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“I was wondering when you would return,” he says, his tone unreadable.
“As soon as I could, Your Highness. We rescued Lady Ruilin; our task is fulfilled in the name of the Iron Mountains.” I tilt my head up to him as though seeking his approval. “Is Your Highness pleased with our success?”
“You have done well.” He acknowledges Ruilin with a nod. “Lady Ruilin, you must want to rest after your ordeal.”
She smiles at him. “Thank you, Your Highness. I hope not to trouble you for too long.”
“You are welcome here,” he tells her, before his attention shifts back to me. “Where is the prize?”
“The starfire is still in Duke Yuan’s possession,” Jin replies for me, as he guides his horse closer. His mask is on once more, that of the inscrutable advisor. “While we could have returned to the duke to try to claim it after rescuing Lady Ruilin, it seemed prudent to come here first—in case any objections were raised. Moreover, Lady Ruilin wanted to thank Your Highness in person.”
“A good decision. Duke Yuan has a tendency to make grand promises that he forgets to keep later, once the need has passed,” Prince Zixin says with a laugh, not caring that Ruilin is listening.
Jin is astute to plant this seed of doubt in the prince’s mind. Even if Duke Yuan claims the absence of the starfire later, the prince might not believe him.
“Your Highness, I have a favor to ask.” Ruilin dips in a graceful bow. “Would Your Highness allow me to rest here a few days before sending word to Father? He will demand my immediate return, but I have heard of the wonders of the Palace of Nine Hills and am keen to explore them,” she flatters him.
“As you wish,” he replies, after a pause. “We will dispatch a messenger to Duke Yuan in three days.”
As Ruilin is helped into a waiting carriage, Prince Zixin bends down, his arm sliding firmly around my waist to swing me upon his horse, setting me before him. His body is warm and hard, his touch unwelcome. But I don’t lean away as he grips the reins, his arms caging me in. Instead, I smile—though it feels carved with a knife, the feeling of being trapped winding tighter all around.
Prince Zixin flicks the reins of the horse, which canters at a brisk pace, eager to do his master’s bidding. We’re both creatures under his command. If we don’t obey, we’ll get flogged.
The moon is almost full tonight, a shining disc. A familiar wave of loathing descends, reminiscent of the dread I used to feel for market day when I had to wear a disguise and lie to strangers to cheat them of their coin. Except this time, the trade will be perilous, and I must sell more than lies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I sit on the marble stool in my courtyard this morning. The pear blossoms have wilted without any sign of fruit, the ground littered with withered petals. This place feels smaller, more oppressive, after the freedom beyond.
The girl who left the palace is not the same one who returned. I look at everything through new eyes: recoiling at the bright iron, the barren gardens filling me with fierce satisfaction that the only flowers that will bloom here are those of mourning and of death. And when I imagine my mother dying alone in a shuttered room, her suffering and misery…
My hand fists but I force it apart, staring at the mark on my finger, the streaks around it darkening, a few almost stretching to the edge of my palm. It’s becoming harder to keep it concealed, to pretend it doesn’t hurt, the headaches lasting longer, feverish chills beginning to tear through my body. I’ve increased the dose of Dian’s medicine, dulling most of the discomfort… but it doesn’t change the fact I’m dying.
Two weeks, maybe less, Dian said. I’m down to one.
A frantic unease writhes within. Since my return a couple of days ago, I’ve been confined here to await a summons from Prince Zixin. Maybe he wants to make me wait—a taste of what it’s like to lose his favor, as when I angered him before. I’ve had no chance to speak with Ruilin or Jin, only to those allowed through by the guards outside my courtyard, namely Shan and the attendants who bring my meals. Madam Lau does not visit, and though it’s a relief to avoid her lessons, I worry what her absence means. Regardless, I can’t sit here and wait any longer.
“Shan, where is Prince Zixin today?” I call out to him.
“His Highness is hosting a banquet this afternoon, in the garden by the Grand Hall,” he replies, hurrying into the courtyard.
“Do you still have one of the outfits that Mina prepared?”
“Why?” Shan’s eyes are wide. He thinks I’ve quarreled with the prince. From the scornful and pitying looks of my guards and the attendants who come by, they all believe I’ve lost the prince’s favor. If so—I’m going to win it back.
“I will join His Highness.”
Shan stares at me. “But… there was no invitation.”
“I don’t need one.” A hard smile slides across my face. I’ll find my own way in, just as I did before.
The sun shines brightly, a warm autumn day, many sheltering beneath the roofs of the pavilions. Shan and I stand by the side of the garden, out of sight. Attendants weave among the guests, pouring peach wine and offering trays of sweetmeats, bars of sesame candy, coconut pastries, and sugared fruit.
Wisteria blossoms woven from silk are draped across the branches of the trees, a few strewn over the grass. They are exquisitely made, as are the waxed paper lotuses floating across the pond—yet a shadow of what it mimics. Delicate wire-wrought cages hang from rosewood stands, each confining a bright feathered bird. Their beautiful songs fill the air as they crane their necks for a glimpse of the sky.
Prince Zixin’s white robe is embroidered with gold pheasants, a wide black sash wrapped around his waist. The royal seal hangs from it, my fingers curling at the thought of the dragon trapped within.
Once we’re in his palace… we are all shackled to his will.
