“I have a way,” Winter volunteered, before glancing at his younger brother. “But you won’t like this.”
Sky said nothing.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Blood,” said Winter. “Qi concentrates within blood.”
My own went cold. “The spirits demand blood,” my mother had told me. Back then, I hadn’t understood what she’d meant.
“So we give ourselves up?” asked Kuro, torn between outrage and amusement. “As human sacrifices?”
“No,” said Sky. His jaw had gone as taut as the bowstring.
Lei’s expression was inscrutable. “Excess blood will only lure more spirits out.”
I thought of how I’d cut myself to draw the bird spirit away from Sky. “It does drive them into a frenzy,” I admitted.
“Which is the opposite of what we want,” said Lei. Sky nodded emphatically. For once, they were in agreement.
“Then how else do we end this?” asked Kuro.
Winter said nothing, only folded his lips into a flat line.
Kuro shot me a sidelong glance. His face was ragged with weariness, but there was a spark of levity in his eyes. I was reminded of all life had thrown at him, how often he’d fallen down—and how often he’d gotten back up again. And yet this time, the rebel leader looked ready to let go. In fact, at the thought of certain suicide, he looked almostrelieved.
“Phoenix-Slayer,” he said to me, with a certain tone of reluctant camaraderie. “Are you ready to die?”
Our momentary civility ended afterthat. Sky fiercely objected to Winter’s plan, Lei tried to brainstorm alternatives, and Kuro began to laugh, his mind teetering on the brink of sanity. He had lost Jinya only a day ago, I reminded myself. If not for the iron walls surrounding us, I would’ve peered into his mind, which felt volatile, like flames dancing with oil.
After a few more minutes of pointless dispute, Winter asked if we shouldn’t break for food. This of course raised further debate.
Kuro suggested the rebel base, which Sky disapproved of. Winter proposed the Anlai camp, which Kuro protested against.
“What if we split up?” I asked.
Kuro shoved a finger in Sky’s direction. “How do I know you won’t simply go back to your troops and turn us in?” Kuro demanded.
“How do I know you won’t do the same?” said Sky.
“None of us separates from the group,” Lei decided. “We stick together, until the veil is restored.”
“Then the cease-fire’s off,” finished Kuro. “Am I right?”
At the ensuing silence, I guessed he was.
For the issue of sustenance, Lei suggested a nearby pleasure-house, which was known for being discreet regarding delicate matters.
As it turned out, there was little need for delicacy. The pleasure-house, along with all other businesses, was shuttered, its residents having fled the city in the hours following the quake. Now those less fortunate, who hadn’t managed to escape, would never leave at all.
The streets of First Crossing, once bustling, were now eerily silent but for the creaking of trees in the wind or the errant moan of a casualty. Apart from bandits and other foolhardy opportunists, few roamed the open streets.
It was a strange party then that we comprised: Sky in the front, his sword at the ready; Kuro at the rear; and Winter and I in the middle. Lei kept toward the back, occasionally breaking away to tinker with the locks on various stores.
“This one,” he said at last, and we followed him to an abandoned noodle house. We gathered around Lei as he inserted a hairpin into the lock.
A stray motion caught my eye; I glanced over my shoulder to see a corporeal rabbit spirit peering at us from around the corner. Sky stepped in front of me, lifting his sword.
“Wait!” Kuro and I exclaimed in unison. In our indecision, the rabbit turned and hopped away.
