Chapter 15

Ying steeped in the hot bathwater, forcing herself to stay awake even though she was bone-weary. Steam filled the entire room, yet it still wasn't enough to dispel the cold from inside her. She sneezed three times in quick succession, rubbing her sore nose ruefully after that.

Ye-yang's guards had arrived shortly after they resurfaced, and they were both sent swiftly back to the fourth beile's manor, wrapped in several blankets. She was grateful for the cover of the thick wool layers, which she used to hide her drenched form and half her face, in case anyone realized Aihui Min looked suspiciously like a girl.

The beile was immediately attended to by physicians, his wounds having only been loosely bandaged for the journey back. As for Ying, the chief steward had offered to send a physician to assess her condition, but she rejected it, asking only for a warm bath and a dry set of clothes.

The memory of the assassin's murderous stare before he charged at her with his sword kept invading her mind, reminding her of how lucky she was to still be alive. Now that she had time to gather her thoughts, one question kept prodding about in her mind: Were those assassins after Ye-yang—or her?

Her fingers ran along the grooves of the jade pendant around her neck. Thankfully she had decided to leave her father's journal locked in the dormitory, else it would have been destroyed in the water. She had been worried about wandering all over the capital carrying something so important with her, in case the scarred assassin took the opportunity to attack again while she was outside guild walls, so she had locked it at the base of her trunk, buried beneath a thick pile of clothing and books. Since he had already ransacked her dormitory, she thought it unlikely that he would return to search it again.

She slid out of the water and stepped out of the wooden tub. After putting on the fresh set of clothes and braiding her hair in the usual men's style, pulled through a cloth band around the back of her head, she left the bathing quarters and headed over to Ye-yang's room.

It was the wee hours of the morning, but the fourth beile's manor was bustling with activity. Attendants rushed in and out of their master's quarters, entering with bronze basins of clean water but leaving with those same basins tainted with the reddish-black shade of blood.

"How is the fourth beile?" Ying asked one of the harried servants who had just exited the room. She stared down at the basin he was carrying, horrified by the bloodstained cloths that were hanging off the sides. The acute fear that she had felt while dragging Ye-yang through the freezing waters of the canal, the fear of possibly losing him so abruptly—just as she had lost her father—came flooding back.

The man shrugged his shoulders and rushed off.

Ying stepped across the threshold and entered the room. The pungent smell of medicinal herbs stung her nostrils, mixed with the slight metallic odor of blood. Her footsteps slowed. Qorchi and Nergui were standing in one corner with their heads bowed, conversing in low, hushed voices. When Nergui saw her standing by the doorway, he frowned.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"How is he?" Ying repeated, craning her neck to get a glimpse of the inner chamber where Ye-yang was. "What did the physicians say? Are his injuries serious?"

"The beile is still unconscious," Qorchi replied sullenly. "The physicians say tonight is the critical period. If he tides it through, then it'll just be a matter of letting the wounds heal. If not, then…"

"You have no right to be asking these questions," Nergui said shrilly. He dismissed all the other servants, then marched over to her with his hands on his hips, narrow face flushed with anger. "I saw what happened on the boat. If it weren't for you, the beile wouldn't have suffered such severe injuries!" He spun around and faced Qorchi. "Why did you even let him in? You should have sent him right back to the guild and told the masters to give him fifty lashings!"

"He did save the beile from drowning," Qorchi muttered.

Nergui grabbed Ying by the arm and started dragging her out, but he had underestimated Ying's stubborn streak. She dropped to her knees, refusing to budge.

"Please, I know it's my fault. Let me make amends. Let me stay. I can keep watch tonight," she pleaded.

"Who do you think you are? You're just a stray that the beile brought home!" Nergui scolded, his face flushing purple with rage. "Perhaps the beile's charity has made you misunderstand your position in the hierarchy. This is Fei, not whatever shoddy backwater you came from. There is no place in the fourth beile's manor for a nobody like you—is that clear?"

Ying shifted her gaze to stare down at her fingers, and at the coarse cotton fabric of her sleeves. "I know," she said, though she made no attempt to stand up or leave. "I have no intentions of overstepping my boundaries. I only want to repay the fourth beile for the debt I owe him. Please." She kowtowed three times, her forehead rapping sharply against the lacquered floorboards.

