Fury of the Phoenix (21 page)

She looked at him then. This wasn’t the pale-eyed Zhong Ye she had met, the one she had wed. This was Silver Phoenix’s Zhong Ye: nineteen years, handsome, his eyes a deep brown, like the earth after a rain.

Corpses swayed overhead, hanging between spiked rocks from a ceiling that reminded her of sharp fangs. She didn’t want to look, but a dreadful sense of familiarity forced her to. It was Zhong Ye. They all were Zhong Ye: dozens of identical corpses, dead from every kind of torture, dripping blood and guts. She covered her mouth, gagging.

“The demons are keeping score,” he said with a wry smile, not bothering to glance up. “I’m losing.”

He was glad to see her; she could sense his pleasure. It only terrified her more.

Zhong Ye stood, unabashed in his nakedness. His legs were shackled, and the chains clanked. She remembered how easily, how perfectly Silver Phoenix could tuck herself against him, his chin touching the top of her head. “I sent you that dream of Li Rong.”

“What?” she whispered, her entire being cold.

“I needed you to go to Chen Yong. To take this journey.”

“Release him!” she screamed. “You’re killing him!”

Zhong Ye brushed the hair from his eyes. “I knew I could lure you here.” He cocked a dark brow at her. “You love him enough to risk everything to save him.”

Anger exploded within her. “Haven’t you caused enough harm? All this for vengeance, because I would not love you?”

His laugh was mirthless. “If I wanted vengeance, Chen Yong would already be dead.” His eyes burned with pain, with anger and sorrow. “I only wanted to bring Silver Phoenix back.” He dropped his head, as if it were too heavy to hold up any longer.

She hated him for what he had done to Chen Yong. Hated herself for understanding him so completely. His life had been opened to her like a book well studied. “I know,” she whispered. “It was wrong.”

“You.” He stepped closer, and she had to force herself to meet his gaze. “You, of all people, know why I did it.
You
cannot judge me.”

Her heart was in her throat.

“Ah, yes.” Zhong Ye continued, scrutinizing her as if he could read her thoughts. “I’ve lived your entire life—more than once. I know that you have your mother’s hands but despise embroidering. That you have your father’s eyes, his stubbornness and drive. His acute mind
for books and his artistic talent. I know that you miss your cat, Taro. That you stole candy from the sweets jar when you were seven years and felt terribly repentant for far too long. I know—”

“Stop.” She would have fallen to her knees, but her body was too insubstantial. “Stop!” It was as if he had plundered her head of memories. Just as she had plundered his. How he had caught a toad for a pet at nine years and named it Smudge, only to have his older brother toss it into a lake out of spite. How he had done extra chores for a drunken scholar, starting at eleven years, in exchange for reading and writing lessons. How he had stayed up past the thieving hour to study, begging for candle stubs. How ruthless he had become after he had lost Silver Phoenix, driven only by rage and grief, guilt and betrayal. But she hadn’t wanted any of these memories. She hadn’t wanted to know.

“You
did
send Chen Yong that dream,” she said.

“I only showed him the truth.” His glittering eyes narrowed. “I could smell the guilt you carried even in the underworld. Did you truly think you could hide something like that from him?” He snorted. “From Chen Yong?”

Furious, her vision spotted, for a moment went black. “Don’t lecture me about guilt or keeping secrets!” Ai
Ling stomped toward him, slapping her hands against his chest. His skin sparked at the contact, and Zhong Ye, surprised, took a step back. “Silver Phoenix would never have died if you hadn’t lied to her. She warned you about Yokan!”

He seemed to crumple before her. Her words had hit their mark. She only wished she could feel some satisfaction, but there was no triumph in it.

“I only wanted to protect her,” he said in a rough voice. He sat down again on the hard rock, his shackles jarring against it. “Would you have fared better?” He met her eyes, his soul laid bare, concealing nothing.

Ai Ling recalled living those moments of Zhong Ye’s life: the ecstatic pleasure overwhelming her body; the exuberance of life’s essence flooding every fraction of her soul. Each time more powerful and potent than the one before. She couldn’t answer him truthfully.

“I know how I appeared to you.” He regarded her with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. “Like a monster. Just as she had feared—”

“I am not Silver Phoenix,” Ai Ling whispered. It was all that she could muster.

