Yat-sen winced. “Why didn’t you?”
“You are …” He seemed to struggle to come up with a response. Another uncomfortable look passed over him: conflicted. Unsure. “…family.”
He had killed their horrible father, and yet … Biyu could understand. He hadn’t needed to befriend her when he was pretending to be Feiyu. He hadn’t needed to help her. He hadn’t needed to be anyone other than the wicked emperor. And yet he had shown care and consideration in his own way.
“The entire empire thinks you both are dead; be sure to keep it that way.” He pursed his lips as if the next part was especially hard for him. “Biyu, Yat-sen, you both must realize that your actions, your treason, and your attempt at taking my life cannot go unpunished. My wife is pregnant and I will be a father soon; I cannot risk them being in danger in any way, and you both have betrayed me. As must as I hate to do this, I must—you are both henceforth exiled from my empire.”
Yat-sen sucked in a breath, cheeks hollowing. Biyu didn’t really care if she was exiled or not. As long as Nikator was alive and well, that was all that mattered. This was the chance of a lifetime. Under any other circumstances, they would both have been executed. So this punishment came across as extremely lenient, especially considering it came from the wicked usurper.
“The exile will last for about … ten years.” He shrugged, as if he had come up with the number on the spot. “Just long enough for you both to look different and for the court to forget your memory. Then you’re free to enter again, but you mustn’t involve yourself in any politics, armies, or positions of power. Do you both understand?”
“What about my mother?” Yat-sen asked. “And her family?”
He tilted his head, as if he hadn’t realized they were still alive. “What of them?”
“Will they be punished for what we … for whatIdid?” There was a tremor in his voice, like he was afraid of the answer, and yet her brother raised his head bravely. His hands fisted by his sides, his breath catching in his chest as he waited for an answer—for a sentencing.
“Your mother and her family have nothing to do with this. I checked. You acted alone. Well, mostly. Those you conspired with—members of the rebel faction—are being hunted down by Li-ling as we speak. From my understanding, your only link to them was during the coup. They supplied their men to you while you tried to kill me. Is that correct?”
Yat-sen’s head hung down in shame, but relief made his voice light. “It is.”
“If you try to take this throne from me—” The shadows in the room darkened and Muyang’s voice dropped an octave. They both shivered as a burst of air hissed throughout the room, making the bedsheets levitate and lash against the bed frame, their hair rise, and the temperature drop dangerously low. “I will end you both. Do not take my leniency for weakness. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Yat-sen said with another flinch.
Muyang leashed his power within him, the contrast so sharp that it made Biyu gasp. The temperature returned to normal, the sheets fell limply back on the mattress, and the shadows winked away. His gaze swiveled from Yat-sen—watching, analyzing, seeing if he was being truthful—to Biyu. “And you?”
“I have no intention of betraying you again, or doing anything that would threaten you. Believe me,” she said.
Whatever he saw in her gaze made him nod curtly.
He folded his arms over his chest and seemed to be speaking to himself. “Good.”
“Why are you being so …” Yat-sen struggled to find the words, his eyebrows pulling together. “Kind?”
Muyang stared at them for a moment longer, before glancing over at the single window. His gaze locked on there, a distant glaze entering his eyes. He absentmindedly pulled his sleeve back to reveal his forearm, where the serpent and moon was still etched in his skin. “Your father, Yan, was a horrible monster beyond comprehension. And yet …” When he turned to look at them, the harsh glint softened. “And yet when I look at you two, I see that you are nothing like him. Neither are Liqin and Daewon. I see that his legacy died a long time ago, and I have no interest in perpetuating more cruelty like he did.”
Silence followed, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as she would have thought. They were all family—brother, sister, uncle—but there was a distance between them that their respective loyalties had caused. And yet, Biyu got the impression that they all wanted the same thing—peace. And perhaps, to care for one another. In an awkward, strange, different kind of way.
Muyang cleared his throat, not seeming too keen to linger on the confusing, conflicting emotions they all were feeling. He gestured to the doorway. “Biyu, you’re free to search for Nikator if you’d like. I sent him to the market with Thera to catch some air, and with an excuse to find medicinal herbs for you—that was the only way to convince him to leave.”
Biyu didn’t need to be told twice. She rushed to the threshold and was about to run, but stopped herself. Her hand gripped the door frame.
“Thank you,” she said.
Muyang only gave another short nod. “Go.”
She ran without a backward glance. She raced down the hallway, her skirt flapping behind her, her hair streaming.
She didn’t know where she was headed, and yet she could feel a pull toward Nikator, as if he too was racing against time to catch up to her. She ran down the winding paths of the palace, her heart racing, her lungs expanding. The guards didn’t react as she shoved past them. They must have been given orders to ignore her, or maybe Muyang had used magic to cloak her presence—whatever the case, she didn’t care.
She ran.
Through the gates of the palace and into the streets of the capital, she kept running. The surroundings blurred, her shoeless feet slapped the paved ground, and the wind ripped through her wild hair. She barely registered anything. The wind, the cuts on her feet, the people—all of them disappeared.
The pull grew stronger. She paused in the middle of a road with rows of houses lining the sides, her gaze flicking over the various people milling about.
Red hair, red hair.