"Let him stay," Qorchi interrupted, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "Before the beile lost consciousness, he did say that he wanted to speak to the boy, remember?"

"No one was asking you for your opinion," Nergui hissed. He took another glance at Ying, then stormed out of the room in an angry huff.

Qorchi sighed, beckoning for Ying to stand. "What Nergui said was not wrong," he said. "The fourth beile's situation within the Aogiya High Command isn't as rosy as it may seem, as you may already have gathered after what happened tonight. He faces enemies on all fronts, and it is a precarious balancing act that he tries to keep up. He cannot afford to have any weaknesses, but—" Qorchi paused and stared at Ying for a moment, then he shook his head and let out another deep sigh. "I have looked after the beile since he was a child, and I know him well enough to see that he behaves differently around you. I'm not sure that's a good thing, to be honest." He waved her toward the inner chamber. "Get the servants to fetch me if the beile's condition takes a turn for the worse. The physician said we must try to keep his temperature down, else it could get critical." Lifting the hem of his robe, the steward stepped across the threshold and left.

Ying headed to the inner chamber, taking care not to interrupt the silence with her footsteps. All the windows of the room were tightly shut, keeping out the chilly draft, and bronze burners stood at each corner like stoic sentries watching over their master, basking the space in a comfortable warmth. The light gauze curtains hanging from the fourth beile's bed frame were drawn, and as she went closer she could make out the silhouette of the man lying perfectly still on the bed.

She lifted the curtain gingerly.

Ye-yang was on his chest, head tilted to the side and resting against a silk-covered pillow. A thick layer of white bandage was wrapped across his bare torso. The smell of herbs was overpowering, and she could only imagine the potency of the herbal paste that the physicians had applied to stem the bleeding and numb the pain.

Ying bit down hard on her lip as she looked down upon Ye-yang's ashen face. Even in his unconscious state he wore a frown between his brows, the tiny movements of his eyes beneath their lids betraying the deep unease that gripped him from within.

She placed a palm on his forehead, quickly pulling it back when she felt its heat.

Ying reached for the basin that had been left on the table by the attendants. She dipped a piece of cloth in the cold water and wrung it dry before placing it gently upon Ye-yang's brow. She spent much of the night repeating this over and over, diligently trying to keep his fever at bay, until eventually she could not help but succumb to her own exhaustion. She sank to the floor, head resting against the side of Ye-yang's bedframe.

But sleep was restless for her, her mind choosing to relive fractured fragments of the night's events—the masked assassins, the menacing gleam from the arrowheads and swords, the flames from the boat and the freezing dark waters of the canal, Ye-yang lying in a pool of ever-flowing blood, like her father once had.

Ying jolted awake, dream and reality tangled in a frenzied mess inside her head. Someone squeezed her hand gently, reassuringly, bringing her back to the real world. A pair of concerned eyes were staring at her, their owner sitting up in his bed, robes secured around his waist. Ye-yang.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around his neck. Ye-yang cleared his throat awkwardly, and she quickly let go. She flushed, the relief at his regaining consciousness overshadowed by embarrassment at her own overreaction. "How do you feel? Does it still hurt? What am I talking about, of course it hurts, I should get the physician, or Qorchi, or—" She stood up to rush away, but Ye-yang tightened his grip on her hand, preventing her from going anywhere.

He shook his head. "There's no need. I'm fine," he said.

Ye-yang's face was still pallid, but his eyes had regained a semblance of their usual intensity and energy, and his lips curved upward in a tiny smile. He glanced briefly at his hand wrapped around hers, then he pulled her back down so she was sitting beside him.

This time, Ying didn't shy away from his touch, even as the slight coldness of his fingertips sent a small shudder through her. Life was too fragile, too short, for skirting around her own feelings. Even if she knew that moments like these were only fleeting, that there was no place for her here, as Nergui had said, she still wanted to hold on to each memory of him that she was fortunate enough to have.

"Thank you for what you did back there," he said softly. "You didn't have to save me. You should have just saved yourself. Withstanding that cold is not something that many would have been able to do."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have fallen in in the first place. You didn't have to save me," Ying mumbled. Qorchi's words floated back to mind, about how Ye-yang treated her differently. If he hadn't shielded her from the blast, he would have come out of the attack unscathed. She was a liability to him. She looked up at his pale countenance, guilt turning cartwheels inside her.

