The soldiers cut my bindings and throw me into a cramped cell like a sack of flour, dumping me upon a rough bed of moldy straw. It’s uncomfortably slimy, smearing my hands and knees as I scramble to my feet. They slam the cell door shut, the sickening scent of rusted hinges flooding my nose.
“Please,” I say hurriedly, “this is all a misunderstanding. You have to let me out. My mother needs her med—”
The captain surges forward and slams the scabbard of his sword against the bars. They ring out angrily, rattling my eardrums.
“Silence!”
“Listen, my friend, what happened between us earlier… I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps we can put this entire incident behind us? I’ll give you free food and drinks at the teahouse forever. What do you say?”
“I say I’ll cut your tongue out if you utter another word.”
Desperation claws at my throat. “My mother is very ill. I’m her only son, so I’m charged with her well-being. Please, find it in your heart to understand!”
“Listen here, you backwater degenerate—”
“That is enough, Captain Tian.”
The voice belongs to someone I can’t see, resonating from the safety of the shadows. Whoever he is, I figure he must be of great importance, because the captain’s whole body goes rigid before he bows deeply.
A man steps out, his features highlighted by the shifting orange glow of the torchlights.
He is, in every sense of the word, overwhelming.
Dressed in flawless silk robes whose threads are dyed in the rarest of golden pigments, the man is a walking tribute to all the kingdom’s splendor. The intricate pattern of a snarling five-clawed blue dragon is embroidered into the silk, starting with its tail on the bottom right corner, then wrapping all the way around his back, and over the shoulder to rest upon the man’s heart.
His hair is well-maintained and shiny, even in the dim lights of the prison, pulled into a regal bun held in place by an ornate pin sculpted of shimmering gold. His fingers are adorned with thick jade rings, and his fourth finger and pinky on each hand are protected by sharp, clawlike nail guards.
While most people would gape at his obvious and exorbitant wealth, the only thing that catches my eye is his thread.
It’s gray, just like my own, except his thread has been completely severed, dangling loose just inches from his little finger.
How is this possible? If his Fated One were dead, then he would have a closed black loop. The cut looks almost deliberate, as if he took a blade to it. I know this cannot be, however. Our threads are indelible, gifts granted to us by the Gods to help link two ardent souls. I have never been able to physically grasp hold of one—they might appear like living things, but they can only be seen, never touched or altered by those who possess them. The act of cutting a thread should be impossible.
I know I have been staring too long, because Captain Tian’s arm shoots through a gap between the bars and grabs me by the hair, forcing me down into some semblance of a bow.
“Insolent wretch!” he growls. “Have you no respect for your emperor?”
My heart thuds anxiously. Did I hear that right, or has the deafening roar of blood past my ears somehow caused me to hallucinate? Keeping my eyes glued to the floor, I realize that I’m at a loss for words. It’s not something that happens very often. I dare not speak, for the possibility of losing my tongue is suddenly very real, should I displease His Imperial Highness.
Unsure of what else to do, I risk a glance upward. The emperor reaches into one of his sleeves and pulls out the vial the soldiers confiscated from me. The long stretch of silence that follows makes me squirm. I find the emperor studying the scale with the slightest of amused grins.
I take a moment to study his face. He looks surprisingly young for a man who has ruled the Northern Kingdom for longer than I’ve been alive. Strip him of his ostentatious garb, and we might even pass for brothers. His eyes, however, give me pause.
They are ancient. Wise beyond centuries and dripping with something…
Cruel.
Nearby prisoners break out into frantic whispers.
“Is that—”
“No, it can’t be,” someone else murmurs. “He should be nothing more than a decrepit old man.”
“He has shamans,” whispers another. “I hear they use blood magic—they sacrifice virgin concubines, and it grants him eternal youth.”
“He’s the Son of Heaven, appointed by the Gods. A god himself! What need has he of such nonsense?”
Captain Tian bangs his scabbard against the bars of my cell door again, the metallic twang shocking everyone back into silence. “The next to speak loses their head.”
