He holds nearly nothing back of the events from the morning, of the rogue mó and the certainty that the Kingdom of Night will descend upon this village to kill him.
A few of the widowed older women gasp. My mother’s face pales, and Méi’zi claps her hands to her mouth. Fú’yí’s mouth sets in a grim line.
Then Hào’yáng begins to lay out his strategy. Eight of our warriors will lead a caravan of Xi’lín residents to the Western Province, where the strong sun and heat of the Golden Desert makes it the least accessible for the night-loving mó—and therefore safest for humans.
“Àn’ying and I will go with a small group to the Kingdom of Sky, where we’ll continue to build an army and seek out alliances for war,” Hào’yáng finishes. “We aim to leave today, before the long night begins to fall. Pack only what is essential, and gather here by the hour of the monkey.”
With the meeting adjourned, the villagers hurry back to their homes, murmuring amongst themselves. My heart breaks for them as I watch them go, all familiar faces I’ve known my entire life. The butcher’s wife, who took it upon herself to teach us all to skin rabbits and pluck quails, to cure meats and preserve them for the winters. The carpenter’s daughter, who helped patch crumbling roofs and broken doors; the silk trader’swife and her son, who was too young to join the war when it began; the fishermen’s wives and daughters, who turned to raising chickens and would spare an egg or two every so often when my family was hungry.
If this is all that is left of our humanity, I will fight for them with every last breath.
“Àn’ying?” My mother’s voice drifts to me.
“Ma.” My gaze lands on her, reclining in her favorite chair at the edge of the gathering place, with Méi’zi and Fú’yí by herside.
She’s still thin, too thin, but she no longer has the appearance of bones wrapped in skin. Her cheeks are beginning to fill out, and her brown eyes catch the light.
My chest tightens when I think of the evacuation. My mother is in no state to travel; she can’t even walk.
But we have no choice.
As I run to her, my resolve hardens into steel.Thisis why I fight. To drive those mó bastards out of my home,ourhome. To kill them all, so that my sick mother and my baby sister won’t ever again have to flee the home they’ve known and loved for their entire lives.
“Ma.” I wrap my arms around her, savoring the fresh soap smell of her hair, the warmth of her body. As her fingers come to stroke my hair, I realize I would go through a thousand trials again for her, for this. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Ying’zi.” She uses my nickname. Her voice is frail, but there is a spark of energy in her tone now. In the few days since she took the pill of immortality Lady Shi’ya gave me before she died, she has spent most of her time sleeping in the sun and eating to regain her strength. Méi’zi and I have been making her favorite chicken ginseng soup each night, replenishing herlife energy with nutrients from the meat—meat that Hào’yáng hunts for us. “Your shoulder. What happened?”
“I fought off a mó.” I beam and stretch my arms to show her I’m fine. “Bà would be proud, wouldn’t he?”
Pride blazes in her eyes. “So damn proud,” my mother says.
My smile is so wide, it hurts.
Slowly, in her waking moments over the past few days, I’ve told Ma of my journey to the immortal realm, of the Trials and the pill that brought her back. I’ve filled her in on the war between the realms, and the candidates from the Trials who returned with us to fight in this war. But I’ve held back from going into too much detail, afraid that her heart and mind were still too frail to take in the full story—that of my birth mother, my father, and Hào’yáng.
“Ma,” I say softly. “Hào’yáng wishes to speak with you.”
My mother’s eyes spark with mischief. “Oh, he’s so handsome, Ying’zi,” she whispers so that only I can hear. “I know I’m recovering, but I haven’t missed how close you two seem and how his eyes follow you around.” She taps my nose in a conspiratorial way. “Has a cherry blossom love found my prickliest daughter after all?”
She’s only teasing, but she has no idea both how close and how far she is from the truth. My smile now feels frozen. “Cherry blossom love”—the age-old poetic adage of romance and marriage, of the red thread of fate binding two partners together across lifetimes.
Mine is a marriage, but not one born out of romance.
My mother’s teasing smile falls as Hào’yáng approaches. He’s gentle, his movements infinitely graceful, as he draws to a stop before her. Then, to my astonishment, the late son andthe heir to our kingdom sinks to his knees and presses his palms and forehead to the ground.
“Hào’yáng,” I whisper.
My mother leans forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Your Highness, please,” Ma says. “I am not worthy of such a heavy gesture.”
Slowly, so slowly, Hào’yáng lifts his head. He remains kneeling as he replies quietly, “Lady Hé, without the sacrifice your family made, I would not be here today.”
My mother gazes at him in silence, and I wonder what she sees as she takes in his steady, brilliant beauty, his strong brows and sharp-cut jaw, the steel to his gaze and softness to his mouth. Does she think of what might have happened had my father never given him the place our family was promised in the immortal realm? Or is she grateful that her husband’s ward has returned, so healthy and alive?
“You have suffered greatly,” my mother says gently. “The past nine years cannot have been easy on you, Your Highness.”
Surprise blanches Hào’yáng’s face. “Lady,” he says haltingly, “I could spend the rest of my life repaying you and your family for what you have done for me, and it would not be enough.”
“My daughter tells me that you have watched over our family from afar all these years,” my mother answers. “And you have brought my Àn’ying safely back from the immortal realm. We have gained a guardian in you, Your Highness. Please, rise.”
