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I t feels like I’ve only slept a few minutes when I’m shaken awake, my eyes cracking open to the brightness of day. As Dian crouches beside me, holding out a cup of water and a piece of bread, Jin leads the horses toward us.

“It’s several days’ ride to the Iron Mountains. We don’t have time to waste,” he says. “There is an urgency with the imminent coronation. Everything could change once Prince Zixin wears the crown. He will claim his father’s starfire and seek to unite the shards.”

“Do they know how?” I ask.

“They might have found a way,” Jin replies. “It’s why he’s intent on gathering the pieces.”

“I don’t want to go to the Iron Mountains.” Ruilin’s arms are folded across her chest. “Dian told me what happened last night. Could I wait elsewhere? What if Prince Zixin returns me to my father? If I don’t have the starfire, he’ll be furious—he’ll punish me.”

“We need you.” Jin’s calm tone is the one he used to persuade me to challenge General Xilu on the tower. “Your presence allows us to return to the palace secure in our victory, with His Highness’s favor. Stay for a few days, and I’ll get you to safety.”

“Will you be there?” Ruilin asks Dian.

“I can’t enter the palace; they’ll detect my magic. But I’ll be close. If there’s any sign of danger, I will come for you,” she assures her.

Ruilin hesitates, then nods. “I will go.”

I take a long drink of water, chewing the stale bread. “We must find the Sun Dragon too.” Guilt pierces me for leaving him there.

“We will,” Jin agrees.

“What about the starfire?” Dian taps her pouch, its strings retied to her waist.

“We can’t bring it to the Palace of Nine Hills,” Jin says. “You must keep it, Dian; you can best protect it. We’ll tell His Highness that the starfire is with Duke Yuan, as he expects. Even if he sends a messenger to the duke, it will be a while before he learns otherwise—hopefully enough time for us to find the ring and dragon, and escape.”

It feels impossible. Part of me wishes I had the starfire; it’s not easy to relinquish the one thing that can save my life. But I understand now why it must be kept out of the prince’s hands.

“Dian, do you want to return to Mist Island first, to bring the starfire to the Elders?” Jin suggests.

“No.” Her refusal is swift. “I can’t enter the palace, but I’m not leaving without my sister and Ruilin.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jin says grimly. “We ride to the Palace of Nine Hills.”

The lush meadows and golden trees of the Amber Forest are left far behind after four days of hard riding. Looming ahead are the jagged peaks of the Iron Mountains, and I sense the moment we cross the border—even without noticing how the grass grows more sparsely, the ground turning rockier, the coolness sharpening. It’s the faint metallic tinge in the air that I discern more keenly after this time away. The first breath of it pierces my lungs, dread slithering over me. There is no joy to being back.

As the sun sinks low, the mountains cast long shadows over the earth. Wind rustles the leaves in a familiar rhythm, the sight of the trees stirring my memories. An urge rises to visit my old house, but too many bitter recollections are braided with those cherished. They need time to settle before I can pick them apart. But there is another place that calls to me, one that isn’t my home.

“I need to stop somewhere,” I tell the others.

“Do we have time?” Jin’s gaze drops to my hand, a habit he’s formed since learning about my ring.

“It’s just a short detour from the palace.”

I lead the way, turning from the main path into the bamboo forest—the same one I passed through after my first encounter with Jin. As we ride by the grove of pear trees, the scent grows sickly sweet with the fruit rotting on the branches, many half-eaten by birds.

“Where are we going?” Dian calls out.

“To pay my respects to my aunt and uncle.” I glance at her. “You don’t have to come.”

A pause. “I want to. They looked after you when we couldn’t.”

We dismount from the horses and tie them outside the cemetery, a short walk from the pond. Tombstones dot the small hill, the grass almost as tall as the stone markers—those buried here in the wild can’t afford to pay a caretaker.

I shiver, cold inside and out; I haven’t felt warm since crossing the border. Jin unfastens his cloak, draping it around me, clasping it at my throat. As his fingers brush the hollow of my neck, our eyes lock. I’m not used to being cared for this way. Even in the Palace of Nine Hills, Prince Zixin’s considerations were usually performed by his attendants or guards.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“You thank me for such small things.”