Fury of the Phoenix (14 page)

The silence in the chamber terrified Zhong Ye. He couldn’t hear anything but the frantic pounding of his own heart. His back was damp with sweat. Was Yokan alive? He didn’t move to help him.

After a long silence, Yokan groaned and stretched. He jumped to his feet, thumping his hand against his chest. “This one was strong!”

Zhong Ye forced himself to nod. “Yes,” he replied.

“Go tell the guards to take the body away,” said Yokan, dousing the burning potion in the bronze bowl with water.

Zhong Ye somehow managed to walk into the
courtyard. He motioned with his chin toward the study door and was grateful one of the guards understood. He then stumbled into the garden and retched beneath a peach tree. He was still coughing up bile when two guards dragged the corpse away.

Zhong Ye fought the urge to run. Instead, he swiped a sleeve across his mouth and returned to Yokan’s study. The alchemist was seated at the table, scribbling frantically on thick parchment. He didn’t glance up when Zhong Ye sat across from him.

“What does it feel like?” Zhong Ye asked, his voice harsh.

“Indescribable.”

“And that man, the prisoner…”

Yokan raised his head. He looked younger, energized. “What of him?”

“Couldn’t the potion have worked without him?”

Yokan snorted a laugh. “Don’t be naive. We’re talking about immortality. Nothing that immense can be achieved without sacrifice.”

“You used his soul…to prolong your own life?”

“I’m not certain. It’s why I had hoped you would consider studying this with me. I’m taking as many notes as I can, but the effects are difficult to quantify.”

“Does the Emperor know?” Zhong Ye asked.

Yokan grimaced, pulled himself straighter on his stool. “I haven’t told him everything. He’s been funding my research generously for almost a year. I’ll have to show him something. Soon.”

“You’re not going to tell him about the ritual?”

“It was never our intent to extend your emperor’s life.” Yokan squinted at him, then cocked his head. “But it’s an opportunity you can seize.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you? You’re intelligent, ambitious, capable. I need someone to help me study the effects of this process, but not some royal drunkard who will demand immediate immortality.” Yokan tapped his quill against the table, his sharp gaze never straying from Zhong Ye.

He couldn’t think clearly. There was too much to consider.

“I can offer you the chance to be whole again,” Yokan said after a long pause.

“What?” Zhong Ye was stunned.

“Not permanently. What’s done is done. But I came across something from
The Book of the Dead
. You could be made whole for when you need to be.” He raised one eyebrow, and Zhong Ye looked down at his clenched fists.

The bastard. What did he know about his need to be
whole? Had Yokan’s spies rooted out everything about his relationship with Silver Phoenix? “I’ve read
The Book of the Dead
in its entirety. There was no mention of such a possibility,” he said.

“You’ve read
your
version in its entirety,” Yokan replied. The foreigner smiled, his face too youthful, too serene.

How many souls had he stolen? And where were those souls now?

“The Emperor has the most comprehensive collection in his private study. I transcribed the passage, as I thought it might interest you. Of course you understand that I can’t give you the ingredients for the spell just yet.” Yokan pulled a page from his sheaf of papers and held it toward him. “Help me, and I can help you.”

“What happened to their souls?” Zhong Ye dug his knuckles into the edge of the table, fighting hope, anger. Horror. He didn’t take the parchment.

The alchemist shrugged, flicked a hand as if swatting a gnat. “What does it matter? They were thieves, traitors. What could their souls possibly be worth?”

Zhong Ye shook his head. “No. I can’t.” He didn’t raise his face to see Yokan’s reaction, but the foreigner’s hard silence spoke volumes.

I
t didn’t feel as if she had slept. She could hear the thumping of heavy footsteps and crates being dragged around on deck. She turned and buried her face in Chen Yong’s shoulder. Her arm snaked across his chest, and she smiled into the soft cotton of his sleep tunic. He was a heavy sleeper; he’d never know. Just a few moments more…They would never be this close again.