“No. You’re not. I thought—” Suddenly his shackles seemed to morph into giant snakes, their scales like emeralds. He didn’t notice. “I could make things right
through you. You were her incarnation. If you loved me as she had…” He clenched his jaw, the cords of his neck taut. “I need your help, Ai Ling.”

“My help?” she asked, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice. Frantic for Chen Yong, she was fighting hard not to cry, to scream. She’d lost track of time. How much time had passed? Was it already too late? The cavern pulsed a sickly orange, and the corpses above spun in a lurid dance as if taunting her.

Zhong Ye had tucked his head between his fists. “I realize I have no right to ask it,” he said.

Ai Ling felt her being shiver, vibrate like a lute string plucked. It was as if she had stepped away from herself toward Zhong Ye, as if she had split in two. The snakes binding his wrists reared their heads and hissed. She stroked his shoulder. Her fingers glided across his bare skin. He raised his eyes and gasped, caressing her face. His touch left a flourish of warmth on her cheek. “Silver Phoenix,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I tried. I tried to bring you back.”

Silver Phoenix brushed her hand over his. “I know.” She smiled at him, radiant, although her eyes shone with sorrow like his. “I know.”

“He lied. Yokan never returned with the empress root. I went after him, but there was nothing left. He had
taken it all.” His words spilled one on top of the other, as if he had clutched them inside for too long. “Why? Why did you kill yourself?”

She shook her head sadly. “He tricked you, Zhong. He used you. He wanted to be certain the immortality spell was”—she pursed her lips—“safe. He tested it on you first.”

“No. I saw him. He showed me how to do it.”

Silver Phoenix dropped gracefully to her knees. “He never ingested the empress root,” she said.

“But he appeared younger!”

“Minor spells, to alter his appearance. Artifice.” She paused. “He killed me.”

Zhong Ye leaped to his feet. “What!” His body seemed to expand with his wrath.

She pressed her fingertips to his wrist, and Zhong Ye sank back on the rock. “How could I have ever believed it?” He gazed at her, his eyes shining with tears. “Does Yokan still live?” he growled.

“He drowned centuries ago. Swept overboard on a return journey to Xia.” Silver Phoenix’s beautiful face had turned cold and hard. “The gods do not often meddle in the lives of man, but I only asked for one well-placed storm. Yokan was strong, but he could not survive an angry sea.” She lifted her chin to meet Zhong Ye’s gaze.
“I don’t regret my request. The gods would kill Yokan for me, and I would end your life.”

Zhong Ye brought her hand to his lips. “I was a fool.” He stared at her, as if trying to memorize her face. “Is that why you killed me? A pact with the gods?”

She placed her palm against his chest. “I wandered the underworld for years without reincarnating, a restless spirit. Then the Goddess of Records gave me the gift to watch you on earth—”

“You don’t have to say more.” He drew a fist over his eyes.

“I offered myself to the task. I couldn’t bear to see you become less and less of the man I love. The goddess granted me this one last chance, brought me back so I could see you, speak with you. I latched on to Ai Ling’s spirit when she touched the Mirror of Retribution and entered the underworld. I needed to explain in person. I killed you because I love you, Zhong, please believe me. It had to end.” Silver Phoenix’s image shimmered, grew brighter as she spoke.

“I do.” He clasped her hands in his. “I’ve failed you, love.”

Silver Phoenix’s full lips curved into a soft smile. “Do you…forgive me?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He drew Silver Phoenix to him. “Thank you.”

They stood together, his solid body embracing her insubstantial one, oblivious of everything except each other. Ai Ling couldn’t look away.

“We’ve had our time, my heart,” Silver Phoenix said in a quiet voice. “Let Chen Yong go. Let Ai Ling go.”

Zhong Ye glanced beyond Silver Phoenix. He was suddenly aware of Ai Ling’s spirit in the flickering shadows.

“Give her her life back.” Silver Phoenix leaned in to touch her lips to Zhong Ye’s. He closed his eyes for one heartbeat, then snapped them open, as if afraid she’d disappear. “Give her her love back,” she whispered.

Ai Ling realized as Silver Phoenix gazed into Zhong Ye’s eyes that she would always see her as more than a handmaid. She was an earthly goddess, an empress. It was how Zhong Ye had seen her.

“We don’t have much time,” Silver Phoenix said. “Chen Yong is dying. But Ai Ling is closer to death than he is.”

