We left without making a scene.
I found a semblance of peace in our near-total isolation, in the lack of demands and directions and desires thrown at me. Lei and I learned to read each other’s thoughts by gesture alone, until we could determine when the other wanted to rest or press on by a simple look or pause. Knowing he was immune to the dragon’s influence, I took comfort in his steady, even-keeled presence, trusting that even if I were to lose myself, he could keep me sane.
But the peace of our journey was short-lived, and by the time we reached the base of the Red Mountains, I sensed that confrontation with Sky was inevitable. Only one path led up to First Crossing from the northern outpost of Kuntian, and from the rumors swirling around town, the Anlai prince and his men had set up camp just beyond the Kuntian city limits. Kuntian was the last outpost before the five-day mountain trek to First Crossing. On the RedMountains, which lacked abundant vegetation or prey, we would have to carry our own provisions.
So that evening, as Lei set out to purchase supplies for our journey, I feigned exhaustion and told him I would sleep early. I did not know if he believed me, but he said nothing.
As soon as he’d departed from our campsite, I doused the fire and strapped my sword to my back. Then, as I was about to leave, I noticed a stray shadow a little way from the fire.
Lei’s best moon dagger. He’d known—and left it for me.
A lump in my throat, I secured the trusted dagger against my thigh. I glanced at the moon, brilliant in its fullness. A line fromThe Classic of Poetrycame to me:And if I ever write “Tonight the moonlight is strong,” I am trying to say that I miss you.
I hate you.
I miss you.
Ignoring reason, I crept into the dark.
All I wanted was tosee him one more time. Not even to speak to him—I would be satisfied with just a glance. I wanted to see his face, the familiar lines around his eyes and mouth, the cowlick at the back of his head. Our relationship was over, and we could never go back to the way things used to be. But I would pretend, just for one last night.
Then I would move on.
His camp was hard to miss. The Anlai warlord and his heir had traveled with over five hundred men for the signing of the Three Kingdoms Treaty, and now they pitched their tents just outside the city limits of Kuntian. Climbing up the roof of the temple building, which was the highest vantage point in Kuntian, I surveyed the expansive night sky and the sleeping camp below it. Patrol soldierscircled the perimeter, their metal armor flashing against the dark. Others, off duty, stumbled sleepily to the latrine or stayed up late chatting around the firepits. They looked so close I felt as though I could reach out and touch them. But I was not afraid; I knew no one ever bothered to look up.
One soldier ignoring protocol caught my eye; he drifted away from the center of camp, into the surrounding darkness, with only an oil lamp to guide him. How presumptuous, to think himself above the law. If I had ever dared wander alone at night, Sky would have rebuked me to no end. But here he was, doing what he would advise no other to do.
The field was fallow, littered with cut sorghum stalks and stubble, like a young man’s beard. Setting his lamp down, Sky drew his sword against the dark, and as he wove his blade back and forth in a rising crane formation, the moonlight reflected against the steel, casting the planes of his face in stark relief.
His face was so dear to me it hurt.
I hated him. I hated him for making me care for him. For making me want him. And then, with the same breath, behaving in such a way that I could never be with him again.
His blade hesitated, then lowered. Sky raised his head to gaze up at the moon, which was merciless, baring what was best left hidden in shadow. I watched the lines of his neck and shoulders, the tapering of his waist, the hair at the back of his head that would not lie flat. I watched him and I said goodbye.
Then he turned.
Impossibly, his eyes searched the temple eaves. I froze, caught between fear and desire. Did I wish to be known? To be found?
He found me. There was a single breath, a moment between moments, when I believed it might be possible to suspend reality. Then the moment passed. Sky took a single step.
My chest seized with fear. I recognized the lunacy of my actions and leapt up from my crouch. Sky started to run. Heart racing, I sprinted across the temple eaves and threw myself across the gap toward the next building. And then the next.
I felt him before I heard him. The thud of his body landing on the temple roof, sending vibrations across the wood. He was close behind me and gaining still. I pushed myself faster, faster; I could not let him catch me. I could not let him undo weeks and weeks of running from him, the palace, imperial life at court. I flew from roof to roof, until I’d reached the end of the village. In a moment of weakness I glanced over my shoulder—and gasped. He was nearly upon me.
Running was futile. I spun and hurled a throwing star I’d taken from the Leyuan rebels. He dodged but kept advancing.
“I don’t want to fight you!” he shouted, and his voice sent shivers of terror and happiness coursing through me.
“Then stay away from me!” I shouted back. But he ignored me, approaching with his usual stubbornness.
I had no choice; I drew my sword. His jaw tightened but he responded in kind, raising his own. I attacked first, launching at him and spinning across the low-hanging eaves. He parried, distracted, his attention lingering on my face rather than my sword. My anger unfurled within me, long-buried resentment resurfacing beneath the moonlight. This time, I struck without restraint, and my blow landed with such force that he stumbled, his sword slipping from his grasp and tumbling off the roof into the shadows below.
Unaccustomed to the terrain, he tripped on a loose tile, falling dangerously close to the edge. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. Seizing my opening, I pinned him down, my blade pressed to his throat.
“If I beat you in single combat,” I said, and he stilled beneathme. I saw it in his eyes—he was remembering, just as I was, the first time we’d fought with lethal intent. “If I beat you in single combat, then you leave.”
“I thought winning meant staying,” he whispered, the knot at his throat rising and falling.
