She’s a true Xia. A warrior.
A girl trained to kill, in the heart of the kingdom.
A girl who can get closer to the King than most.
I can think of an explanation as to why, but I’m not sure I want to believe it.
Just as I’m about to get out, the sound of approaching steps makes me start. I swirl round, splashing water over the side of the barrel. Through the clouds, I make out a tall figure coming toward me. My belly loops. It’s her.
I duck lower, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly hyperaware of my nakedness.
Though Wren’s face is composed, there’s a tender look in her eyes. She stops a few feet away. “Can we talk?” she asks, and the tentativeness in her voice—the idea that she’s even worried I could say no—strikes me with fresh guilt.
I nod, but she doesn’t come any closer.
Even in last night’s ruined dress she is beautiful. Though the jade-green silks of her hanfu robes are slashed and charred, the color still brings out the glossy tan of her skin, the definition of her long, muscled limbs. My instinct is to run to her, to hug her, kiss away her pain. But even if I understand why she did it, the memory of her stabbing the man in the tunnel holds me back.
That wasn’t the girl I kissed two nights ago in a dark bedroom. The girl who held me as I cried under the whispering boughs of the paper-leaf tree, who made me feel so safe.
My eyes drop to the stain of blood on the collar of her robes. “You killed a man,” I state, hollow.
“Only to protect you and Aoki.”
“And that makes it right?”
“Of course not. But I had to do something, Lei. He would have tried to kill us all.”
A bead of moisture slips down my temple, and I swipe it away, hurriedly crossing my arms again. “It wasn’t us he wanted. They wanted the King. And he wasn’t even there.”
“Is that why you’re angry?” Wren asks, an odd tilt to her voice. “Because you wanted them to kill him?”
I hesitate. “Maybe,” I murmur, my cheek turned. Then I look back, forcing myself to meet her stare. “What do you think?”
Wren’s expression is unreadable. She stands stiffly, arms rigid at her sides. “‘Just as Zhokka and Ahla chase each other across the skies,” she recites, “does darkness not follow light, and light follow darkness, neither one truly ahead of the other?’” The saying is old, familiar with everyone in Ikhara. “I like to think there’s some good behind even the darkest sins. That death can be warranted if it paves the way for hope.”
I edge forward in the tub. “Is that why you are a warrior? Because you are, aren’t you, Wren? You fight like the Xia.”
Her neck flexes as she swallows. I sense her wanting to refuse to answer, but finally she gives a small jerk of her head that I take as a nod. “I’ve been trained in the Xia form since I was young.”
A flashback to the glimpse of her feet that morning before the Unveiling Ceremony, when she held up her robe as she stepped into my room. So that’s what turned them rough.
“Trained by who?” I press.
“My father, partly. And my shifu, Master Caen.”
“They can fight like the Xia?”
Wren shakes her head. “My father is skilled at qi work, and Caen is one of Han’s finest fighters. But I’m the only one who can bring the two together properly, the way the Xia did. It’s in my blood,” she finishes softly.
I remember her sadness at the temple in Ghost Court, her longing for her lost family. The same sense of loss rings in her voice now.
“Why were you even taught?” I go on, more gently now. “I’m guessing daughters of nobility don’t usually get trained in martial arts.”
“Actually,” Wren says, “they often are. Especially in Ang-Khen and Han. Though it’s seen as more of a ceremonial skill than one to be used in real battle.”
“But yours isn’t just an aesthetic practice.”
“No.”
“And it’s a style that the original King himself outlawed.”
“Yes.”
“So why was it allowed?”
“It… wasn’t. I was trained in secret.”
Silence unfurls between us at this.
Wren remains still, not breaking eye contact. There’s a defiance, a pride to the set of her shoulders and the way she lifts her spine tall, chin slightly tilted, that brings me back to the aloof girl I first met all those months ago. But despite her posture, that girl is looking at me with such tenderness in her eyes it makes my heart lurch, and all the intimacies we’ve shared shine within her warm irises, as luminous and sweet as stars.
Part of me is hurt by how much Wren has hidden from me—and I can tell she’s holding back even more. But tightness knits my chest at the thought of losing her.
It hits me then how much trust she’s putting in me by telling me this. I could ruin her with this information. Her entire family. The Hannos are some of the King’s most trusted supporters, and here is Lord Hanno’s daughter herself, a warrior trained in a forbidden language of fighting, within the palace of the demon whose ancestor massacred those who practiced it.
And I think I know why.
I take a breath, readying myself to ask her. But before I can say anything, Wren crosses the distance between us. Without a word, she reaches back and releases the sash round her waist.
I splash back, gaping at her. “What—what are you doing?”
“There are some things about myself I can’t tell you,” she interrupts, quiet and fierce, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give myself to you. I’m always truthful to you in here, Lei.” Her fingers hover over her heart. Then, holding the collar of her robes, she draws them off her shoulders and lets them drop to the floor in a cascade of silky fabric.
Wren’s body is so different from the other girls. Lives of luxury have kept their figures soft, but hers is muscled and strong. Beautiful and dangerous. My eyes travel over her long, elegant neck; her wide shoulders; the deep shadow down the center of her chest, a line I long to follow with my tongue.
I return my gaze to her shining face. “Wren,” I begin, but she shakes her head.
Slowly, not taking her eyes off mine, she climbs into the tub. As she slides down in front of me, water rolls over the edges and up to my neck in a warm wave that reminds me afresh that Wren isn’t the only one who’s naked.
I shrink back. “We—we can’t do this. Not here. Someone could see.”
“They’re all sleeping.” Her voice is husky. Low. Wet fingertips lift to my cheek. “Don’t worry, no one can see through the steam. We’ll hear them coming anyway.” She moves closer, her breath hot against my face. Something more than desire shimmers in her eyes, some tender vulnerability that is betrayed in her voice as she goes on, “Last night I could have lost you.”
The steam lifting from the water swirls around us, a soft cocoon.
“You saved me, Wren,” I whisper. “Aoki, too. You got us out safely. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you last night. It’s just—”
“I know.”
“I was shocked.”
“I know.”