Page 62
The barriers I built against him waver; it’s like there’s only us here, right now. “Thank you,” I tell him haltingly. “For earlier, for not letting go.”
“I won’t ever let go, unless you want me to.”
The way he looks at me, the light in his eyes… a warmth pools low inside me. While I’m good at burying my emotions, they still tease and tug within, pulling me to the edge, tempting me to fall. Words hover in my mouth—honest ones. But then, Captain Hong calls out to Jin, and as he moves away, just the silence remains, leaden with regret.
The skies are burnished with the dying rays of the sun as we lead the horses toward the tower, across a stone bridge that arches over a gorge. The ascent was steep, though more unnerving was the quiet, seething with dread—no sign of the other warriors, just the rustle of the wind as it wraps around us.
The courtyard around the tower is ringed by a crumbling stone wall, overgrown by roses. Its entrance is crafted of yellowish wood, a large copper ring nailed in the middle. Strange marks are etched over the door in unfamiliar patterns.
“What are these?” I ask.
Jin’s eyes narrow as he inspects them. “The tower is warded against the use of outside magic.”
My insides curl, yet this makes little difference to us. As Jin grasps the metal ring and pushes hard—the door creaks, swinging ajar. A cloying scent like roses and cinnamon slithers through. Jin enters first, then the other soldiers. I follow swiftly after, only because it’s worse being alone on the other side.
It’s eerily calm within, tranquil and terrifying. A brass censer is set in the middle of the courtyard, crammed with incense sticks, darker and thicker than those burning in the temples of the Iron Mountains. Trees flank the pathway, roses blooming in vivid shades, climbing up the walls. Statues are scattered across the grounds, exquisitely sculpted of a shimmering, opaque material.
The door swings shut with a sudden thud. There is no copper ring on this side, no way to pry it open. From inside, the walls seem to loom higher, the thorns on the roses glistening. One of the soldiers rushes to the wall, trying to scramble up. Jin shouts a warning but it’s too late—the vines rearing up to trap the soldier, winding around him. His mouth opens in a half-formed cry as Jin, Captain Hong, and the others try to yank him free. Light erupts, an unseen force flinging them back. As the vines coil tighter around the soldier, his head falls to one side, his eyes closing like two bruised hollows.
Jin examines the trapped soldier, careful to avoid the roses. “He’s asleep, not dead.” Relief pulses in his voice. “But we can’t cut him free yet. Something here prevents us from touching the vines.”
Above the incense burner, a giant lantern flares to life, illuminating the courtyard. Music rises, a haunting melody from an unseen lute, as mist winds between the trees like the shadows of ghosts. With the path behind us sealed, we can only go forward.
The light from the lantern is almost dazzling. As I look away from it, I almost collide with a statue of a stocky man. The stone possesses a strange sheen, the glassy eyes as black as onyx. Each detail is exquisitely sculpted, from the furrowed brows to the pockmarks on his face, his features almost familiar—his hand on the hilt of a sword, half-drawn as though anticipating danger.
The captain from the Amber Forest. Dread grips me as I stumble away, staring at the other statues. Just ahead is General Suilan from the Pearl Ocean, her mouth curled as she draws her bow. Closer to the tower, more frozen forms crowd the grounds—not statues, but people, flesh and blood turned to stone. Terror clogs my veins as a bitter coldness glazes my limbs—
I look down, my heart almost stopping. An eerie shimmer creeps over me, climbing up my feet, glistening like ice. It locks me into place; I can’t run or move. Cries ring out from Captain Hong and Deng, the other Thorn Valley soldiers. My own scream spills from my throat. We are being turned to statues—even Jin. Our horses neigh, their ears pressed back as they bolt away, galloping to the other side of the tower.
Fear is salt on my tongue, ice in my breath as the numbness spreads across my ankles, climbing up my calves. My mind clouds, a strange lethargy descending over me. Jin’s jaw is clenched, his hands twitching by his sides—already half-frozen over.
This magic is nothing like the flowers circling Little Dragon’s pond; it is wicked, monstrous, and vicious. All around, the music swells and undulates, no longer plaintive and clear but a roiling tempest of fury. Could this be weaving the spell? The cold climbs to my waist, but I rip out the hat from my sleeve, shoving it over my head. As it muffles the song, my mind clears—warmth sliding back into my limbs, the shimmering thawing like frost.
“Cover your ears!” My voice emerges as a croak; no one can hear me.
The moment I’m free, I rush to Jin, the enchantment creeping relentlessly over his chest, crawling up his neck. I grab his hat, ramming it onto his head, pressing it to his ears until the sheen fades from his skin.
“Thank you,” he says hoarsely, already swinging to his soldiers to help them—but it’s too late, their bodies and faces gleaming like polished stone. Remorse stabs me. I couldn’t save them all; I chose him first.
Jin lifts his palm to the mouth of the nearest soldier. “He’s alive.”
I dart to the Pearl Ocean warrior, raising my hand to her lips. A sliver of warmth glazes my skin. “She’s alive too, and they’ve been here far longer than us.”
“We must find a way into the tower.” Jin’s voice is low with fury. “We must break the spell.”
The music ends abruptly, the strings snapped in a discordant twang. “Congratulations,” a clear voice rings out, neither high nor low. “You have come farther than the rest. Now what do you intend? My head on a stake for the duke?” The last words are spoken scathingly.
Jin bows low, his face concealed by the hat. “Honored Sir, we have no such intention. We are messengers, sent by Duke Yuan, bearing a gift.”
I hold out the pouch from the duke, dangling from its cord, careful not to touch the herb-soaked cloth. “Duke Yuan is keen to reopen negotiations with you. He asks what terms you desire for the safe return of his daughter.”
“His daughter?” The voice turns mocking. “The duke’s earlier demands, much more rudely phrased, were for the return of a certain treasure.”
“He’s had a change of heart,” Jin replies.
Silence falls. “Approach, messengers.”
The great lantern goes out, darkness descending. Within the tower, light flickers like a passageway has been opened. A tall figure appears in the doorway wearing a long green robe, a hood drawn over his head. My heart thuds unevenly—we just need to get close enough to strike.
