I listen with bated breath as he starts to speak.

“You were born on the winter solstice sixteen years ago. When you were little, your favorite fruit was red apples and you wanted to eat the pork and chive dumplings that your nanny made at every meal. You loved the color blue so much you insisted on wearing only blue robes and blue shoes and blue ribbons in your hair. You were spoiled. . . . You were loved.”

His smile takes a regretful turn. I wonder what else he is remembering.