Silver Phoenix (42 page)

The interior of the chariot itself had the same orb carved into the woodwork of the floor panel. This light glowed softly and looked like a moon, rising large and full over carved hills and trees.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” She traced her finger around it.

“The one-armed tribe was known for their mechanical and building skills. That much I remember from
The Book
of Lands Beyond
,” Chen Yong said. There was a short pause in which only the sound of the wind rushing by filled the space around them.

She let out a breath that turned into a small hiss. “You’re right. They are both female and male—it explains their high voices and smooth faces.”

After all they had encountered, this realization still stunned her. They had visited a land, been captured by a people she thought to be story and myth. It was one thing to believe the Immortals were real—but people so different from themselves?

“You saved us,” Chen Yong said in a quiet voice. “What you did was beyond my comprehension. I don’t know how you took control of his body, much less acted like him so convincingly. I wasn’t even sure myself it was you.”

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“I did what I had to do. I went into his mind and saw him thinking of . . . experiments he wanted to perform.”

She looked down at her hands. She sounded like a monster herself. Some sort of demon. “I think my ability has grown stronger. I’ve seen through the eyes of the undead—the demon that carried your image . . . and the corpse monster . . . I killed it from within.”

“Within?”

“I went inside it to kill it.”

“Mother of the Heavens, I thought you slew it with the blessed dagger. It’s amazing, Ai Ling. It’s frightening. . . .”

Chen Yong trailed off.

She clasped her knees to her chest. “I wish I knew more. I just go. I didn’t know I could take over the Anatomist’s body until I tried. I was terrified and couldn’t think of another way to escape.”

She shook her head. “Li Rong was right when he called it spiritual rape,” she whispered, her voice catching.

Chen Yong touched her wrist. Startled by his contact, her skin tingled.

“You saved our lives, Ai Ling. Thank the Goddess for your gift.”

She tried to smile, grateful for his kind words, but could not manage it.

She stood and looked out at the world far below. She could see trees and mountain peaks, lit by the moon—like ink washes she’d done for evening landscapes. The air was 239

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cold this high up, and the stars shone and glimmered. Ai Ling pulled on an extra tunic and tucked herself back on the bench, trying to fi nd constellations she was familiar with in the night sky.

She must have drifted to sleep again. The glare of daylight beneath her closed lids roused her. She peered, squinting, and saw Chen Yong still guiding the chariot.

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, rubbing her face. It did not feel like long enough.

“The chariot seems to hasten the passing of time. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours,” he said.

“You should get some rest, too.”

Chen Yong sat down next to her on the cushioned bench.

“I don’t think I could fall asleep even if I tried,” he said. He stared at the pivot before them. “I don’t believe the chariot even needs steering, once the destination is set. It helped to keep my mind occupied.”

Ai Ling studied him. He appeared exhausted, his grief etched in the tense line of his jaw. He put his face in his hands, allowing his shoulders to fall forward as if in defeat.

She wanted to draw him into her arms, cradle him as he had cradled her. But she did not move.

“If you’re to help me save my father—and perhaps find your mother, I think you should try to rest,” she said.

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, Ai Ling. Given the nature of the creatures we’ve been fighting. Zhong Ye will be the strongest foe of all, the most powerful in the dark arts.”

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“I can’t do this alone.”

Chen Yong lifted his head and met her gaze. “I think you can.”

“I’m glad you believe so.” She clutched a cushion to her chest. “I’m not so certain.”

“You haven’t seen yourself, Ai Ling. You’re quick-witted and brave. You’re strong.”

She dropped her chin, her face tingling with pleasure.

“And stubborn. And rash.”

Chen Yong leaned back and laughed. “Even so, I’ll be there at your side until the end.”

Ai Ling did not fear he would abandon her. Not now.

But a small part of her wondered if she was being selfish, especially after the loss of Li Rong. The thought of him brought back both intense grief and anger. What had she done in her former life to inherit this terrible task? Li Rong was dead, and Chen Yong risked his own life for her. No one else would be hurt—not her father, not Chen Yong.

She would end this.

She rose and peered over the side of the flying chariot.

Nothing but infinite cerulean blue with wisps of clouds below. She let the wind brush past her. It soothed her. She was glad they were nowhere, because to be somewhere would mean fighting for their lives again. She was glad to be alone with Chen Yong.

His eyes were closed. A wild, intense feeling filled her, shuddered through her. Ai Ling turned from him, fought the 241

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urge to crouch close and see the rise and fall of his chest.

Did he dream? She remembered the girl of his dreams, felt again his aching loss.

She did not notice the chariot’s descent until the clouds that had been beneath surrounded them. The chariot glided faster now as it flew downward, and the daylight faded once again too soon, the remains of the full moon revealing a vast sea below. Ai Ling drank from her flask and nibbled on some dried mango.

She sat down next to Chen Yong, gathering his warmth, even though their bodies did not touch. She slept with her knapsack hugged tight against her, Li Rong’s heart pressed against her own.

She dreamed of home, of sweeping the main hall and eating a celebratory feast for the new year. They toasted one another with wine and laughter. Then she sat at her mother’s dressing mirror as her mother brushed her hair.

The face reflected before her was not recognizable. The mirror showed a beautiful woman, with her own features, but painted with expert care. Her mother slowly wound her hair up above her head in elaborate loops, before placing a wedding veil over her face.

No.

A gentle thud jolted her from her dreams. The sun had risen. They were on the ground. Chen Yong sat up beside her. They were outside the tall walls of a city—there was no one about. She looked up and saw that watch towers 242

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spanned its entire length. She caught Chen Yong’s eye. Was this the Emperor’s city?

Chen Yong stepped out of the chariot, his belongings slung across his back and his sword at his side.

“I hate to leave this chariot,” she said.

Chen Yong smiled and nodded to a grove behind them.

They pushed the dragon chariot among the trees. It was hidden from the path along the city wall, but not as well as she would have liked.

They set out to find a gate. The city was massive, vast beyond her comprehension. They walked for more than an hour, following the edge of the mud-colored wall, before they came upon a grand entrance.

Thick black stone doors were pushed back, and a golden dragon, extended to full length, claws splayed like daggers, graced each one. An imposing ebony sign hung above the grand gate, with the characters HUANG LONG carved in gold.

She touched Chen Yong’s elbow.

“The City of the Yellow Dragon,” she whispered. This was where they would find the Palace of Fragrant Dreams, the main residence of the Emperor.

“The chariot did not fail us,” Chen Yong said.

They joined a throng of people on foot, astride their horses, or hidden behind silk drapes in sedans, all waiting to fi lter through the massive main gate.

The line moved quickly. Many people were waved past by the sentry at the gate while other guardsmen looked on.

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Just ahead of them, a peasant in a faded tunic and trousers handed over a scroll. The sentry unfurled it. He read its contents and pushed back the peasant’s straw hat to scru-tinize his face. The peasant’s shoulders curled forward, his hands clasped tightly together. The sentry waved him away, denying entry.