Even as she heard those words, Ai Ling felt her body crackle, from her heart outward. She gasped and pressed a hand to her breast. Her flesh was slowly solidifying. She felt no heartbeat.

Silver Phoenix was gone.

Zhong Ye leaped toward Ai Ling. He raised his arms like a mad prophet, and she shrank from him. She saw the tears in his dark brown eyes before he covered her
face with his hands. “Go, Ai Ling.” His palms were calloused. “You don’t belong here,” he said, and shoved her so hard she screamed and careened backward into nothing.

“Burn my remains.” His voice trailed after her into the abyss. “You know where.”

A
i Ling woke to a soft chanting. Peng. Her body was stiff, bruised all over. It hurt to breathe, and she could not draw a full breath. She whimpered. The chanting stopped, and she heard footsteps, felt someone lean against the bed.

“Ai Ling?” Peng whispered. He touched her brow.

She tried to speak and managed a small grunt.

Then Peng was propping her up, stacking thick cushions behind her. It was impossible to open her eyes; it was as if they had been sewn shut.

“Drink,” Peng said.

She felt steam on her cheeks, smelled jasmine and medicinal herbs. She managed to part her lips, and the
cup was brought to her mouth. She took a small sip. It was the best thing she had ever tasted.

Peng’s hand was firm on her shoulder. “More.”

She obliged, then sank back into the cushions, feeling the tea and medicine spreading warmth and a sense of calm through her body. She fought hard to open her eyes. It was daytime; she could tell by the crack of sunlight slanting through the drawn curtains.

She saw Peng’s face, rough with stubble. “Chen Yong,” she croaked.

“Awake and well. I made him leave awhile ago. He’s pacing outside like a caged tiger.” His face broke into a grin. “He was driving me mad and makes a terrible patient.”

Ai Ling laughed, but it came out as an odd hiccup. She winced.

“You’ve been asleep for four days. I wasn’t sure if you’d return to us.”

“Thank you,” she rasped.

“Do you want to see him?” Peng asked.

No. She couldn’t bear to face Chen Yong just yet.

When she woke again, the lantern was burning by the bedside and the window had been thrown open to let in the mild evening air. Chen Yong sat beside her on the bed, holding her hand.

“Ai Ling,” he said when she opened her eyes. “Thank the goddess.”

“I couldn’t keep him away.” Peng appeared behind his shoulder and shrugged. “I’ll leave you now.”

Chen Yong spoke before the door even clicked shut. “You foolish, rash, mad—” He paused. “Stubborn, impetuous, foolish girl.”

“You already said foolish,” she whispered.

He smiled. He looked haggard, unshaved, like Peng, his clothes rumpled. But alive. His hand clasping hers, strong and alive.

A knot rose to her throat, and she had no strength to swallow it. “I’m so sorry.” She could barely hear her own words, as the tears came, running from the corners of her eyes, sliding into her ears.

He wiped them away with gentle fingers. “Don’t cry.” His own voice was rough. “I’m sorry, too.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

“I was so angry with you.” He held her gaze, and she couldn’t look away.

“You had the right to be. Chen Yong, I know what I did was wrong.”

He squeezed her hand and stroked the hair from her face.

Ai Ling forgot to breathe.

“I was a fool, for not accepting the truth sooner. A
coward, for not telling you sooner.”

She didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter as long as he held her hand. “Do you mean about your father?” Two shallow breaths. “And staying in Jiang Dao?”

He was tracing slow circles against her inner wrist with his thumb, the sensation sparking her to life. “I spoke with my father right before…it happened. I told him that I would be returning to Xia with Peng but I would visit as often as I could in the future.”

She loosened her grip on the satin sheet and let out a sigh. At least he would return to Xia and not spend the rest of his life a world away from her.

“It was you, Ai Ling.”

She blinked. Why was Chen Yong speaking in riddles? “What?”

“The Sea Shifter. Taking on the image of someone you loved. It was you that night.” He leaned closer, until she could feel the warmth of his body, until she could see the copper flecks in his eyes.

She tried to sink deeper into the bed, her heart beating hard. He dipped lower. Ai Ling shut her eyes and wondered if she was dreaming.

It was almost two weeks before Ai Ling began to feel like herself again. The days melded together, and Chen
Yong’s bedchamber bustled with people and activity. Chen Yong himself was a constant visitor, although he often lingered in the background, like some stoic statue. Whenever she woke, she sought him out first, and he would smile—almost tentatively. This confused her. She realized within a few days of waking that her power was gone. There was only her own voice in her mind, her own feelings, and blissful silence beyond.

