I push to my feet, my blades in my hands. I try to get a glimpse of the creature in the trees, of what form Yù’chén’s worst fears might take, but he moves to stand between me and the monster. His mouth is tight, his face shuttered, his knuckles white.
It’s the first time I have seen him look…afraid.
I want to know what in these realms can elicit this kind of a reaction in him. I hesitate, shifting my crescent blades between my fingers.
“Go, before I make you.” His tone takes on a rough edge.
I search his face for a trace of the vulnerability I saw just moments ago. It’s gone.
I turn and run into the night.
16
I don’t know how much time passed in those moments I blanked out, but I estimate that I have about half an hour left to find my bracelet and get off this island. The rain is slowing, and a faint gray light lines the clouds, but every shadow I see I expect to be another monster.
I follow the direction in which Heart points, counting my steps and the seconds that pass. I’m ten more minutes into the forest when Heart shifts suddenly.
I turn as something pale streaks through the trees.
A small gray wolf gallops toward me. I raise my blades, but there is something familiar about its bright-green eyes, how its shaggy fur is speckled with white…
“Fán’xuan?” I exclaim.
The little wolf slows to a trot and bares his teeth in what looks like a cheeky grin. Between his fangs, I catch a glimmer of gold.
My heart leaps into my throat. “Is that…? Did you…?”
Fán’xuan wags his tail at me as I kneel and extricate a ratherwet but otherwise unharmed golden butterfly. It flutters its wings weakly when I smooth them out to read the number engraved on its back:
44.
I have qualified for the Third Trial.
My eyes prick as I stare at my friend. “Thank you,” I whisper. Fán’xuan thumps his tail and looks rather pleased with himself. “Any idea where Lì’líng and Tán’mù are?”
Fán’xuan cocks his head. Suddenly, his ears flatten and he emits a growl.
I raise my blades. A figure steps out from between the trees, but it’s not anyone I recognize. A man, dressed in the brocade raiment of the north. He holds a whip, and his eyes gleam as they focus on my friend.
“Fán’xuan,” he calls.
Fán’xuan shrinks back. His tail is tucked between his legs, and he lets out a sound between a bark and a whine.
“It’s his former master,” comes a voice to my left. When I look over, Tán’mù is striding toward me. She comes to a stop by my side, her two-pronged spear gripped tightly in her hand. She’s staring at the silhouette between the trees with a tightness to her eyes. “They were raised in show pens.”
She says this without emotion, but I suddenly understand. I have heard of these show pens: where yao’jing are captured and shipped to serve as entertainment or sold to mortal masters. I have heard of them only as horrible stories in passing: how the yao’jing are tortured into subservience.
As Fán’xuan whines again, something coils tight inside me. I palm Fleet and Striker; this time, I don’t even hesitate. I charge the huà’pí at a run, propelled by Fleet’s talisman so that it doesn’t even see me coming. The pen master turnsto me just as Striker meets his forehead. He screams as I dig into the monster’s core, and then the illusion flickers and the huà’pí thumps to the ground, a collection of bones and decomposing skins.
I turn and walk back to Fán’xuan. The shaggy wolf glances up at me, blinking. I reach out and wrap my arms around the halfling shapeshifter, burying my face in his soft fur. When I draw back, fur has turned to a shock of messy white hair, snout and claws have turned into human face and limbs, and the boy with those bright-green eyes sits by my side. He blinks at me and looks down at my arms, as though he isn’t sure what to do.
Then he snuggles his face against my shoulder.
The rain has stopped. Some moonlight spills out from the edges of the rain clouds, filtering through the canopy of the forest.
A yip sounds through the trees. From between two pagoda bushes, a small white fox appears, looking at us expectantly. Lì’líng.
“She’s saying we all have our golden butterflies, and we have to go.” Tán’mù gives me a long-suffering look that suggests this isn’t the first time she’s had to translate for Lì’líng. “She prefers to stay in her fox form until we’re out—it makes her feel safer.”
