Jade Fire Gold(87)

“I trust Ahn, and I’m honored to have your support, Captain.”

He looks back out to sea. “What a burden it is for one so young and unprepared.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” I say quickly, anxious to reassure the captain. Or perhaps, to convince myself.

“She will have to be if she is to avoid the same fate as Yuan Long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think she’s having all these nightmares?”

I hesitate. “I’m not sure.”

“The Life Stealer treads the path that separates our world and the soul realm,” Captain Yan explains. “Every life she steals is a soul that remains in the realm of the undead, much like the waters of the Dragon’s Triangle. These lost souls are unable to go to Heaven or Hell; they exist in limbo. They will follow her, and they won’t let her go.”

Dread unfurls its talons in my chest. I’m uncertain if I want to know, but I ask anyway. “Yuan Long’s body and the dark sword were never found. But some soldiers claimed he killed himself in the middle of a battlefield. Is it true?”

The captain lays a hand on my shoulder, his voice heavy. “I’m afraid so. There were rumors that your great-grandfather was driven to madness in the end. The spirits and the darkness, he must have succumbed to them.”

I enter the cabin in the evening. Spinning my dagger, I sit by the bed. Ahn is fast asleep, long hair spilling over her shoulders, dark against the blue blouse of her rúqún. If she was pale before, she is even more wraithlike now. Dark circles ring her eyes and her cheeks are sunken. She looks breakable.

A whisper of a girl.

There is a garden Mother loved in the eastern wing of the palace where a plum blossom tree grows. Often, she would point out that tree to me, marveling at how its pink and white flowers would bloom in the depths of winter in defiance of nature itself. Ahn reminds me of that tree, its fragile blossoms so stubborn they insist on coming to life when there is no life to be found.

She murmurs and shifts under the covers, a crease forming between her brows. I wonder if she is having another nightmare. Soon, the gentle lull of the ship draws me into slumber. It’s only when my foot slips that I stir.

Ahn is awake, staring at me coolly, posture guarded. “What do you want?”

“To see you,” I mumble, still groggy. Not what I was planning to say.

“Were you watching me sleep? It’s disturbing.”

“Seems like you were the one watching me.”

She ignores my retort and stretches. I take the tray of food from the table and hand it to her. She picks at the dishes, hardly eating a morsel before putting her chopsticks down and leaning against the wall, staring into space.

“Have you looked at yourself lately? You need to eat,” I say.

“Stop nagging me, and stop being mad at me.”

“Aren’t you the one mad at me?”

“I have other things that bother me more now.”

“Is that your way of saying you forgive me?”

Her lips curl slightly.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Her expression changes and I regret my question.

“Worried about your crown?” Her tone bites. Fingers like claws, she places a hand on her chest. “The sword still calls out to me, there’s no need to be concerned. I’ll find it and you can have your damned throne.”

Her words strike me like a slap. She is right. Perhaps it wasn’t duty to my country or a sense of honor that pushed me to this point, but selfishness. All I ever think about is revenge. About myself.

Or at least, I did.

Part of me wants to turn the ship around, to take Ahn back to land, to hide her somewhere safe, away from the priests, away from her nightmares, away from everything.

“I wasn’t thinking about my crown or the throne,” I say softly. “I was worried . . . about you.”

Her eyes flicker with surprise. She draws her knees close, making herself as small as possible. “You get nightmares, too, right?”

“Yes.”

“How do you deal with them?”

“I tell myself they aren’t real, and if they aren’t real, they can’t hurt me. Not unless I let them.” I pull a vial from my pocket and show it to her. She shrinks back. “It’s a sleeping draught. The Lotus Sect healers gave it to me.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not afraid of falling asleep. I’m . . . I’m afraid of not being able to wake up.”

I nod and tuck the vial away.

“Why do you want the throne?” Her question reverberates in my mind. She is hopeful, eyes searching my face, trying to find the good in me. “It can’t be for power.”

“Don’t I seem power-hungry to you?”

“I think you want it for redemption. I think you feel guilty for your great-grandfather’s actions, and you want to fix things.”

I look away. “I want to kill the people who murdered my parents.”

Her lips thin. “I’m not sure if it will bring you the peace you seek.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what ghosts feel like,” she says simply. “I’ve been thinking about things. Maybe you should forgive yourself for whatever has happened in the past and move on.”