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Jin’s hands linger, his touch warming me more than the cloak. His throat convulses like he’s about to say something—but then Dian calls out, and the moment is broken.

Jin and Ruilin wait at the foot of the hill while Dian and I make our way up the grass-trodden path. The calm here possesses an endless quality, maybe because of those slumbering eternally beneath the earth. I know this place well; I used to come here through wind and rain, my eyes blurred with tears until I couldn’t see.

I kneel at my aunt’s and uncle’s graves, Dian standing behind me. My hands are empty; I have no incense nor food offerings, just a handful of crumpled wildflowers that I lay before their wooden name plaques.

When I rise, brushing the soil from my knees, Dian asks, “Why did you want to come here today?”

“I don’t know when I’ll return. My life has forked, and every path leads away.” Except for the one that leads to death.

She lays her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t feel bad for leaving. For those we love, we carry them in our hearts. We don’t lose what matters.”

I reach up to clasp her hand. “Thank you, Sister.” The silence between us fills with many things, those words can’t form. I look toward the pond in the distance. “There is one more place I’d like to visit—the resting place of Little Dragon, the carp who brought my flower from Mother.”

She frowns. “It’s dead? Buried here?”

“My step-aunt killed it.” Even now, rage engulfs me at the memory.

Dian grips my arm. “The spirit isn’t gone. Without our abilities, you couldn’t summon or hear it in this current form. But I can—just as Mother did.”

Hope flares as I turn in the direction of Little Dragon’s resting place. “Follow me.”

The clearing where Little Dragon’s bones are buried appears undisturbed. Peace steals over me; I’d forgotten the coolness in the shade of the trees, the soothing brush of the reeds ringing the nearby pond. The crude marker I’d carved for the carp still stands, though a layer of leaves now cloaks the spot, tender shoots of grass springing forth.

Dian kneels before the wooden marker, as do I. She scatters a handful of dried flowers over the mound of soil. As the edges of their petals glow like embers, a thin wisp of smoke trails into the air, smelling like mint and cloves.

Little Dragon’s voice rings out, hollow and disjointed: You have returned… and you’ve brought others.

“My sister summoned you. I found her, Little Dragon.”

Dian bows her head. “Thank you, Honored Spirit, for helping my sister. She now knows who she truly is.”

A shuddering sigh from the spirit, one of seeming relief. Your mother forbade me to speak of this until her daughter claimed her heritage, or until I was summoned by one with her power. Now I may tell you that she was a prisoner in the Palace of Nine Hills, locked in a dark chamber. With her diminished powers, your mother summoned me—unable to call one stronger. She tasked me to find her daughter, to give her the flower that was her birthright. As payment, she surrendered the last of her magic.

I fight a burst of anger at the thought of her captivity. “Why didn’t Mother ask you to bring a message to her home? Why didn’t she try to escape?”

Your mother was dying. I couldn’t travel to her home, and her sole concern was for her children—one lost, one left behind. I sensed her sorrow. I would have done what she asked without any gift, but it was necessary to allow me to search for you.

“How did I escape from the Palace of Nine Hills?” I ask.

Your mother only said someone helped you. A friend.

I wish I knew who. All I had when my uncle found me was my ring and the handkerchief—nothing else, not even my memories. “Did she say what they did to her?” I’m afraid to know but consumed with the need to.

She didn’t speak much about herself, but I saw her wounds. They wanted the secrets she possessed, that she didn’t want to share… that sometimes, she was forced to.

Revulsion chokes me, the urge to scream, to smash something—preferably King Baoyu’s face if he weren’t already dead. Dian’s nails dig into my skin, her thoughts running the same murderous path. Though we’ve grown up in different worlds, we’re both cut from the same hard cloth, forged of strife.

The smoke from the flowers wanes, the scent fading. “We don’t have much time left,” Dian says in a low voice.

My task is ended. I am tired, the spirit says.

“Thank you, Little Dragon. I am grateful.” I bow my head, as does Dian. “If there is anything we can do—”

Before I finish speaking, the carp’s words rustle through the air. I have one favor I would ask of you.

“Anything.” This isn’t a promise I make lightly; what I owe Little Dragon can’t be measured or weighed.

Bring me to your home—to Mist Island. Bury my bones in the shade of its trees. Your mother spoke so lovingly of it, I hope to find my eternal peace there.