“The games will continue in the palace tonight. It is best we stay vigilant. Get some rest, Ning. We’ll both need it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
I wake to the sound of screaming, a high-pitched keening that yanks me from the depths of dreaming and throws me roughly into the dark room. The noise seems to come from everywhere at once.
I throw off the covers, immediately looking for Lian to make sure she is not the one in anguish. Her eyes are two bright dots across the room as she clutches the blankets to her chest. She lifts her arm and shakily points to the corner. A breeze swirls around my legs as I notice light streaming from an opened window.
Above our heads, a shadow sweeps. We duck, and I realize that the source of the terrifying wail is the bird, heading for the window between our beds.
“Lian!” I yell. “Close the window!”
She leaps up and slams the window shut before the bird can find an escape. The Piya shrieks again, aggravated, then settles on top of one of the cabinets, preening itself with fervor.
I fumble for the matches and light the candles, and the room finally comes into view.
There is an overturned stool in the corner. Two legs are visible behind the screen, clad in black pants and black boots. I grab Kang’s dagger and pull it from its sheath, holding it ahead of me with a shaking hand. As I approach, I smell a stench like emptied bowels, like sickness.
“What … what is it?” Lian asks.
Using my foot, I nudge the leg and it flops to the side. Dagger at the ready, I pull the screen aside to reveal the face of the man lying on the floor.
Lian’s shriek is muffled, but I can still hear the terror contained behind her sleeve. The man had fallen to his side, one arm underneath him, the other hand clutching his throat. His tongue is swollen, purple, flopping out the side of his mouth like a slug. There is blood seeping out of every orifice. Trickling out his nose and ears and streaming out the corner of his eyes like tears.
It looks like he died painfully, brutally, with no peace in his final moments.
“I’m … I’m fairly certain he is dead,” I say to Lian, trying to reassure her, but the quaver of my own voice betrays me.
With a loud crash, someone bursts through the doors of our residence, footsteps rapidly approaching. I quickly thrust the dagger up my sleeve and out of sight. We are suddenly surrounded by guards in our small room. They avert their eyes, raising their swords to their foreheads in a salute. One of them steps forward and bows to us.
“Apologies for our intrusion,” he says. “We have been tasked to watch over your residence tonight, but it seems we have arrived too late to be of any assistance. I have sent for the chancellor—he requested to be informed if there was a disturbance in your residence.”
“Chancellor Zhou?” Lian’s brows crease. “Why would he be concerned for our safety?”
I hear the sound of footsteps in the courtyard, then the chancellor himself strides into the room. He is in casual robes, which appear as if they have been hastily thrown on. His hair is tied back in a simple knot, instead of in the usual hairstyle of the court. His expression is somber.
“I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” He walks over to where one of the guards kneels beside the dead man, searching through his armor. “It looks like someone was determined to remove you both from the competition.”
The guard stands and salutes. “Reporting, sir. There is no identification on him that I can see.”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Carry him out and strip him down.” Chancellor Zhou dismisses the guard with a wave, then turns back to us. “Come join me when you are ready. Captain Wu will show you the way.”
* * *
We wait for one of the soldiers to collect the bird with heavy gloves, coaxing it carefully back into the cage with food. The guard attempts to take the Piya, but Lian makes sure it stays close to us, reminding him that the bird must be left in our care until the next round. He eventually grumbles something but acquiesces, leaving us to make ourselves presentable for an audience with the chancellor.
Captain Wu leads us through the corridors while the palace is in slumber. There is no pronouncement from the criers to orient us to the hour, but I can feel the fatigue in my body and mind. The trees of the gardens and the statues appear to take on ominous shapes, shadows stretching into grotesque forms. I wish I had a fresh cup of summer tea with gingko to clear my thoughts.
We enter a side gate, and I recognize we are being admitted to the inner palace—properly this time, instead of sneaking around through the tunnels. We walk on stones where the empress herself used to tread, past painted murals on the walls, depictions of warriors and maidens and scholars. It feels like too many eyes are following our every step.