“You use words like ‘duty’ and ‘loyalty,’” the princess says, each word intended to wound. “And yet you forget where you come from.”
“I remember my place,” he concedes. “I only wish to speak with my uncle.”
“Anything you wish to say to my father, you can say to me. Cousin.” The last word uttered as a distasteful reminder of his family’s lineage.
“I only wish to ask him to reconsider our exile.” He keeps speaking, undeterred by her warning. “And to reassure him of our loyalty. These are dangerous times. With the unrest at the borders, the bandits, the threat of the northern clans … He can rely on us, for we are family—”
“Family.” The princess runs her finger over the edge of her cup. “My own family will not drink something poured by my hand.”
With one swift movement, he lifts the cup to his lips and drains it, then salutes her. He sets it down on the stone with a forceful clatter, betraying his impatience.
“Is that enough?” he asks. “Now will you allow me to speak with him?”
She leaps across the table, a flash of steel in her hand. The point of a dagger presses against his throat, but he does not flinch. He sits with his hands resting on the table. Waiting.
“I will remind you that you were banished, told never to return to Jia under threat of death.” The knifepoint trails downward, to rest over his heart, where the red seal sits, branding him as traitor.
“It is a matter of life and death, Princess,” he says, sitting utterly still.
“Whose life?” the princess asks. “And whose death?”
Kang’s hand jerks away from mine, the vision dissipating into nothing. The magic releases us from its grasp, loosening the connection between my mind and his. I did not merely listen to their conversation—I’d felt every motion, as if I were inside his body.
He does not mean her any harm. It is his own life that is in danger.
We are back in the twilight of the courtyard, on either side of the stone table. There is anguish in his expression, and I can still feel the pull of his desperation, his need to achieve the task he set out to accomplish. He fights for his people—his mother’s people, the woman who took him in as her own.
“Do you believe me now?” he asks.
I nod. I don’t trust my voice.
“Lǜzhou is not a place where shénnóng-shī care to visit,” he goes on to say. “But perhaps one day you will join me there, and you can teach us about your art. It’s a beautiful place, even with its reputation.”
His offer startles me; I remember the revulsion that caused him to pull away when he found out what I was capable of in Azalea House.
“It’s not…” He blinks. “It’s not for the reason you believe…”
He does not finish his thought, for the simple act of remembering draws it back again. The ghostly strains of a flute, floating in the air. The remnants of the Golden Key, shimmering once again into being, forces our connection back together, sharply, until we both gasp at the force of it.
He tries to fall back, to sever the memory, but it’s too late.
We return to the garden.
The dagger pointed at his heart. His words that follow: “I wonder what the people of Jia will think of a regent who is hiding the death of an emperor. I wonder if they will accept a princess who sits on a throne of lies.”
The princess sinks back in her seat, face devoid of color.
The emperor is dead. I gasp at the revelation.
The mist quickly parts as he closes the distance between us. His hands grab my shoulders.
“Listen, this is important,” he hisses. I can feel his whole body trembling. “Did you put something in the tea? Did you put in more Golden Key?”
I start to shake my head. “No…” And then I stop, because that would be a lie, and he would be able to sense it. The Silver Needle points both ways. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the Silver Needle. I think it was from … before. Something the Golden Key left behind.”
“It’s dangerous,” he says. “You have to forget what you heard. I didn’t understand, I underestimated your power—”
The wind picks up, whistling around us. We are caught in the dizzying space between memory and present.
“They will kill you.” He’s so close. His expression wild. Afraid. “I do not believe the shénnóng-shī are capable of resurrection.”
“You believe it to be true?” I whisper, not wanting to believe the palace able to contain such a large secret.