Page 49
He nods, his eyes bright as they meet mine. We’re a pair of schemers, thriving on the plotting.
“What if I need to defend myself against the general? What if… I’m not fast enough.”
“Let me see how you fight,” Jin suggests. “Name a prize. If you can take it, it’s yours.”
I study his brocade robe, the ornaments by his waist, then point at his pouch that sags with coin. Before he even nods, I snatch at it—yet Jin steps deftly out of reach. As I move toward him, he keeps his distance. The moment he stills, I lunge at him—but he twists aside, one foot circling the other in an intricate pattern until I’m weaving to catch my balance.
My face is flushed as I sweep the loose hair from my face. “Why can’t you climb the tower? You’re quick enough.”
“I’d be useless up there; such heights make me uneasy,” he admits.
I lunge at him, but he throws an arm up to block me. As my leg slams into his, he staggers beneath the impact. We teeter—then fall—his arm circling my waist as he rolls under me, his body bearing the brunt of our crash. I land against him, an elbow digging into his gut, trying not to think of how warm he feels, how quickly my heart is pounding. I reach for his pouch but his hand snaps around my wrist, holding me fast—then captures my other, clasping them behind my back, flipping me around till I’m trapped beneath him. Anger simmers, along with a growing awareness of his body pressed to mine. Our faces are so close, my reflection looks back at me from his pupils.
Frustration swells, an idea forming. As I part my lips, Jin’s gaze flicks toward them, his throat convulsing. Eager to win, I smile, raising my face to his. He blinks, hesitating—does he think I’m about to kiss him? I almost laugh as I wrench free of his hold, seizing the pouch from him as I roll aside. He stares at me, his mouth arching into a slow smile. Heat sparks. I want to tease it, to see how bright it can flare.
As he rolls off me, I straighten my skirt, tangled between my legs. My chest rises and falls unevenly as I stand, the pouch in my hand. “I won,” I declare with a surge of triumph.
“You did.” His voice sounds hoarse, as he clears it. “I’d rather you not try that tactic with General Xilu.”
The back of my neck reddens. “I wouldn’t want to.”
“You did well. Your move was certainly unexpected.”
“General Xilu isn’t you. He would’ve slammed my head against the floor and cracked a few of my ribs.”
“He will treat you a lot rougher,” Jin agrees. “You need to stay out of reach; you can’t let him catch you.”
His hand draws a lock of hair behind my ear. When Prince Zixin did this before, it had rankled like a mark of ownership. Now, a tremor glides through me, a flicker of loss when he pulls away.
“I must go to Lord Chao. Can you find your way back?” he asks.
“Yes.”
As he turns and strides away, I stare after him until he’s vanished between the trees. My discovery hovers in my mind: the creature in the forge, that strange light spilling forth. Magic that doesn’t belong to the Iron Mountains… yet is it Thorn Valley’s? I owe Jin nothing yet, so why does my silence feel like betrayal?
But we’ve struck a deal. I have to look out for myself; I won’t give him anything until he’s fulfilled his promise to me. The real danger in making deals like ours is if one starts wanting more than what’s offered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
C louds blot the skies, the scent of rain sharp in the air. Shadows crawl over the stone floor, cast by the jagged ridge of mountains ringing this place. Their slopes glitter beneath the wavering light, traces of the precious metal mined in their depths. If only the iron didn’t exist. Our treasury would be empty, but such wealth never trickled down to the rest of us anyway.
The main square in the palace has been transformed for the tournament. Red canopies shield the guests from the changeable weather, over a hundred of them dressed in their finest, waiting to be entertained by the spill of blood. The tower of bamboo and iron rears above the stone dragon in the square, its surrounding waters glinting darkly, a reflection of the skies. Prince Zixin sits on a raised platform, his white robe embroidered with dragons, sapphires studding their eyes.
His gaze sweeps the crowd restlessly. Over the last few days I’ve continued the pretense of illness to avoid him, channeling my efforts into anything that might help me stay alive. Jin helped me gather the peonies that were tossed out after the banquet. In the quiet of my room, I experimented with the flowers, distilling their essence into a small bottle tucked in my sash. Each night, I climbed over my courtyard wall, heading here to study the tower—planning my path, practicing on the tiers after the guards and workers had left for the night.
Already, I’m wishing this were over. I stand in a far corner, concealed within a grove of cypresses, my stomach roiling. Once I step forward, life will irrevocably change, forging a path into the wilderness. My mind lingers on the comforts I’m forsaking, those that tempted me once, those I want still. As the shadow of death creeps closer, fear floods me that I’ve chosen wrong… that I’m going to die. But it’s not too late; I can still slip back through the trees, leave Thorn Valley without a champion. Once I tell Prince Zixin the truth about my ring, he will return it, he won’t let me die. I’ll just have to pay his price, trapped in a different kind of servitude from that to Mistress Henglan—one that will last till the end of my days.
I straighten, my resolve hardening once more. The prince will have to procure himself another living ornament.
Courtiers gather around the square, those more fortunate beneath a canopy. Princess Chunlei sits beside her brother, Jin on his other side, attending in Lord Chao’s place. His fitted black robe is draped over a pair of long pants. He’s not dressed in the flowing garb of the Iron Mountains today, a stark reminder he’s not bound by their rules. Despite his inscrutable expression, tension radiates from him.
As the guests watch the battling warriors from the Iron Mountains, attendants wind among them, pouring wine into cups, refilling plates of sweetmeats, honeyed walnuts, and osmanthus cakes. It appears a festival, if not for the groans puncturing the serenity, the hot scent of blood slicing the air. Soon, I will join them—my insides clenching at the thought. Though the first part of the tournament is almost over, the remnants of violence remain. Warriors stumble to their feet, their armor darkly stained, their flesh split, still bleeding. Shoulders slump, faces twisted, those with more grievous wounds unable to rise from where they fell.
More than anticipated showed up to challenge the general. I cheered each on silently, wondering if Princess Chunlei sent some of the contestants to weaken him. Maybe between us all, we’d carve a weakness in General Xilu. He’d fought with almost inhuman endurance, his bloodlust seeming to rise the more he spilled.
At last, General Xilu is declared the victor of the Iron Mountains, his soldiers cheering enthusiastically. Sweat streaks from under his helmet, blood trickling from a shallow cut in his arm, a jagged scratch along his cheek. His chest rises and falls heavily, his forehead creased. Good that he’s tired, even a little angry.
I look up at the tower, my mouth going dry. Six tiers in all, a precarious path of smooth poles and spindly ladders, the corners gleaming where they’re welded with iron. At the highest point, a jade tablet dangles, tied in place with a cluster of red ribbon.