Ye-yang removed the jade ring he always wore on his index finger, slipping it carefully onto hers. "You've seen me use this. The mechanism is here." He put pressure on an inconspicuous engraving of a serpent on the mottled jade surface, and a narrow silver blade slid out from within, its segments clicking rhythmically into place. "And if you want to retract it"—he rotated the ring a hundred and eighty degrees around, revealing another tiny engraving, this time of an eagle—"press this one. Got it?"

"Why are you giving this to me?" Ying asked, surprised—and touched—by his gift. She had never seen Ye-yang without the ring, so it had to be important to him. For him to be giving it to her—did it mean that she was even more important?

"I'll be away from the capital for some time. If you ever encounter any trouble, it won't hurt to have this with you." He looked away, then back at her pointedly. "For self-defense, not for picking fights with the other candidates."

"You're still going to Fu-li." Ying's expression darkened.

Ye-yang nodded. "Someone is hoping that I won't be able to show up," he said. "Can't let them have that victory."

"You think that the attack was from one of the other beiles?" Ying asked hesitantly.

Because what if it wasn't—what if those men were after me and my father's journal, and you were only in the wrong place at the wrong time?

"Erden probably had a hand in it, yes. Maybe Ye-han. I doubt Ye-lu would be foolish enough to attempt an assassination in the capital, but he'd be more than happy to get rid of one competitor. My father's favor has made me a threat to their ambitions, and putting me in charge of Fu-li has likely ruffled many feathers." Ye-yang paused, looking down at the jade ring that was now sitting on Ying's finger, and her hand that was still sitting in his.

"Why don't you just let the second beile go? Fu-li is the gate to the Empire. There'll be enemies on all sides. You could die out there."

"Ying, do you know what's worse than dying?" Ye-yang looked at her silently for a moment, then sighed. "It's when you lead a life worse than death. Without freedom, without choice, without dignity." His eyes glazed over, as if he were looking through her to someplace distant. "Ye-lin would probably have chosen death, had he been given a choice."

"That's bullshit. If you're dead, then it's all over. If you stay alive, at least you have a fighting chance. Dying is only an excuse to run away. Dying is for cowards. Aogiya Ye-yang, I didn't save your life just so you can throw it away," she warned. She had already come close to losing him once. She didn't want to go through that again.

Everyone treated death too carelessly, but to Ying, dying was the easy way out. An excuse to run away from responsibility. Her mother, her father, they had given up too easily. If only they had clung on to life a little harder, willed themselves to breathe a little longer, maybe everything would be different.

Ye-yang smiled when he heard his name leave her lips, a hint of color returning to his cheeks. "Of course, you're right," he said. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon, even though there are those who want me to." He looked down at their entwined fingers, gently stroking the back of her index finger with his. There was a wistfulness in his touch, as if he longed to hang on to this moment a little—just as she did. Eventually, he let go and got up from the bed slowly, walking toward the window.

Ying stared at the outline of his silhouette as he stood there looking out the window with his hands resting against his back, deep in thought. She wished that she could see the map in his mind. She wanted to know where he was headed—and if maybe, just maybe, there might be a place for her on this lonely journey he was on.

Someone snapped his fingers repeatedly in front of Ying's eyes. She swatted at the pesky fly, eyes still focused on the half-finished sketch she had been working on instead of listening to the dull lecture on kaen gas mining.

Six petals fanning out to form a concentric circle.

It was the day after Ye-yang and the bannermen had left for Fu-li. After leaving the beile's manor the morning after the assassination attempt, Ying hadn't seen him again. To take her mind off the worry that he might never return, she had thrown all her energy into developing her latest project—the Peony.

It was an idea inspired by the mesmerizing "Dance of a Thousand Flowers" she had seen at the Red Tower. A contraption—more specifically, a weapon—modeled after a blooming peony. As much as she detested the thought of spilled blood, she knew she needed something more to defend herself with, something that could sit hidden beneath the folds of her robes until the next time any danger appeared.

"Hello." Chang-en's beaming face appeared in front of her, messy strands of hair sticking out from his sloppily tied braids. "Are you done doodling flowers? If you don't get your ass up, we're going to be late for our first Strategy class."

Ying snapped back to reality. She looked around the classroom in a daze. Everyone was gone save for Chang-en, who was squatting in front of her looking bemused. "Sorry," she said, hurriedly picking up her books.

