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“I’m not forcing you to take it. This is your choice. I won’t risk my people’s safety on your word alone. Bring us to the Pearl Ocean safely, do nothing to endanger us—and the antidote is yours.”
His eyes narrow in the way I used to dread. “How do I know you have the antidote?”
I break the pepper in half, placing one part in my mouth. Jin’s hand flies out to knock it away—but I swallow, the pepper burning its way down my throat. “Would I take a poison without the antidote? If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
The prince’s gaze is unfathomably dark. At last, he plucks the pepper from my palm, then pushes it between his lips, chewing with grim determination.
“There will be no symptoms for the first fortnight, but tell me if you feel a pain in your stomach,” I say, keeping my face impassive.
As he closes his eyes, his throat convulses when he swallows. “It’s like eating fire,” he gasps hoarsely.
“Imagine what it will feel like if you die from it.” I study him as he flinches. “Do not betray us, Your Highness.”
The words of a villain. To keep us safe, I will be one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AWAY FROM THE PRINCE’S COURTYARD, JIN CATCHES MY wrist. “Take the antidote.”
“Later. Once I return—”
“Now.” His face is stern, unyielding. “Else I won’t let you leave.”
Startled by his gravity, I dig out the orange leaves from my pouch and chew them. Only once I swallow does he release me, his eyes probing to check I’m unharmed.
“Before I go, will you bring me to the Ancient Grove?” I ask. “We need to strengthen the wards before our journey.”
He doesn’t reply at once, watching me. “I didn’t think you had time today with the captain here, the urgency of your trip.”
“This is important too.”
Jin and I ride to the grove then. Together, we renew the wards around the Rose of Thorn Valley, channeling as much power as I dare into it. When I leave, there is a tug against my chest. This place has burrowed into my heart too.
The next day, we set off from Mist Island: Shenming, Dian, me, and thirty soldiers, clad in plain leather armor to avoid recognition. A smaller party to evade discovery. We cross the water to join Jin, Captain Hong, Prince Zixin, and Shiji—the sight of the gray-eyed warrior needling me though it shouldn’t.
The ethereal mounts of Thorn Valley have been readied, enabling us to travel quicker. Dian rides with the Sun Dragon nestled in a box strapped to her horse. Still unconscious, he is frailer than before—terror seizing me at how thin he’s become, how dull his scales are. The Moon Dragon’s eyes were bright with tears when she brought him to us, yet she could not follow and leave our island unprotected.
Prince Zixin rides surrounded by soldiers, Shenming’s baleful gaze trailing him. No one wants the Prince of the Iron Mountains here, except he is our best hope. We travel southward, through the forest. It’s uninhabited here, trees clustering tighter, the grounds claimed by the wilderness. Occasionally there is the flash of scales, the flutter of wings—though these creatures do not appear, perhaps unused to people.
After a couple of hours of riding, Jin approaches me. “Captain Hong is your shadow, but I didn’t realize Shiji would join us too,” I remark, failing to sound indifferent.
“My uncle was adamant they both come. If he had his way, I’d travel with another hundred warriors, alerting every soldier in the Three Kingdoms to our presence.” He lowers his head to mine. “Are you jealous?” he repeats the question I asked yesterday.
My laugh emerges too loud. “Do I have reason to be?”
His mouth tilts into a sardonic smile. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”
I glare at him—but then Shenming calls out to me. At once, I swing my horse around, cursing the Lord of Thorn Valley silently. Except an inner voice whispers that I have no right to be angry. This isn’t a new game, he’s just stopped playing according to my rules. If I want him, I’ll have to tell him—my pride recoiling at the thought. And I’m no longer certain what he’ll say.
We ride until late at night, many drooping from exhaustion. Only then do we halt to make camp, concerned also for the Sun Dragon’s well-being. None complain at the grueling pace; we cannot miss the appearance of the waterfall. After a quick meal of cold rations, we settle down to sleep—awakened again at the crack of dawn. As I chew the dry flatbread for our breakfast, I already miss Father’s meals of congee, fried dough sticks, steamed dumplings—how he ensures our plates are always filled. An ache pierces my chest that just as my home was starting to feel like one, I had to leave.
The farther south we travel, the more unkempt and chaotic our surroundings: the earth riddled with crevices and muddied ditches, the grass brushing our knees. Gone are the wondrous insects and creatures, the dandelions and wildflowers. I can no longer tell whether this place has succumbed to the decay or if it was always this way.
Shenming and Dian ride at the front with me, while those from Thorn Valley keep to the back. I speak to Jin rarely, wary of the soldiers’ speculation—acutely aware of how closely Shiji follows him, how her face lights up whenever they speak.
“We should reach the chasm tomorrow,” Shenming says. “The prince claims to have detailed knowledge of our route past that point.”
“I wish he wasn’t here,” Dian says grimly. “Every time I see him, I’m reminded of what he did.”