When she next awoke, Chen Yong was already gone. Embarrassed to have drifted back to sleep curled against him, she dressed quickly. Ai Ling made it topside and found the crew lined up against the railing, standing at attention as Peng spoke to them. Yen stood beside him. Peng turned after the men had dispersed,
saw her, and smiled. The sun had just emerged. “Good. I was afraid I’d have to dig you out of bed. The carriage is ready for us.”

Yen and Yam Head helped load crates onto one of the horse-drawn wagons. There were four others stacked with cargo and one covered carriage for them to ride in. She stared at the horses, all milk white in color, with dark brown or black markings. Chen Yong opened the carriage door, and Peng held out his hand to help her in. She thought she sensed a prickle of jealousy from Chen Yong and turned, but his head was bowed. He took the seat beside her, and she wondered if she’d imagined it. Peng and Yen sat next to each other. Yen was so broad he seemed to fill half the carriage.

“Hiya!” The horse driver shouted, and their carriage rumbled off.

Peng stared out the window with a faraway look in his dark eyes. “It’s good to be back,” he said.

Ai Ling, too, gazed out the glass window. She’d never seen glass used in a carriage before. “How long will it take for us to reach the manor?”

“It’s at least a five-day journey,” Peng said. “We’ll stop at the usual inns.”

The wagons and carriage each had six horses. She finally understood why when they began climbing
upward between the sheer cliffs. The road was steep and rocky. She bounced against Chen Yong, practicing Jiang phrases in her mind all the while.

Chen Yong had drifted to sleep, his body pressed against hers. He was warm, and she didn’t move. They had emerged on the other side of the mountains and were now descending. Jiang Dao stretched as far as she could see, with pockets of towns nestled between green hilltops.

“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Peng said in a quiet voice.

Ai Ling studied the captain, then glanced nervously toward Yen.

“There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say in front of Yen.”

Peng, perceptive as always. Her mouth was dry when she finally spoke. “You said you had studied the black arts. Did you work directly—”

Chen Yong stirred, opened his eyes, and Ai Ling stopped in mid-sentence. He wore the drowsy expression that she loved. He straightened, looking embarrassed that he had fallen asleep.

“We’ll be at the first inn before nightfall,” Peng said in a casual tone, as if continuing their conversation.

Relieved by his quickness, she touched Peng’s spirit. He was curious yet thoughtful. Could she truly trust him?

She had her own chamber at the inn. She missed Chen Yong, but the privacy gave her the opportunity to seek Peng out. She climbed the light wooden steps, trailing her fingers against the gray stone walls. At each landing was a rectangular glass window composed of mosaics, their colors muted at night. Peng’s room was on the fourth floor, the top floor.

Aware of her racing heart, she steadied herself before knocking.

“Come in,” Peng said.

She entered and closed the door behind her. It was two hours after the evening meal, and she knew that most of the guests had retired. They would set off again at daybreak.

“Ai Ling. I was hoping you would visit me. I asked the innkeeper to bring some tea.”

He indicated the chair on the other side of the round table. His chamber was identical to hers, with a single bed strewn with cushions and flowered curtains framing the windows. A leaping fire crackled in the large hearth. She sat, inhaling the jasmine fragrance. “Do they drink
tea here?” she asked, sipping slowly, letting the warmth wind through her.

“A variation of it. But not the kind we drink. Although those who have tried our tea leaves love the taste. I’ve brought many crates to sell.”

She took another sip and threw her spirit toward his; she encountered curiosity and calm. This man was rarely rattled or anxious. Even during the pirate attack, he had been in control.

“You said I could trust you.” She set the ceramic cup on the table. “Can I truly?”

“Have I given you reason not to?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Not well yet, no.” He leaned back. “But yes, you can trust me.”

Their eyes met, and he held hers. She finally looked away and cleared her throat. “I did send Zhong Ye to the underworld. It was a task given to me.”

“By whom?”

“By a goddess.”

He was startled, and she almost laughed. It sounded so ridiculous to say it aloud. Had it been real? If Chen Yong hadn’t been with her, she would have believed herself mad.

Peng shifted to the edge of his chair. “And she helped you kill him?”