The duo scurried toward the front gates to board the wagons that would take them to the venue for their first Strategy class—Wu Lin, the small patch of wood beyond the northeastern edge of the city that was perpetually shrouded in mist all year round. Unlike their other classes, where they had been broken into smaller groups, Strategy was to be taken as an entire cohort—all forty-one of them.

While they trundled along, the candidates buzzed enthusiastically among themselves about the mysterious Master Lianshu, who they were finally going to meet. They had already been in the guild for over two months, yet they had still not seen head nor tail of the elusive guild master. The longer this dragged on, the more ridiculous the rumors became. First, they said he had a petty feud with Gerel and thus refused to show up at any guild events out of spite; next they said he was a reclusive hermit who lived in a hidden underground cellar at a secret location within the guild compound; then he became a centenarian who was actually former Grand Master Aogiya, who had engineered the way to immortality.

It was absurd.

"Do you think he'll come flying down from the sky?"

"Or maybe he'll drill his way up from his hidden lair underground."

"Do you think he's really Grand Master Aogiya? Imagine that! I would die happy if I got to have just one lesson with him."

Chang-en snorted loudly. "Are you for real?" he snickered. "Your brains must be fried from too much studying. If Grand Master Aogiya was really alive, then old Quorin would never have gotten the chance to sit on that chair." He nudged Ying. "What do you reckon Lianshu's really like? I tried to ask my father about him, but he chased me out of the room in a huff."

"Let's just say there's a good reason why no one wants to—or can—talk about this…person," An-xi sniffled.

"You know something?" Chang-en asked, prodding An-xi with his elbow. The latter pulled a face and turned away, ending the conversation there.

The moment they passed through the city gates and out into the wilderness, the scenery drastically changed. Swirls of white mist curled around them, submerging them in a sea of fog. The thick foliage of the forest blocked out the rays of sunlight from above, plunging them into grim shadows that moved a little too ominously.

"Why are we here?" someone whispered, as if speaking loudly would awake whatever monsters lay in these woods.

That same question was probably echoing in the minds of every single candidate, including Ying. They observed the spooky surroundings warily, the prospect of the unknown striking fear into their hearts.

Their wagons finally came to a halt—in the middle of nowhere. A patch of forest that was identical to every other patch they had passed along the way, with wisps of cold mist like skeletal fingers that tickled their arms and legs.

"Excuse me," Chang-en called out to their cart driver, "do you know why we're here? Where's Master Lianshu?"

But he got no answer. Instead, once all the apprentice hopefuls had alighted, their surly drivers simply turned the wagons around and disappeared the way they came.

The last wheel had barely vanished from view when an arrow suddenly sliced through the air, almost taking Ye-kan's right ear off. It struck the trunk of a cedar tree with a thump.

"Who did that? Come out now!" the prince hollered, his face reddening with rage.

Ying's heart leapt up her throat, memories of the attacks she had faced immediately returning to her mind.

Is it him? Has he found me?

"Hey, wait, there's a note," Chang-en said. He was standing beside the arrow—the only one who was gutsy enough, or foolish enough, to do that—pointing at a small piece of parchment hanging off its shaft. He reached out and lifted it gingerly by one corner. "?‘Strategy Lesson One: Get back to the northeast city gate before the sun sets,'?" he read. "It's signed by Master Lianshu!"

Ying slumped against a tree, relief washing over her. It wasn't another attack, it was merely part of their lesson. A most unorthodox start.

"Let me see that," Ye-kan said, marching over to the arrow and ripping it out of the bark. He read the message and scowled. Surprisingly, the boy didn't kick up a fuss like everyone expected him to. Instead, he flung the arrow and note onto the grass and stormed off. "What are you all waiting for?" he grumbled. "We have less than two incense sticks worth of time before nightfall."

"Haven't we been here before?" Chang-en mused, staring up at the nondescript foliage that surrounded them.

The candidates had split themselves into smaller groups to embark on this mission. Ying had ended up with Chang-en, An-xi, and Ye-kan. Their plan had been to take a straight path in the direction that the wagons had left in, assuming that the carts must have gone back to the city. Unfortunately, it seemed that they had been presumptuous.

They had been walking for a long time, yet were nowhere close to reaching their goal. Every stretch of forest looked the same. Through the gaps in the leaves, they could see the sunlight rapidly waning as time continued ticking toward their deadline.

