Jade Fire Gold(60)

“You sound like an old sage philosophizing in a teahouse.”

“I was raised by one.”

“Things could change with the new emperor,” she says, after a beat.

“That drunkard?” I ask, disdainful.

Her eyes flash. “Don’t call him that.”

“Oh, I do apologize. I forgot the crown prince was your friend.”

“He was upset that night,” she chides. “And it’s not his fault that previous emperors have ruled so badly. I’m sure he wants things to change.”

I stifle my curses and toss more twigs into the fire, angry at myself for letting this conversation derail. Confused by her defense of Tai Shun.

She sighs. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to use my magic—the life-stealing part that is.”

Linxi shared this information, but I was hoping she was wrong. If Ahn can’t use her life-stealing magic, will she still be able to retrieve the White Jade Sword?

“Didn’t stop my father from wanting to use me,” she says, more to herself than to me.

“Never trust a politician.”

“You know who my father is? You seem to know a lot about me,” she remarks, eyes narrowing. “What else did Leiye tell you?”

“Enough to do my job.”

She looks at me from across the fire, and I hold her gaze. We say nothing. The crackle of burning twigs fills the silence and the wariness between us returns. She turns away and lays down, pulling her shawl over herself.

I’m too riled up to sleep. I’d set out to gain Ahn’s favor, but instead, we are back where we started. Two strangers thrown together by fate, each too scared to trust the other.

You must not make the mistake of thinking every Life Stealer the same. The girl will walk her own path and fulfill her own destiny.

But what will that destiny be? I wish I had the answer.

Eventually, I spread my cloak on the ground, blowing the sand on it away before flopping on my back, staring at the distant stars until sleep takes over.





22


Ahn


The canyon dwarfs everything in sight. Looking up at its steep curving walls, striped with different layers of minerals, I feel especially insignificant. Cliffs overlook a ground strewn with rough and uneven rocks, and though I can make out a path ahead of us, it meanders around protrusions and boulders of various sizes. The large body of water that carved the canyon has diminished to an inconsequential stream. But it’s enough to make me glad to be near a constant source of water.

Altan walks ahead, black robes dusty from sleeping on the ground. Whistling a solemn tune, he leads our horses carefully across the rocky terrain. I strain to listen. The Ballad of Hou Yi. According to legend, the archer killed monsters and shot down nine suns to save his people from starvation. His wife was the Moon Goddess, Chang’e.

My incorrigible stomach growls as I trudge on.

“What did you say?” Altan slows to walk in step with me, a curious look on his face. I must have spoken aloud.

“I said Chang’e should eat the rabbit.”

“She’s an immortal. Why would she need to eat?”

“For the pleasure of it.”

He chuckles. The scowl I’ve grown used to hasn’t appeared today.

“Do you believe in gods and immortals? And monsters?” I jest.

He nod-shakes his head in that usual noncommittal way. “I believe monsters can be killed.”

I mull over his words as we walk, wondering if there’s some hidden meaning. But soon, my attention drifts to the stream again. I stretch out an arm. Energy flows out of me at a steady pace. A tiny spout of water lifts from the surface of the stream. It’s almost as natural as breathing. I start to laugh. I feel like I’m more in control of my magic, and the thought of it encourages me.

A wet chill shocks me in mid-giggle.

My clothes are thoroughly soaked. I spin around to find the remnants of a small wave cascading back into the stream. The reins of the horses swing as Altan clutches his side and laughs. A real laugh. Carefree and light.

“I didn’t know you had an affinity for water, too,” I grumble, letting out a string of creative curses involving his descendants. It only makes him laugh harder.

I flick water and several pebbles at him, but he dodges them cleanly.

“Tiensai reflexes,” he chirps, avoiding another fist-sized rock. I wonder what’s the reason for his good mood. Maybe his dreams were pleasant.

I walk on, leaving a wet trail behind me as I try to squeeze out as much water as I can from my rúqún.

“If you take your clothes off, I’ll dry them for you—I’m pretty nifty with the element of wind,” Altan calls out from behind.

He can’t be serious. I ignore the heat on my cheeks. “I am not taking my clothes off.”

“Suit yourself.” I can hear him trying not to laugh. “I promise not to look if you do, if that’s what you’re concerned about. Not that there’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

“I would slap you for your rudeness, but then I’d have to touch you.”

He catches up to me. “You won’t be able to get to me in the first place.”

“Keep telling yourself that, arrogant fool,” I say coldly, wringing a sleeve, “and you’ll wake up one day shackled to a tree.”