Jade Fire Gold(66)

I’m not sure if I want to.

I was so happy to be reunited with my father, only to have that dream shattered. There’s a part of me that worries what will happen to him if the priesthood falls. I can’t help but remember the grief that Tai Shun held for his father, a man who did terrible things. My father needs to be stopped and punished for his misdeeds. But how far should that punishment go, and should I, his daughter, be instrumental in that?

I shove that muddled ball of emotions away and dart a nervous glance at Altan. He wouldn’t know that my father is the leader of the Diyeh, would he? My father takes pains to hide his identity both as the premier and the head priest. If Altan knew, surely he would have mentioned it already?

“So, all of this is personal for you,” I say quietly.

“Isn’t it always?” Altan slips a dagger out and spins it. “And you may think you can stay out of this mess, but as long as you’re the Life Stealer, someone’s going to want something from you.”

“They should stop treating me like a, like a thing they can use. I don’t want to do anything for anyone. I want to be left alone,” I say, tired of it all.

Tired of men who want to use me.

“You don’t have the luxury of living a quiet life.” He raises an eyebrow, like he’s challenging me. “The sword is powerful and with your magic, it can stop the desert from spreading. That alone is worth the moon. You could use it to rule, make nations bow to your will.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I told you, I’m not like Yuan Long. I don’t care about ruling the world! That’s absurd.”

“Few can resist such power.”

“I . . . I don’t want to kill anyone else.” We both hear the tremble in my voice.

Altan’s expression softens. He looks almost sad. “The first is always the hardest.”

I don’t know how to respond.

He repeats himself as though his meaning was unclear. “The first time you kill someone, that’s always the hardest.”

“You sound like you have a lot of experience.” I drag a hand down my face. “This is wonderful. I’m stuck in a desolate canyon in the middle of nowhere with a murderous boy who has enough blades to outfit an army.”

The expected retort doesn’t come. He sits there solemnly, stoking the fire. I try not to think about how many people he may have killed. Or why he’d be killing anyone in the first place. Maybe he needed the money. Maybe he only killed priests who were trying to capture him. I don’t know if that makes me feel any better.

I fiddle with the ends of my shawl, plucking at the fraying threads. “You might as well know this. The bandit in the canyon wasn’t the first or the second.”

“I know. Back in that desert town—”

“No. Even before that,” I reveal.

Altan’s dagger stops spinning and his posture tightens. I don’t want him to fear me, but it feels like he needs to know.

“Something happened when I was a child . . . something bad. I’m not sure how, and I don’t remember all of it.” Nausea roils in my throat. I look at my hands, running my thumbs across finger pads, feeling the whorls of skin as I continue. “I think I may have hurt someone by accident. I think I hurt them badly, and that scared my mother into hiding me away.”

Altan puts his dagger down and looks up at the stars. Seconds later, he seems to come to a decision. He turns to me and leans close.

“Years ago, after my father died, my mother escaped into the desert with my sister and me.” The grit in his voice chafes the air. “We thought we were safe, but the priests found us. My mother was killed, and my magic manifested at that instant. At that time, I had no idea how to control it properly. It went wild and I created a huge sandstorm.” The full force of his pain pierces me as he holds my gaze. “That was how I escaped from the priests. But that sandstorm killed my sister. She was my first kill.”

His palpable fear when I made that miniature sandstorm the other night—it makes sense now. I recognize the look on his face. It mirrors my own from moments ago. He’s wondering what I think of him. Of what I might say.

I don’t comfort or console him. Instead, I lift my chin imperiously. “I didn’t know we were competing for who had the most awful childhood. Obviously, you win.”

For a moment, he’s confused by what I said. Then, he starts laughing. It isn’t even funny. It’s a horribly inappropriate joke. But I know he’s laughing because he is relieved.

Relieved that I told him I don’t think him a monster.





26


Altan


We make our way through the canyon for the next two days. Afraid of losing our only source of water, we keep close to the stream, straying only to hunt for food. My arm improves steadily; the poison nullified by the língc?o and Ahn’s quick response.

Gradually, the landscape changes. The farther we are away from the site of the bandit ambush, the lighter my chest feels. Green creeps onto jagged rock as small trees and then larger ones appear. The stream itself widens into a river, waters gushing like a constant percussive song. We decide to spend another night here—our last—and try our luck at hitching a ride the next day when we hit the small settlement that rests at the edge of the canyon.

Dinner appears in the form of a small deer. I take it down easily with my arrows. Ahn chooses to busy herself stacking little rocks and pebbles near the river until the meat is cooked. If sand is my failing, the burden I have to bear, then death must be hers.