"Hey, what are you kids doing here?" a boorish voice shouted.

"Arban?" Chang-en scratched his head, confused when he saw burly Arban leading his crew of four others toward them. "Did you change your mind and switch directions?"

"What are you talking about? I should be asking you that question. We've been walking in a straight line all this while."

Ying frowned.

When they parted ways, Arban's group had clearly chosen to go in the opposite direction from them, so how was it possible that they were meeting up if both groups insisted they had been going straight?

She raised her head and studied the rustling leaves, listening carefully for any sounds, any clues that might explain how they ended up in this situation.

"Min, what do you think—"

"Shh!" She pushed a finger against Chang-en's lips, shutting him up.

There in the background was a soft rush of water, like a river or a waterfall—or the opening of a sluice gate at the hour of dusk.

The water level near the northeast of the capital city was controlled by a large gate made of tarnished bronze. On rainy days, the gate would be lifted by thick, metal chains—like a rising guillotine—opening a gaping mouth in the city walls that would allow excess water to flow out of the canal and toward the open sea.

She pressed her ear against the damp ground, listening closely.

"Aihui Min, what are you doing?" Arban demanded.

"The mist in this forest is playing with our perception, giving us a wrong sense of direction. We think we've been walking in straight lines, but we've likely been going in circles instead," Ying explained, straightening back up. She pointed to her left. "I think we should go this way. I can hear the sounds of water coming through the city's sluice gates from that direction, so if we keep following it, we should emerge out of the forest eventually."

"Why should we listen to you!" Arban shouted.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

A buzzing sound interrupted their argument, getting louder with each passing moment.

"What's that?" An-xi asked, trembling. His dimunitive frame shrank as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

Right on cue, a dark cloud appeared between the trees, growing larger as it drew close. Bees. Each one the size of an eyeball, their golden bodies glinting dangerously each time they passed through a rare beam of fading sunlight.

"Run!" Chang-en screamed.

Bees? On Fei?

Bees were almost never seen on the Antaran isles because of their wintry climate. The only time Ying had seen actual bees was in the greenhouse of a wealthy Kamar merchant, who managed to rear the fussy creatures using large, steam-driven boilers to keep them warm.

As the buzzing got louder and louder, all of them took off sprinting away from the rapidly advancing swarm, toward the direction Ying had pointed out.

"They're gaining on us," someone yelled.

"Abka Han save us, we're going to die!"

"Ah! My arm!" another exclaimed, clutching his upper arm after being stung by the barbed stinger.

Ying ran, but as time dragged, the strength in her legs faded away and her lack of stamina began to show. The other boys were pulling ahead, while the gap between her and the bees continued to shrink.

Ahead of her, Ye-kan suddenly stopped. He let out an exasperated groan, then turned and ran back toward her.

"What are you doing? Why—ah!"

Suddenly, Ying found herself hoisted onto Ye-kan's back, racing to catch up with the others.

"Put me down, I'll slow you down!" Ying protested.

"Don't worry, I'm keeping score of the number of life debts you owe me," the fourteenth prince replied between ragged breaths. Despite carrying Ying on his back, he still managed to keep pace with the rest.

Clinging on to his broad shoulders, it struck Ying for the first time that Ye-kan really wasn't a child anymore—and if they survived this, that she should probably stop treating him like one.

Thankfully, they didn't have much farther to go. Light was coming faster—the woods were thinning. A moment later, the group emerged from the frosty woods, and the river, sluice gate, and city walls appeared before their eyes. Everyone dashed for the water and leapt in.

Holding their breaths in the icy water, they kept a watchful eye on the surface, praying that the bees would go away. A large shadow passed overhead, then disappeared.

When they were certain that the bees were gone, Chang-en signaled to everyone to surface.

"Are they really g-g-gone?"

"It's so cold. I'm going to get hypothermia."

"I got stung by those things. Do you think they're poisonous?"

The bunch of them clambered onto the riverbank, collapsing with relief despite their shivering bodies and chattering teeth. Above them, the last vestiges of sunlight faded from the sky and day transitioned into night.

Their moment of respite was interrupted by slow clapping, and they turned to find a petite figure perched on a large rock, clad in the maroon robes of the guild.

"You?" Ying gasped, staring in disbelief.