Lei brushed a stray hair from my face. “What is love—if not care for one another? Pride in all that you’ve done. Belief in what you will continue to do. And hope—hope that we will grow together, as one.”
“Is that what your love is?” I asked him.
He considered this for a long time. Warring emotions crossed his face—guilt, desperation, sadness, longing. I recalled that he too had been a child of loss, bearing the weight of his mother’s passing from far too young an age.
“It is how I try to love,” he answered at last. And somehow, this liberated me. This simple admission of imperfection. For I too was fallible, bad at loving. It did not come naturally to me as it seemingly did to others. My instincts, so trustworthy in battle, led me astray in matters of the heart. And yet, if love meant the act oftrying, then I loved. I loved with all my being.
“I love you,” he told me, his eyes flickering beneath the weak torchlight. In a cavern drenched with blood, with hands cold as ice, he said this. “I am a monster but I love you.”
It was as if the words had been stolen from my mouth. “If you are a monster, then so am I,” I said quietly, and his eyes shone as falling stars. “I find I am suited for a monster’s love,” I added.
I reached up to bring his face down to mine, and then I kissed him, softly this time. I could taste the blood on him. I had witnessed him murdering an entire platoon of soldiers to get to me. I knew his violent tendencies, his scheming ways, his penchant for drink. I knew his flaws, and yet he knew mine. He saw me; he saw past my deceit for who I really was. He knew the lies I told myself at night and the weaknesses I tried so hard to hide in the dark. He knew them, and still, he loved me. He believed in me, more even than I believed in myself.
“Lei,” I said, wanting to tell him how I felt. “I-I…” No sound emerged from my throat. I could not say it.
“It’s okay,” he said, pressing his lips to my forehead.
A tear snaked down my cheek.There must be something broken within me, I thought. Gently, he wiped the tear with his thumb.
“Thank you for coming for me,” I said instead.
There was no hesitation in his voice. “I will always come for you.”
The pounding of hoofbeats made us separate. I stiffened, but Lei assured me it was the others. “When you weren’t back by sundown, I went to look for you. I saw the note you’d left, and wrote one of my own.”
“Why did you come alone?” I demanded. “Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“And if I had been a minute slower, I might’ve been too late,” he said, with a self-assurance I found vexing. “So no, I won’t apologize for it.”
I was too tired to argue, and besides, I likely would have done the same. I stooped to gather the fossils I’d come to collect, but when I tried to rise, I lost my balance. Lei caught me and supportedme as we left the caverns, and he was so warm and steady and solid that I couldn’t even find it in me to be upset.
The moonlight outside was blinding. To my astonishment, two moons hung in the night sky. Both were nearly full.
“The tides will be thrown into chaos,” remarked Lei, who seemed to be taking this all in stride. “I pity the sailors aiming to set sail tonight.”
Balance was integral in everything—in the tides, in the seasons, in the directions of the wind. In Anlai, we believed balance was key to life itself. For the first time, I understood the extent of the havoc we’d wrought. There was no coming back from this. No matter what I did or did not do tomorrow, I would be etched into memory as the villain who tore the veil.
“Unless you surrender yourself to me.” The dragon’s voice was friendly, sympathetic. “Only then can you rise as a legend.”
My sanity, already teetering on the edge, threatened to collapse. The weight of my choices felt insurmountable, as if I could swim and swim with every fiber of my being and still never reach the surface.
“Breathe,” Lei said lowly.
I forced air into my lungs, trying to ignore the wild, erratic pulse of the dragon’s seal, or was that the beating of my own heart?
“Meilin!”
I lifted my head as Sky leapt off his horse and ran toward us. He took in our blood-soaked robes and faces with dual horror and relief. Behind him, Captain Tong and Winter dismounted in a more orderly manner, while Kuro followed at the rear, his steps weighed down with obvious reluctance. He winced at the state of us.
“I should’ve gone with you,” Kuro said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck. By the way he swayed, I could tell he was still intoxicated.
“Apologize to her,” said Sky, with all the imperiousness of a future warlord. Kuro stiffened with anger, and I saw that he would not receive such an order from a monarch. We did not need more discord between us, not on the eve of battle.
I intervened. “What’s past is past. Just don’t do it again. I need you clearheaded, Kuro.”
It was not the first time I’d said this. Lei, who was still holding me, squeezed my hand.
“It won’t happen again,” said Kuro, keeping his distance.
