But perhaps people could change, for he released me and said, “Then what about a friend?”
I exhaled, cruel hope surging in my chest. “I would like that very much,” I whispered.
His eyes were pained. He hated this, I could tell. He did notwant this conciliation. But he hated my fear more, and so he would give me this.
“All right,” he said, more to himself than to me. “All right.”
Walking in silence, we listened to the intermittent screams overhead, which were all the more jarring because of their sporadicity. The aftershocks from the quake had mostly ceased, though the earth still shuddered with a sort of restless agitation, as if struggling to find its balance once more. The longer we walked, the more frequent my stumbling grew. At last Sky stopped me.
“Get on my back,” he said.
I squinted through a migraine, its intensity sharpened by the oppressive weight of iron. “But—”
“Meilin,” he said. “You can hardly walk.” Then he checked my bandaged arm and swore. “You tied this yourself? I thought I taught you better than that.”
Grumbling under his breath, he redid my tourniquet. Then he crouched and I silently climbed onto his back, too tired to argue, letting my head loll onto his shoulder. I was exhausted, and everything about this night felt surreal, as if we were only acting in a theater production of nightmares.
“Sleep,” he said. “You’re safe with me.”
Sky had never been one to lie. Still, I couldn’t understand why he was being so kind to me, after everything that had transpired between us. How could he have forgotten all his prior animosity toward me?
“Why?” I asked, closing my eyes at the pressing fatigue. I had humiliated him, dishonored him—even tried to kill him. “I-I’ve—wronged you.”
He did not answer for so long that I began to drift into sleep. “I love you,” he said at last. Then, so quietly I wondered if I was dreaming: “I wish I didn’t.”
Thirty-Five
I do not care if he is integral to the new treaty accords. As long as he lives, he remains a threat to me and the kingdom. Eliminate him without fail, no matter the cost.
—Cao Zihuan, in a private missive to Minister Hui, 924
I woke to a burning sensationagainst my abdomen. Shooting upright, I would have struck my forehead against rock if not for Sky’s strategically placed hand. I blinked at my surroundings; we were in a dimly lit cavern, torchlight pooling against the iron walls like fiery dancers. I felt the burning sensation again and reached into my tunic pocket, groping for the bird spirit’s seal. To my surprise, I could not find it. Instead, my hand came away with nothing but fine powder, still hot to the touch. She had not succeeded in making a bargain, I realized. And now—Qinglong had destroyed her.
Perhaps he would come for me next. But beneath the iron walls, I could no longer feel him—not the weight of his lixia, nor the strength of his will. All my senses felt dulled, cast in shadow. When I tried to take a step, the world tilted as if I were trying to walk on water.
“Easy,” said Sky. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Does the dragon know where you are?” said someone else.
I whirled around. Winter stood in the cavern entrance, a fresh cut marring his beautiful face. My eyes widened at the wound; never had I seen him with any physical imperfection.
Winter’s hand went reflexively to the cut. “It seems the spirits, like humans, prefer some over others,” he explained.
“His qi draws them,” said Sky, shaking his head. “As does yours.”
Because we both had greater spirit affinity than most—which was why Winter could walk the realm between worlds, even without a seal. I had seen him there once, during the Three Kingdoms War.
Could we use this to our advantage now?
“You’re both alive,” I said. “I heard—poison—”
“Yes,” said Sky grimly. “And I think I know who is to blame.”
“Would that be me?” someone asked.
We all turned as the newcomer ambled inside.
“Tan Kuro,” he said, smirking. “Leader of the Black Scarves.” He bowed low in mock deference. “What an honor this is—I get to finish the job myself.”
