His brows wrinkled. “What, that she was killed by her in-laws? What does that have to do with Sian?”
“Everything! No one knows when this war will begin, but we all know that it will soon enough. Because your father hates the idea of losing his power over Wen. He’ll kill his own subjects to keep them in line. And in desperation, those same subjects have become obsessed with war.
“Take Chunhua’s in-laws, for example. How they believed her child should’ve been born a son. How they demanded thatevery single day of her pitiful marriage. And you know why they wanted a son so badly? So he could grow into a soldier fit to defend this state againstyourfather, the king who refuses to let go of Wen. It’shisgreed that’s engendered such evil in these people. Like it or not, Sian’s power is the root of this poisonous tree.”
“But you’re a citizen of Sian.” Ren shook his head. “If what you say is true, why haven’t you petitioned my father? A king is supposed to listen to his people.”
“Yes, he is.” I smiled grimly. “But your father doesn’t listen. He only punishes those who dare to disobey.”
Less than a year ago, several Sian farmers had grown tired of the king’s selfishness and apathy toward citizens from both Sian and Wen, and they’d gathered together to confront the king in Hulin. On the way there, the royal army interrupted their march, and when the men refused to turn around, the soldiers slaughtered them and left their corpses there to rot. Per the king’s decree, no one, not even ganshi priests, was allowed to retrieve the bodies. The local magistrate nicknamed the field the grave of traitors.
The spot of the massacre was just outside Baimu. I passed it every time I traveled home.
“My father may not be the most affectionate man,” Ren said flintily, “but he can’t be as evil as you think.”
I shrugged. “Believe what you will. But do you want to know what irks me even more than your father’s rule? The fact that you have the position and power to make a difference, and yet you run away from it.”
I’d spent enough time with Ren to know he wasn’t cruel, not like his father. Mercy could be such a powerful trait in a king. But he wasn’t brave either.
“It isn’t that simple,” he argued. “My brother has spent his whole life preparing to take the throne. He’s the one who can change everything.”
“Not without the king’s seal.” The cursed symbol of tradition that Sian had apparently lost. Or had it been stolen by an enemy of the king? I wouldn’t be surprised.
Ren’s expression grew strangely determined. “He’ll find it. And whatever grievances you have against my father, Mistress Kang, I promise that my brother Liqin is much more willing to do what’s right. Once I return, I’ll make sure he’s declared heir.”
I recalled the less-than-flattering rumors I’d heard about the first prince, how he obeyed his father’s orders without protest, how he was every bit like the king who’d raised him.
But Ren knew him personally, so perhaps the rumors weren’t accurate. And as spoiled and oblivious as Ren was, he wasn’t unkind. Maybe I could hope the same from his brother.
“Enough talk of politics,” I said, weary from my outburst. I was unused to discussing my opinions out loud for so long, considering my father’s aversion to the topic. “We have more immediate matters to attend to, like your impending death. If you want to survive this journey, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
CHAPTER 8
The apothecary’s shop was bigger than the one we had in Baimu, which allowed the establishment to host a larger clientele. I convinced Ren to wait outside, where a street musician had drawn the interest of a small crowd, and quickly stepped through the apothecary’s open doors.
The shop’s dry, woody musk struck my nose first. Tall wooden cabinets covered two of the walls, one behind the front counter and the other perpendicular to it. The third wall, not marked by latticed windows, featured floor-to-ceiling shelves, which bore neat rows of glass and clay jars sealed with red paper, their smooth surfaces illuminated by the sunlight trickling in.
While waiting for the apothecary to finish with another customer, I browsed shelves filled with containers of dried fruits and reptiles, various roots, and jewel-bright powders. I stopped by a row of ginseng soaking in wine, their twisted roots crossed like human legs.
Ginseng was a rare plant to find in Sian, and it was soldfor much higher prices there. Beyond its scarcity, however, its primary value lay in its ability to reinforce qi. As a child, my father had soothed all my hurts—both seen and unseen—with a bright, warm cup of ginseng tea.
I gazed past the wine-filled jars, which were much too heavy to carry, and noticed a basket of dry ginseng lying in a haphazard pile. The roots and hairs were somewhat tangled, but the plants looked as if they’d been freshly picked from the mountain. The price was pleasingly low as well. It’d be perfect for supplementing Ren’s qi during our travels.
I gathered a handful, enough for some to be resold in Sian, and brought it to the now-available front counter.
“Do you have any white peony root?” I asked as the apothecary bound the ginseng in cloth. “And dried jujubes?”
“Yes, miss. Let me find them for you,” he said, turning to the cabinets behind him. Though the medicines’ names were carved into the lower corner of each drawer, I knew it’d take time for the shopkeeper to find the right ones. There must’ve been at least a hundred drawers spread between both walls.
As I waited, a breeze struck the metal chimes hanging outside the business’s open door, as if announcing the footsteps crossing the threshold. I glanced toward the sound. My fingers froze mid-tap over the countertop.
The newcomer was a young woman dressed in an olive tunic and thigh-length vest. Beneath the layers of cotton, she wore loose khaki trousers tucked into practical, high boots. Despite her simple dress, she walked precisely, purposefully, her dark hair pulled into a sleek ponytail and falling whiplike down her back. A sheathed sword hung at her side, promising blood.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the woman was a soldier off duty. But based on the Lius’ story about Chunhua, the Wen military, like Sian’s, only enlisted men.
As I glanced between the sword and the woman’s unsmiling face, I was startled to feel a sense of familiarity. Where had I seen her before?
The woman returned my stare, her brows knitting together. “You’re that priestess from Ninghe County.”