Everyone visited her. Nik brought flowers from the garden, their fragrance filling the chamber. Peng had explained to Nik that Ai Ling had been possessed, sick.

“We hear old wives’ tales of such things. I had never taken them for truth.” Nik encircled her wrist with a chain of tiny purple blossoms. “This flower is called fairy laughter,” he said.

“Thank you.” Not knowing how to express herself, she fingered the delicate petals. “I apologize for what happened. I was not me…not myself.”

“I knew it couldn’t have been you, truly.” He smiled.

She didn’t need her power to feel his interest, to see that he desired her. “I cannot—” She struggled with the language. “We can be friends?”

His grin faltered for an instant. She gathered enough courage to meet his gaze. He deserved that much. “Friends. Of course.”

When he left, she thought she glimpsed the shadow of someone in the corridor. Ah Na, she assumed, spying again. Not yet trusting the guests from Xia.

The Jiang doctor gave Ai Ling tonics to drink, their consistency as thick as honey and just as sweet. Ah Na visited by herself twice, sitting primly on the side of the bed, speaking with her about the latest Jiang fashions and asking her what the women wore in Xia.

Master Deen would chat about his new stained glass designs, their shapes and colors. Ai Ling truly enjoyed his visits, as he didn’t seem to expect anything from her except her company. She studied his face and mannerisms unabashedly, discovering more that reminded her of Chen Yong each time.

His gray eyes held hers for a long moment now, as if he were seeing her clearly, and embarrassed, she glanced away. “Chen Yong told me the truth.”

“The truth?”

Master Deen smiled. “That you are not siblings.”

“Ah,” she said with sudden understanding. “I’m sorry we spoke wrong. It was the best way to travel on ship.” Without her power, she had to rely on her limited knowledge of Jiang, although she realized with surprise that she had improved greatly.

“I remember well the rules of decorum in Xia. You seem to break many of them.” Taking her off guard, he spoke in Xian.

She laughed. “You speak the language so well,” she said, genuinely impressed.

His gentle eyes lost their focus, and it was as if he were looking into the past. “It is like remembering a favorite song. It feels good to speak it again; it feels right.”

She stretched her legs. Aching for fresh air and sunshine, she wondered when she could run through the garden.

As if reading her thoughts, Master Deen said, “Physician Kas has deemed you strong enough to venture outdoors. Fresh air and exercise would do you good.”

She grinned, and the older man smiled back at her, knowing the news made her happy.

“Should I ask Chen Yong to walk with you?” he asked.

Although she had seen Chen Yong often, Ai Ling had barely spoken with him since she’d woken and never in private. “I would enjoy it,” she said.

Master Deen stood. “He’s told me about his situation, and perhaps I’m not the best example of following Xian decorum when it comes to the rules of love.” He gazed down at her. “But Chen Yong is my son. All I want for him is happiness.”

Distracted, she nodded in agreement. “Of course, Master Deen.”

“Please, call me Deen. I’ll let Chen Yong know you’d like a stroll in the gardens.”

Ai Ling stared at herself in the gilded mirror in the bath chamber. Her cheekbones were more prominent, and her coloring had paled in the weeks she’d spent indoors. She looked older. She ran her wooden comb through her hair, finding comfort in the familiar routine. She wove into her single braid a vivid green ribbon, one that Chen Yong had bought for her at the market in Seta.

He was waiting for her in his bedchamber when she returned. His face lit up, and she felt herself smiling back at him. He was thinner, too, the angles of his face more defined. Chen Yong offered his arm, and she took it. He guided them through the manor and into the garden.

She tilted her face into the sun, inhaling deeply. The colors were so stunning: the lush greens of the curved leaves and the prickly hedge, the grays, blues, and pinks of the smooth stones covering the path. “I feel alive again,” she said, wanting to see, hear, and smell everything at once.

Chen Yong led her along the path. For almost the first time since she’d known him, she didn’t have to anchor her spirit. “Do you remember what happened?” she asked, after a companionable silence.

He glanced at her and covered her hand with his. “I don’t. I remember feeling very sick after speaking with my father. I went to my bedchamber to lie down, and the next moment I woke up, with you beside me.”

