“Anything, Ma.”
My mother’s face lights up. “It is the wish of every mother in this world to see their daughter be married in a beautiful wedding gown,” she says and turns toward the door. “Chun’méi!”
My sister appears, holding a bundle in her arms. When she shakes it out, a traditional wedding gown unfurls—the brightest spot of color in all the village, gleaming as if it holds fire.Gold embroidery laces the red brocade bodice in intricate patterns of cherry blossoms and peonies. A pleated tulip skirt spills from the waist, layered with shimmering tassels and silk bands.
“I sewed it for a bride just before the war,” Ma says, beaming at me. “We never had a chance to deliver it, but I worked on it in the days after to keep myself sane, knowing there would be a future when each of my daughters would wear a dress like it. The cherry blossoms are for you.”
“And I spent my day tailoring it!” Méi’zi bursts out proudly, lifting the brocade to reveal a strap. “It’s got the same eight hiding spots to store your daggers as the white dress I made you.” She holds it out. “Will you wear it, oh please, oh please?”
“Of course.” I’m too overwhelmed to say much else.
Méi’zi helps me as I step into this new gown. It fits perfectly, sliding over my body like a second skin. She does the ribbons at the back, clasps the mother-of-pearl buttons, and when she steps away, my mother lets out a soft sigh.
“It’s beautiful,” Méi’zi squeals, and throws her arms around me. Then Ma comes and wraps us all together in an embrace, and in that moment,everythingis suddenly perfect.
Eventually, Ma draws back and pats Méi’zi’s shoulders. “I believe we have a groom to find,” my mother says. “I hear he has been with his forces out by the gates all day. Méi’zi, would you—”
“I’ll go.” I stand, surprising even myself with this declaration. Yet as I slide my crescent blades into my gown and pat down my skirts, I feel a calm certainty settle in my chest.
You must look to the future, my daughter, and choose how you wish to shape it.
I tuck Lady Shi’ya’s lotus into the most secure folds of the bodice. Its soft petals brush against my heart. For a moment, Ithink I feel a spark of…something. Yet when I look down at the lotus, it remains unchanged, its jade-green leaves gleaming.
It is nearing twilight when I step outside.
News of my wedding has spread without my knowing, and preparations are in full swing. Throngs of my neighbors are arranging wooden tables and bamboo chairs along the dusty road near my house, chattering and laughing amongst themselves as they work. Red banners and ribbons hang from nearby houses; lanterns and paper fish for luck decorate our plum blossom tree and shutters and eaves. The air smells of good food, and I hear a few of the aunties singing a folk tune about jasmine flowers in Fú’yí’s kitchen.
For the first time in nearly ten years, there is song and movement and life in our village.
An ache rises in my throat at this touching gesture. I’ll marry tonight and make this the most joyous occasion—one to remember our lives here by. One without regrets.
But first, I must sort out the tangle in my own heart.
I activate the talismans on Shadow and Fleet, slipping unseen past the villagers along the dusty road.
A group of warriors are gathered at the pái’fang; the rest are dispersed around the periphery of the village as patrols. Tán’mù’s gaze slides to me for a split second as I pass by them, and she tips her head nearly imperceptibly in the direction of the little stream just outside the village. Then she turns away and leans forward to listen to something Lì’líng’s saying, giving no indication that she has seen me.
I head toward the clearing near the stream where I was hunting this morning.
Just as Tán’mù hinted, he is there.
Hào’yáng stands by the flowing water. He is back in his Kingdom of Sky armor again, fully suited, Azure Tide at his hip. His face is turned to the skies, the last glow of sunset catching against the gold of his armor and the silver of his brocade robes beneath. His hair is neatly drawn up and pinned. Like this, he looks every bit the heir he was born to be.
He turns his head sharply as I near, and I marvel that even with the protection of my talismans, he can sense my approach. I slide Shadow and Fleet back into their sheaths in my new sleeves and step out from beneath the treeline.
“Àn’ying?” Hào’yáng spins around; the guarded surprise to his expression dissipates into something else, something entirelyunguarded, as his eyes fall on me. He inhales sharply as he takes me in, gaze roaming down my dress, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. Desire surges across his face, and I wonder how I could ever have missed it.
Just as quickly, it’s gone, schooled into the careful, distant expression of the captain and heir.
Hào’yáng glances away toward the water again. “I didn’t mean for you to have to come out here to find me. The festivities start in a half hour, and I thought—”
“I came to talk to you,” I interrupt, “about the conversation you had with my mother.”
His jaw flexes. “You already know the strategy we laid out. There is nothing more we need to discuss.”
“I disagree.” I start toward him, and his head snaps up. He looks almost afraid of me. And though my heart is pounding against my rib cage, I find that I am no longer frightened to face the truth, as messy and complicated and unresolvable as it is.
Hào’yáng makes as if to step back, but the water is behindhim, and he has nowhere to go. He looks at me helplessly. “Àn’ying, I don’t wish to discuss this now,” he says.
