I understood his meaning and yet, I was glad to never see that accursed pendant again.
“What of those who served Governor Renyu? Those who attacked us? Will they be brought to justice?” Wenzhi asked, with an edge to his tone. Did he recall the Celestials who were slain in the battle? I could not forget his anguish as he saw them fall.
“Justice will be served as the Eastern Sea decides,” Liwei said grimly. “Though it would appear both sides were deceived by the governor.”
“Your Highness, regardless of their excuses, the merfolk rebelled against their sovereign. Your own father believes such matters should be dealt with harshly, so none will attempt it again.” Wenzhi’s lips curved into a mocking smile. Did he enjoy baiting Liwei? He certainly seemed to care little for the prince’s favor.
I said to Wenzhi, “I felt the power of the enchantment, I almost fell under its sway. It might just as easily have been me under its spell.”
He did not reply, yet his jaw clenched as though he was stricken by my words.
“Many of the merfolk appeared dazed, unsure why they had revolted,” Prince Yanxi told us. “We will investigate further to determine their innocence. Those found blameless will be released, under watch at first. Some will be invited to remain at our court as the intermediaries between us and the merfolk. Closer ties will prevent this from happening again.”
The merfolk would not have fared so well under the Celestial Emperor’s justice. “Your father and you are indeed wise and merciful,” I said, without intent to flatter.
Before he could reply, footsteps pattered across the floor as a pair of small arms was flung round my waist. Swinging around, I lifted Prince Yanming into the air, ignoring the ache in my body as he whooped in delight. When I set him down again, his expression grew solemn, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“You did not follow us. You lied.” His tone was accusing.
Guilt pricked me. I crouched down, staring into his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t go with you then, but I should not have said I would.”
“I am glad you didn’t die. And . . . thank you.” He held out his hand to me. Nestled in his palm was a small dragon, exquisitely crafted from red paper.
I picked it up, holding it between my thumb and finger, afraid to crush the delicate paper. “Thank you. I’ll cherish this always.”
His lower lip wobbled. “May the dragons protect you on your journey.” He dashed the back of his hand over his eyes, as he turned and ran away.
I watched until his little figure disappeared, a thickness forming in my throat.
“Wherever you go, you’ll always have a place here—whether in our court or as our friend.” Prince Yanxi spoke in earnest and something eased deep inside me, at the thought of having another home in this world.
“Prince Yanxi, it’s time we left,” Liwei said in glacial tones.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness.” Wenzhi spoke with equally cold formality.
The palpable shift in their attitude was both puzzling and unprovoked. And the way they were looking at Prince Yanxi was decidedly unfriendly. I shook my head to banish these thoughts, wondering if I had imagined it.
Fortunately, Prince Yanxi seemed oblivious to the sudden chill, a smile playing on his lips as he said, “We thank the Celestial Kingdom for coming to our aid.”
22
After the Eastern Sea, Wenzhi and I went from one campaign to the next, at times not returning to the Celestial Kingdom for months at a stretch. We fought terrifying monsters, ravenous beasts, and—most recently—the fearsome spirits that plagued the eastern border, close to the forests of the Phoenix Kingdom. I was exhausted when we finally arrived at the Jade Palace, eager to retire to my room. Yet when news reached me that Shuxiao had been awarded a promotion, I set off in search of her at once.
I knocked on her door, expecting to find her celebrating with friends. But when she opened it, her smile lacked her usual warmth; she seemed a pale copy of herself. A solitary lamp lit the dark and there was a porcelain jar of wine on the table.
“Is this how you’re celebrating? Drinking by yourself?” I shook my head in mock disbelief as I entered and sank upon a stool. “Aren’t you glad that I came by?”
“More than you know.” She tugged off the red cloth stopper from the wine jar and poured me a cup.
I lifted it in a toast. “Lieutenant Shuxiao, may this just be the beginning.”
She drained her cup in a single gulp. I stared at her, my hand frozen mid-air. Shuxiao was usually a restrained drinker, but maybe this was a special occasion. When I refilled her cup, she emptied it again. Shrugging, I decided to accompany her. We drank in companionable silence—until a flush bloomed in our cheeks, the sweet scent of osmanthus infused our breaths, and the lamp took on a hazy glow. Yet Shuxiao’s eyes remained blank as though her mind was far away, and not someplace pleasant either.