They walked on without speaking. “Do you remember?” he asked finally.

She couldn’t look at him, so she admired a bed of vermilion starbursts instead. “I do,” she whispered.

Chen Yong stopped and turned to her. “How could you risk yourself? I didn’t even know if you would live—” His voice cracked.

“It was my fault. I had done that to you. I couldn’t…” Her throat closed, and she glared at the ground.

He touched her cheek, but she still would not look at him. “Thank the goddess you’re all right.” He dropped his hand awkwardly. “Peng said we can set sail in a week’s time. He wants to return before the end of autumn.”

She glanced up then. “I thought you were staying here in Jiang?”

His dark brows drew together, and he looked at her, puzzled. “Don’t you remember? I had told my father I
would return to Xia.” Understanding flitted across his handsome features then, and his face softened. “You don’t remember.”

He wouldn’t be staying in Jiang Dao? She searched her memory, feeling as if something had been misplaced. He stepped closer. “I told you right after you first woke. I told you—” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I kissed you.”

She almost laughed. “You did?”

They stared at each other until Chen Yong began to smile. “I did. And you fainted…or fell asleep.” He laughed. “I couldn’t decide which possibility was worse.”

She laughed with him, although she didn’t know how she was able to draw enough breath. Then the memory returned, revealing itself like clean brushstrokes. He was still chuckling when she wound both hands behind his neck and rose onto tiptoes to press her mouth to his. She drew back immediately, embarrassed.

“Ai Ling.” His voice was low, hoarse. Chen Yong reached for her. He ran his hands along the curve of her spine and crushed her body to his. He dipped his head and kissed her throat, marking a hot path with his lips to a sensitive spot behind her ear. He whispered her name again, his breath warm against her skin.

She would have crumpled to the ground if it weren’t for his tight embrace.

He pulled back to gaze at her. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” His eyes had deepened to a burnished amber. “And this.”

Then his mouth was on hers, soft and firm. She gasped and drew in his breath, tasted him on her lips and her tongue. He caressed her; then his fingers were buried in her hair, loosening her braid. She wound her arms around his neck, pulled him to her, deepening their kiss. He couldn’t be closer. Or close enough. Chen Yong stroked her arms, his hands trailed down her sides to her hips and lingered there before cupping her face, his exquisite lips never leaving hers.

They kissed until her knees trembled and she became light-headed. But she didn’t faint a second time, as she would never have forgiven herself if she had been the first, again, to end it.

Peng knocked on her door just as she was beginning to pack for the journey to Xia. She dropped a tunic onto the bed and went to him to squeeze his hand. “I still don’t know how I can possibly thank you. You saved both our lives.”

He smiled, ever gracious, and sat on her bed. “Yen
helped. He prayed with me through those long hours, brought any items I needed. I would be lying if I said I knew for certain the outcome would be a happy one.”

Ai Ling shivered. She realized how fortunate she was, how fortunate they all were. “I know,” she whispered. “I can never repay you for your kindness.”

“You can, perhaps.”

She looked at him questioningly as she folded her clothes.

“Do you remember what happened?” Peng asked.

She laughed, shaking her head.

“I didn’t want to ask earlier, you weren’t recovered yet, but—”

“You remind me of my cat, Taro,” she said. “You’re so curious about everything.”

It was his turn to laugh. “You can’t fault me for wondering.”

“I do remember.” Her mood was suddenly serious. “It is my curse to remember everything.”

Peng stared out the window, his black eyes intense. He glanced at her, and she smiled. “Would you be willing to tell me, perhaps during our trip back to Xia?”

She sat beside him. “I would.”

He grinned, appearing even more charming. “How are things with Chen Yong?”

She blushed. “They are well.” Ai Ling almost brought her fingers to her lips, full and bruised from kissing. Instead, she ran a hand over the tunic Peng had given her, then folded it, smiling.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Peng said.

“Thank the goddess for that,” she murmured.

“When he awoke and saw you…like that”—Peng gave a slight shake of his head—“he was incoherent, frantic. Yen had to restrain him, then drag him out of the bedchamber.”

She tried to envision the scene and knew how Chen Yong had felt. She had felt exactly the same when she had seen him so still on his bed. “I must make offerings to the Goddess of Mercy when I return to Xia,” she finally said in a soft voice.

“We’ll be back before all the leaves have fallen,” Peng replied.