Sacrifice (5 page)

Rose was not Skybright.

Over four months had passed since that horrible day in the cave at hell’s breach, when Skybright had inexplicably disappeared before her eyes, taken by the frightening immortal called Stone. Zhen Ni never even got the chance to say good-bye. It was a regret she lived with every day.

She slipped out of bed reluctantly, shivering as her bare feet touched the stone floor. It had been a mild winter but still too cold for her tastes. Faint morning light cast random patterns against her bedchamber walls, papered in the palest green. She let the handmaid wipe her face and hands with a rose-scented towel, then Zhen Ni rubbed her own teeth with coarse salt before rinsing her mouth out over the ceramic basin. Rose then helped her into a turquoise tunic and skirt, embroidered with dragonflies and lotus.

Finally sitting down in front of her vanity, Zhen Ni covered a wide yawn with the back of her hand as Rose began to brush her long hair, then braid and twist it into elaborate loops. Zhen Ni fiddled with the various bottles and jars on the vanity, choosing a sweet honeysuckle perfume to dab onto her wrists and throat. “That’s fancy,” Zhen Ni said, observing the handmaid’s deft fingers in the polished mirror.

“Lady Yuan said it’s a special day,” Rose replied, smiling shyly at her mistress. “She requested for the rubies and jade to be threaded in your hair.” The girl’s dark brown eyes shone with excitement.

Zhen Ni’s chest constricted, as if she could already feel the breast binder she would have to wear as a married woman. These days, there was nothing her mother would mark as a special occasion for Zhen Ni—except for a betrothal.

Zhen Ni took her time on her way to the main hall, meandering through the courtyards of the Yuan manor. The gardens lacked color except for the deep green of the pruned pine and cypress trees, their gnarled branches reaching toward a pale winter sky. Plum blossoms were beginning to grow on barren sprigs, their pale pink buds like an unexpected sweet after a bland meal.

Rose had draped a fur-lined cape over Zhen Ni’s shoulders before she set off to see her mother, and Zhen Ni tugged it closer, the collar’s ermine fur tickling her earlobes and offering warmth. Her breath plumed like mist, and she quickened her steps. There was no use in dragging this out. The news would be the same no matter how long she took to meet her mother.

She entered the main courtyard, passing the tall rock formation trickling water into a deep pond, its rippling surface reflecting the twisting branches of a plum tree above. Zhen Ni paused before the main hall, the grandest structure in the Yuan manor. Polished white stone steps led to a wide deck enclosed by a low jade railing, elaborately carved in a cloud motif. Red pillars flanked the wide paneled doors, closed to the cold morning air. But she could see the lanterns blazing within the hall, their bright light gleaming through the intricately carved panels.

Drawing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, climbed the steps, and pushed the door panels aside. A gust of warmth greeted her.

“Zhen Ni,” her mother said. “Your father and I have been waiting for you.”

“Ba!” Zhen Ni uttered in delight. She ran over to where he sat and kissed him on the cheek, his beard scratching her nose. “When did you return?” Her father was a merchant and traveled throughout the kingdom much of the year on business.

He laughed; his eyes turned into half-moons. “Late last night. The journey took longer than I had expected.” He squeezed Zhen Ni’s hand in his rough palm. “And how is my favorite daughter?”

She laughed in turn, the sound big and bold, like her father’s. “I am your
only
daughter left in the house,” she teased, and slid into a curved back chair across from her parents.

Her father chuckled in that jovial way of his, but she saw the touch of sadness in his eyes. Zhen Ni’s gaze flicked to her mother, who sat with her back as straight as a bamboo stalk, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Detailed cards have been exchanged, dear daughter,” her mother said, a small smile lingering on the corners of her mouth. “And a match has been made. You will be wed in a few months.”

Zhen Ni felt the blood drain from her face. “So soon?” she whispered.

“We’ve consulted a seer for the most fortuitous date. The wedding will take place in early spring, in the third moon.”

Zhen Ni tried to swallow the knot down her throat, but her mouth was dry, as if she were an effigy made of straw. “I see,” she managed to say.

“It is a good match, my little lotus.”

Her heart clenched to hear her father use the pet name he had given her as a little girl. But little girls grew up, and society dictated that they were given away when the time came, familial bonds made so tenuous, it was sometimes less painful to simply sever all ties.

“Who is he?” she asked.

“Master Bei,” her mother replied. “He is very wealthy but without family, all lost tragically in a fire. He was wed before—”

Nightingale, her mother’s head handmaid, entered the hall with her head bowed, trailed by two servants. They quickly placed enameled trays on the table in front of Zhen Ni and her parents filled with covered dishes and bowls. Another handmaid, Oriole, poured tea for each of them, before they disappeared with light steps.

“An outcast then,” Zhen Ni said, as if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“He is a well-to-do man from a good family, Daughter,” her mother said. “It has not been easy for us to find a proper husband for you …” She trailed off meaningfully.

Yes. Zhen Ni was said to be willful and a runaway with a tainted reputation that was well-known to every prosperous family who mattered when it came to arranging a good match for her.

“A widower,” Zhen Ni said.

“Looking for a new start,” her father replied.

“He seeks another chance at love,” her mother added. “You would have the status of first wife.”

If she should be so lucky that Master Bei would take on more wives and leave her alone.

