Jade Fire Gold(67)

Bellies full, we lie on our backs, side by side, each lost in our own maze of thoughts. I scan the scattered stars in the deep indigo sky, searching for the one that points me home. The one that gave my sister and me hope all those years ago. It seems more distant tonight. Less bright. Less real.

“Altan?” whispers Ahn. “Are you still awake?”

“Mmm.”

“The fire’s out and I’m getting cold.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” I mutter. She huffs. A pebble hits my foot. “Fine. You can have my outer robe,” I sigh.

“I don’t want your stinky clothes. I want you to start a fire.”

Even though it’s too dark to see anything, I can feel her glare. Groaning, I sit up. With a quick flick of my fingers, I send a small flame in the direction of the kindling. “There. Happy?”

“Thank you.”

In the firelight, I catch a glimpse of Ahn’s expression.

“You could’ve started the fire yourself the usual way without magic. I’ve seen you do it,” I say with sudden realization. My jaw clenches. “You wanted to see me create fire with magic. Why?”

“Leiye told me fire magic is preferred in the priesthood. I’ve seen your flames before, and I was curious. It looks the same as his. If all fire magic is the same, and if the Diyeh are people who sided with Yuan Long, and the Tiensai are those who did not, doesn’t it mean they’re the same inside?”

My hackles rise. I was foolish to think her a bystander caught in the middle of a savage political war. She must have a hidden agenda.

“What’s your point? What are you planning?” I demand.

Ahn scrunches up her brows. “Why are you getting so worked up for? I’m not planning anything. I was thinking that if the differences between the Tiensai and the Diyeh are superficial and created intentionally by Yuan Long a century ago, why can’t we clear things up?”

“You’re being naive. This isn’t a simple dispute that can be solved by talking.”

“I’m being hopeful,” she insists. She reminds me of Shīfù. Seems like they’d get along with their endless supply of idealism. “Leiye’s a priest and he seems to want to do the right thing. Maybe there are others.”

“He’s different.”

“How?”

I’m neither ready to tell her how I know Leiye nor who I really am. She seems enamored by Tai Shun. I don’t know what her reaction will be if she knew I was vying for the Dragon Throne.

I avoid her questioning eyes and walk away into the darkness. She knows by now when to leave me alone. I turn around at some point to stare at the blurry figure by the campfire.

Girl. Tool. Weapon.

Someone I can . . . trust?

I don’t know why I told Ahn about what happened to my sister the other night. I haven’t shared it with anyone else apart from Shīfù. It’s been too easy to talk to her, to share things. This needs to stop. I need to stop.

I glare up at the night sky, wanting to shake a fist at the Heavens. I remind myself of who Ahn is: the Life Stealer. A means to an end.

Nothing more.

A kind farmer picks us up after we leave the canyon. Despite our disheveled appearances, he never questions us, choosing to tell us about his farm, his dying crops, and the devastating state of the land. We listen to him, occasionally exchanging troubled glances. I don’t know what Ahn is thinking, but the farmer’s experiences only serve to strengthen my resolve.

It is past midnight when we arrive in Heshi on foot after the farmer drops us off nearby. The shop fronts are shuttered and the town quiet except for a drunk carouser or two. Dimly lit streets guide our way until we reach a large gray-stoned building with a pair of red paper lanterns marked with the symbol of an ax hanging from either side of the awning.

The Three Axes.

I knock lightly on the door.

“Tavern’s closed!” yells a gruff voice from inside.

I knock again: three quick raps with my knuckles, two slow thuds with my palm, and then three raps once more.

“If you’re patient in a moment of anger,” says the gruff voice quietly.

“You’ll escape a hundred years of sorrow,” I respond.

What was that? Ahn mouths at me.

“Password.”

Keys jangle and the door opens. In the light of his lamp, a bearded, heavy-set man squints, giving us a once-over. I see the resemblance to Luo Tong in the man’s face, a Tiensai who visited Shīfù often.

“Come in,” he orders brusquely.

He bolts the door behind us and sets his lamp on the counter, revealing a large dining room filled with chairs and tables. Axes of various sizes hang on the wall. On my right, an alcove disappears into darkness, and I spot a staircase at the far-left corner.

“Praise the gods—I was about to call it a night. Luo Hai, owner of The Three Axes.” His tone is curt, but his eyes are welcoming.

I bow. “Altan. It’s good to finally meet you, Master Luo. Your son speaks of you fondly. This is Ahn.”

She flashes him a winsome smile.

“I hope we aren’t intruding, Master Luo,” I say. “My apologies for showing up unannounced.”

He waves away my uncertainty. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Altan. Ah Tong was here a few months ago, kept saying what a good shot you are.” He turns to Ahn. “My son says this boy never misses in archery.”