Ai Ling sighed and stared into her teacup. “In a way. But I killed him with my own power. I have a gift…of sensing others’ feelings, hearing their thoughts.”

Of possessing their minds and bodies.

“Incredible!” Peng said, shaking his head.

They sat silent for a long moment. She thought she could feel the sway of the waves again. It was strange to be back on land.

“What am I thinking now?” he asked.

“That you hope Chen Yong will find his birth father. That you will do your best to help me, too,” she answered without pause, not missing the glint of surprise in Peng’s dark eyes.

There was a knock at the door, and the innkeeper’s daughter entered with a silver tray. She set it on the table, smiled shyly, and left.

“These are Jiang cakes,” Peng said, helping himself to a piece. “And they go very well with tea.”

Ai Ling couldn’t help grinning as she took a bite. The cake was light and airy. It was covered in a brown paste that was both sweet and nutty. She finished it and emptied her teacup. Peng poured her more.

“That was delicious,” she said.

“Have another.” He nodded at the plate.

She did and felt content. “You’re trying to buy my trust with sweets.”

Peng laughed. “Is it working?”

It was.

“I think I’ve been having visions. Of Zhong Ye. I was hoping perhaps…you could help—”

“What kinds of visions?” he asked.

She shrugged, and a tremor ran through her. “I think they’re memories from his life. I feel like I’m losing my mind, losing my self.”

Peng, pensive, stared into the fire. “I don’t recall coming across anything such as this during my studies at the monastery.”

“You were a monk?”

“For ten years. I studied many of the texts, but I was formally trained in the lore for healing. I was young. And my heart was wild; I craved adventure. It wasn’t what the monastery could offer. I continued to study on my own after leaving. When I heard the rumor Zhong Ye’s new bride had finally killed him, I was intrigued.”

“Did you know him?” Her pulse quickened. She didn’t like to think of that night, to think of him.

“We met once. He made quite an impression. Powerful, smart, cunning. Rumors swirled around him. That he was immortal. Or that he was an Immortal, put on earth
to spy on us, to judge us for our deeds.” He slanted his head, his black eyes intense. “Tell me, how exactly does your power work?”

“I cast my spirit into others. That’s how I can hear their thoughts and understand their feelings.” It felt good to speak of it. Almost as if it were normal. “And I can also take control over their bodies; it’s how I forced the pirate to set fire to his own ship.”

“You did that?” Peng jumped out of his chair and began pacing the small chamber. “Unbelievable! And to kill Zhong Ye, you touched his spirit as well?”

Ai Ling closed her eyes. She felt it again: their spirits intertwined and the hundreds of trapped souls thrusting her into the air as they slashed through her bare skin. She shuddered. “Yes.”

“And his body was burned, sent to the underworld?”

She could see the roaring flames in her mind. She had focused on the cloth wrapped around Li Rong’s heart, never letting her eyes stray to Zhong Ye’s emaciated corpse. She had stayed until the air was too scorching to take another breath. “Yes.”

“It’s been almost a year since his death. Zhong Ye should be reincarnated—as a toad or mule, whatever the gods saw fitting.”

The blood drained from her face. “He was a eunuch.”

“What?” Peng was stunned but drew the conclusion much faster than she had. “And you burned everything?
All
of him?”

“No. I didn’t even think of it. I wasn’t thinking.” She put her face in her hands.

“He’s trapped in the underworld then. A fitting punishment for his deeds.”

“But how is he haunting me?” she asked. “How can I make him stop?”

Peng sat back down. “Your spirits touched when you sent him into the underworld. Perhaps that bound you somehow.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, cold despite the warmth from the hearth.

“Let me research it. I’ll tell you if I discover anything.” Peng’s expression was grim. He was worried for her.

She agreed to accept his help and returned to her bedchamber. But it was a long time before she finally drifted to sleep that night.

Ai Ling woke with her face wet from tears. She dressed quickly, wondering what she had dreamed. There was a knock on the door, and she yanked it open. Chen Yong smiled at her. “I was worried you hadn’t risen yet.”