“The best news is Master Bei has built his manor here in town.” Her mother’s mouth widened into a true smile. “We’ll be neighbors and can visit each other.”

Zhen Ni tried to return her mother’s smile, but it wavered. “That is a comfort at least.”

“The betrothal gifts have been delivered,” her father said, “and they are as resplendent as my favorite daughter deserves.” He waved a hand, and Zhen Ni noticed the gifts stacked behind him.

She went to examine them, feeling like a woman meeting her fate head-on, a woman who could not change her own path. Eight jars of betrothal wine were set near their ancestor altar. The gold-colored bottles reached above her knees, etched with chrysanthemums and swathed in crimson silks embroidered with butterflies.

There were three massive gilded chests, laden with mutton, pheasant, exotic dried fruit and nuts, candies, cake, and fragrant orange blossom tea. Bolts of bright silks and brocades—twenty in all—were placed beside the chests. Her mother had risen and joined Zhen Ni, her round face beaming with pleasure.

“These will make wonderful newly-wed tunics and dresses to take with you to the Bei manor, Zhen Ni. We will have the seamstress come tomorrow.” She lifted her head from a bolt of emerald silk and smiled.

Zhen Ni nodded, unable to feign enthusiasm.

“Master Bei requested that you open this present personally.” Her mother handed her a wooden box.

It was carved with peaches and bats, symbols of fertility and good fortune. Zhen Ni carefully lifted the lid revealing a beautiful jade hairpin engraved with the double love knot. Three emeralds dangled from delicate gold chains. She passed the piece to her mother, as something else nestled in the red satin caught her eye. Pushing the cloth aside, she lifted a pair of earrings, the rubies were larger than she had ever seen, set in finely etched gold.

Her mother drew in a breath when she saw them.

The Yuans were wealthy, but it was obvious that Master Bei had coin to match. More than enough to buy Zhen Ni from her own family.

Skybright

Thank the goddess traveling through the portal didn’t seem to take much time. It was like stepping into a deep indigo, and immersed in a crackling noise that pinged against Skybright’s skin, then stepping out to a different locale. She was glad that she could feel Stone’s fingers gripping hers as the experience was disorienting, even if brief.

They emerged onto an arched stone bridge overlooking a tranquil canal. Two-storied teahouses and restaurants lined either side of it, interspersed with private residences. Skybright could tell which were the eating establishments as their lattice windows were flung wide open and pearl-shaped red lanterns were strung beyond them as decoration. A boat drifted away in the distance, steered by a man dressed in bright yellow, gripping a single paddle.

Skybright pressed herself against the railing, peering over, delighted by the scene despite herself. Beautiful yet so
normal
. The waters below were a deep, clear green, and she caught the impressions of silver fish darting within its gentle ripples. It was midday; the sun was warm against her neck. She shrugged out of her coat. The oppressive heat of late summer seemed to have given way to the crisp coolness of spring. It smelled of new blooms—the faint scent of peach blossoms, the more pungent fragrance of wisteria. She knew she could rely on her serpentine senses, but the impression that the seasons had changed confused her.

“Are we in southern Xia?” she asked. “It feels and smells like springtime.”

“That is because it is spring. I took the liberty of shifting us forward in time.”

Skybright could only gape at him.

“I thought it would be nice to enjoy the weather here in Qing Chun,” Stone said. “And to move temporally away from the Great Battle, put some distance—”

“You can do that?” She tried to speak without choking on her words. She didn’t even understand what
temporally
meant, but she thought she got the gist. “Move us in time?” The notion was horrifying somehow. Paralyzing.

“I cannot veer far into the future. We’ve shifted a few months forward.” He said it all so offhandedly, as if he were discussing the scenery.

“And the past?” she whispered.

He gave a shake of his head. “Never the past. Even I cannot go back.”

She clutched the balustrade, carved, she saw, into a lion’s head. Stone could move between time and distance and whittle away months as if it meant nothing. But then, Skybright supposed it really did mean nothing when you were immortal. She couldn’t stop measuring time as people did—as she had done her entire life—in its steady cadences, marked by the faraway gongs from Kai Sen’s monastery back on Tian Kuan Mountain, by festivals and observances. If it was truly spring already, then Zhen Ni would be turning seventeen years soon, as would Skybright. But what did birth dates matter now for her?

Suddenly, she was filled with such homesickness that her chest felt hollow. What were Zhen Ni and Kai Sen doing, two seasons into the future? Did they still think of her, or had they moved on with their lives?

“You are weak with hunger.” Stone touched her sleeve briefly, and she noticed that her clothing had changed, become opulent enough to befit an imperial concubine. She now wore a silk dress in the subtlest blush of pink, the collar and sleeves banded in lavender. The silk was the softest she had ever touched and reflected a sheen in the sunlight. Delicate sprays of plum blossom were embroidered on the dress, and it hugged the curves of her body, revealing more than she was used to. The fur-lined coat magically disappeared from her hands.

Stone had changed his attire as well. Instead of his usual armor, he wore a tunic and trousers in a deep blue, decorated with silver geometric shapes along the collar and sleeves. Skybright had seen Zhen Ni’s father, a wealthy merchant, dress in a similar fashion. Stone’s warrior topknot was loosened and pulled lower, as civilian men would wear it.

“This is the best teahouse in the province.” Stone crossed the small bridge, and Skybright followed him into the cool interior of a two-story establishment.