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Another cry rings out, entwined with the dragon’s—Dian’s, her hands thrust through her hair. The prince’s knife drops, clattering upon the ground. Blood scatters along the dragon’s golden scales, fire flecked with iridescence, trickling over the pair of starfire in the crown. The Sun Dragon’s eyes glow—bone white—as he crumples in Prince Zixin’s hand. I’m crying, bitter tears of impotence and rage, unraveling with fear that doing nothing might be the worst outcome of all.
Dazzling light envelops the crown, the guests shielding their eyes. The cries and murmurs of unease are louder now—yet they fade when the soldiers draw closer. The dragon’s blood doesn’t slide over the starfire but thickens and congeals as it seeps into the stones like ink into snow, turning it a deep, dark red. They glitter, their edges blurring—as they merge into each other… forming a single jewel, a larger one—its radiance incandescent.
The Sun Dragon lies still, his eyes closed, his blood continuing to flow unhindered. An attendant rushes forward to hold a porcelain bowl beneath to catch the blood.
“He trusted me. I betrayed him,” Prince Zixin says in a low voice, yet remorse is meaningless after what he’s done.
“It’s what your father would have wanted,” the chief attendant says steadily. “This is the only way to secure our kingdom’s future when our enemies are so powerful, when our allies envy our might. We must become greater than them all, to destroy those who threaten us.”
The prince stares at the dragon cupped in his hands. “Chief Attendant Mai, the advisors claimed just a drop of the dragon’s blood was needed to fuse the starfire pieces together. Why is the wound worsening?” He glares at the chief attendant as he asks, “What did you do to the knife?”
Sudden cries ring out from beyond the Grand Hall, blades colliding in sharp scrapes. Soldiers stream in from outside, weapons drawn as they charge at the palace guards. Their armor is the same as those of the Iron Mountains’, yet disks of coppery metal gleam at their breastplates.
“Secure His Highness’s safety!” a soldier cries out, more of the prince’s guards rushing toward the dais. “We’ve been betrayed!”
I duck away from the distracted soldiers, searching for Dian and Ruilin, pushed to the side of the hall by the fleeing crowd. My sister is hunched from strain, yet her eyes shine—like me, she scents opportunity in chaos. Courtiers shove their way to the entrance, each keen for their survival. But more rogue soldiers surround the hall, allowing none through.
I move toward Prince Zixin. He seems to care for the dragon too, though it didn’t stop him. “Let the dragon go,” I say urgently.
“No.”
His soldiers have formed a ring around us, battling the attackers. Princess Chunlei lifts her long skirt, hurrying up the dais. But too many guards—both friend and enemy—block her path, her face contorting with worry. No one can reach the prince now… except me. His bride.
My hand tightens around the hilt of the dagger, almost trembling. This isn’t like fighting the assassins to defend myself. Those were strangers, while Prince Zixin is the ruler of the Iron Mountains. I’m teetering on the brink of madness, of danger and ruin… yet this is our only chance—now, while his guards are diverted. I spin around, drawing the dagger. It flashes in the air—its tip landing at the hollow of the prince’s throat. When he recoils, I press the blade down harder, piercing his skin.
“What are you doing?” Prince Zixin’s voice is sharp with anger, with shock.
“You asked me once what I did in the mountains,” I say coldly, like how Dian used to speak to me. “I hunted animals for food, I killed them for meat.”
His body stiffens, his eyes flaring wide. “What do you want?”
“Release the dragon and let us go.” I add, “I will hurt you, if I must.”
Something flickers in his gaze. “You already have.”
My chest twinges though he is the villain. He’s trembling and sweating like he’s sick, a thin trail of darkness seeping through the cloth over his chest… Is it blood? Images flash through my mind: the dragon nestled in the prince’s palm, the knife descending to cut it. Of red berries floating in a cup, rolling on the ground, the pins in the princess’s hair, the jeweled dagger on my table that’s now in my grasp. As I inhale sharply, the delicate sweetness of chrysanthemums hits the back of my throat. The flowers of death.
What should I do? I had asked the princess—afraid, uncertain. Desperate.
What you must.
I raise the dagger swiftly and thrust it deep.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
E veryone stills, the battling soldiers breaking away to stare at me—united, briefly, in shock. The chief attendant’s face twists with rage as Princess Chunlei pushes past the guards to reach us, her eyes wide with horror.
The tip of my blade is pressed not against Prince Zixin’s throat—but the starfire in the crown, glittering with crimson fire. No one moves toward me, afraid I’ll damage it. The stone is impenetrably hard, but I grind the dagger down with all my force, almost slipping against the dragon’s blood—until, at last, something gives way, a tiny nick forming where the tip of my weapon is buried. Triumph surges, but then the starfire abruptly hardens, the red fading from it, turning a harsh glittering white once more.
As more soldiers close around me, I scoop the crown up, my other hand still holding the dagger over it. “I’ve already cracked your precious starfire. Any closer and I’ll destroy it.” While I can’t, I don’t think they’ll risk it.
“Fall back,” Princess Chunlei commands as the prince remains silent, still staring at me, his hand pressed to his neck where I’d cut him.
“Why?” he rasps. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
“Because you aren’t the only monster here.” I swing to Princess Chunlei. “You planned this. You didn’t leave the dagger in my room by chance. You wanted me to take it… to kill your brother.”
Gasps erupt from those close enough to hear, though the chief attendant remains expressionless. Prince Zixin laughs in disbelief. “My sister would never do that.” Yet as he faces her, she doesn’t deny it.