He studied her face. “You look tired.”

She almost told him everything, but something stopped her. He would never understand what she had had to do to kill Zhong Ye. She could never speak of that night with him—even if he had been there, imprisoned because of her.

“I’m still getting used to being on land again,” she said, lying.

They walked down to the dining hall together, and she smelled the delicious fresh-baked bread from the stairway. Long wooden tables and benches were arranged around a hearth with a roaring fire. She watched Peng and Yen eat their eggs with some salt and pepper and tried it herself. But her stomach didn’t like the strong taste of boiled egg alone. Ai Ling was used to eggs stewed in tea or soy sauce. She loved the sweet bread, however, stuffed with nuts and dried fruit. She helped herself to three thick slices accompanied by two cups of warm goat’s milk.

They set off again before the sun had risen, rumbling toward the green glades of the valley. She stared out the carriage window at the brightening sky. What would the new day bring?

Lemon blossoms perfumed the air. The landscape was lush and hilly, and the groves of fruit trees were
plentiful. Each vista was new and breathtaking. Yen had chosen to sit with the coachman this morning. It always seemed to Ai Ling that the carriage’s interior caged him in.

“How long do you usually stay at Master—” She fumbled for his name.

“Deen’s,” Peng said, and smiled. “Usually a week or two. Deen is kind enough to accommodate us as we trade in the nearby cities. He was my first and remains my most loyal client.”

“What does he buy?” Chen Yong asked.

“Everything. Teas, biscuits, spices, and silks. He also makes special requests for books, ink sticks, rice paper, and calligraphy brushes. Even incense. I think he misses our kingdom greatly.”

“Can you tell me more about him?” Chen Yong asked.

Peng considered before he spoke. “He owns one of the largest manors in the province. He is from a well-respected and wealthy family. They are master craftsmen of stained glass.”

“Of what?” Ai Ling asked.

“Windows made from fragments of colored glass. They are like paintings.”

“I saw them on some of the houses and inns,” Chen Yong said.

“Yes. But those were small. Poor examples compared with the masterpieces the Deen family makes. You’ll see.”

The scenery unfurled below them as the carriage descended. Ai Ling had seen black and white sheep dotting the hillsides, and the neat rows of crops etched into the hills reminded her of the rice terraces of home.

“Master Deen never married and has no child of his own to call heir,” Peng said after a brief silence, his expression thoughtful.

She looked toward Chen Yong, but he had bowed his head and was staring at his hands. What would it mean if Master Deen was his birth father? He finally met her eyes and, as if reading her thoughts said, “It’s pointless to speculate.”

“True. But I believe what you tell me, Chen Yong. And Deen is a good man.” Peng leaned forward. “As the current patriarch of the family he has the responsibility to choose an heir. And I believe he favors his sister’s daughter.”

“Daughter!” Ai Ling exclaimed.

Peng laughed. “It’s not unusual. The women have as much power and rights as the men in this kingdom. This is what was hinted at when last I visited. He believes she is a better fit than her twin brother.”

Bypassing a male heir in favor of a girl? Ai Ling was stunned. “How old is she?”

“Eighteen years,” Peng replied.

“Do you believe she is suited for the job?” Chen Yong asked.

“I do believe so. She’s sharp.” Peng paused. “Also very beautiful.”

Ai Ling crossed her arms and sat back on the carriage seat. Of course.

“Thank you for sharing what you know,” Chen Yong said.

Peng inclined his head. “I’ll be glad to help as much as I can when we arrive. It is a rather delicate situation.”

Chen Yong turned to gaze out the window. She did the same, catching glimpses of her reflection as the green countryside swept past them.

In the days following, Yokan acted as if nothing had happened, and relieved, Zhong Ye never mentioned the immortality spell again. He didn’t even ask for the return of his portion of the empress roots. One afternoon at week’s end, Yokan dismissed him early, and he wandered through the palace grounds deep in thought. Finally, he headed toward Mei Gui’s quarters. The flutter of color between the buildings caught his eye before he saw the two women in the courtyard.