The merman cowered away. Still, Captain Wenzhi held his gaze, his pupils obsidian dark.
Finally, the merman slumped, shaking uncontrollably. “No more,” he pleaded, in a thin rasp. “Leave my people alone. Don’t hurt them.” He gasped as though the words were torn from him. “Prince Yanming . . . even if we failed to kill the king, we were to capture his son.”
King Yanzheng lurched to his feet. He searched the hall for the young prince, who was huddled beside the queen in a far corner, his head resting upon her shoulder. Blissfully unaware of the threat to his family and life.
Prince Yanxi clutched the hilt of his sword, struggling for composure. “A contemptible plan. Governor Renyu must want to crown my brother while he rules as the power behind the throne. After he disposes of the rest of us.” He nodded curtly at the guards, who hauled the prisoner away. There was no more fight left in the merman, who drooped like washed-up seagrass.
Just a short while ago, the hall had been filled with gaiety and laughter. Now armored soldiers replaced the elegant guests who had fled, the groans from the wounded a poor substitute for the soothing strains from the pipa.
“I apologize for the abrupt end to our festivities. It was not quite the welcome we had intended,” Prince Yanxi said ruefully.
Captain Wenzhi’s expression was somber. “Perhaps not, but we’ve gained valuable information on Governor Renyu’s ambitions. And how far he’s willing to go to achieve them.”
Prince Yanxi nodded. “We will plan our path forward tomorrow, with our commanders. I promise it will be less eventful than tonight, now that we’re on the alert. Regardless, we have an ample supply of arrows in the palace.” His eyes gleamed as he added, “Plates, too, if the First Archer prefers.”
My lips curved in a hollow smile, though I welcomed his attempt to lighten the mood.
Prince Yanxi inclined his head to Captain Wenzhi. “Your aid tonight was invaluable, and my father will be sure to commend you to the Celestial Kingdom. Your reputation is indeed well deserved.” He glanced in my direction, “As is yours, First Archer.”
I bowed in acknowledgment of his praise. Yet my smile faded as I gazed around the hall, at the fragments of porcelain and spilled food, mingling with crimson trails of blood.
19
Sleep evaded me that night. When we were attacked, a cold instinct for survival had enveloped me, and I shot our attackers down unflinchingly. But with the merman’s accusations ringing in my ears, doubt wound its way into my heart. Were the dragons in danger? Was King Yanzheng as righteous as he was reputed to be? Was Prince Yanxi’s admiration of the dragons feigned? No, I thought to myself, he did not seem to be of a duplicitous nature.
It had become a habit for Captain Wenzhi and I to eat together, and I usually enjoyed these moments of quiet companionship. Yet this morning, I picked over the meal listlessly.
“You fought well last night,” he said.
I winced, feeling no pride at his praise, the agonized cries of those struck still echoing through my mind. “Do you believe any of what the merman said? About King Yanzheng betraying the dragons?”
“No,” he said firmly, with such certainty that a little of my unease dispersed. “The king’s reverence of them is well known. Besides, the dragons were no threat to him.”
“Why do the merfolk believe the governor?” I asked.
“That is a mystery. Governor Renyu has the makings of a tyrant and his ruthless actions last night have only reinforced that suspicion. It’s possible he gained such strong support only because the merfolk have been isolated for so long.” He added darkly, “They seem to believe his every word.”
I lifted a spoonful of congee to my mouth, the grains cooked till they were silken soft, the flavor infused with chicken and herbs. I chewed methodically, as another question hovered on the tip of my tongue—one I was more hesitant to ask. Looking at him, I found Captain Wenzhi had left his bowl untouched.
“What else is troubling you?” he wanted to know. “Your doubts are written plain upon your face.”
I set the porcelain spoon down, turning to him. “Could you really have done it? All those things you said . . . even exiling the merfolk to the desert?”
“Do you think I could have?” His expression was grave and for some reason, I felt my answer mattered to him.
No, I wanted to say, but I pressed on. “Yesterday, you spoke of severing limbs and flaying skin so readily, like you meant it.” No battle was without its cruelties, but it felt wrong to do such a thing to a captured enemy. A helpless one.