Jade Fire Gold(7)

Buries us.

No longer digging, shouting my sister’s name over and over again. Digging until my fingers bleed. Until my nails tear off.

And then it hits me . . . I no longer have a sister.

The inn is quiet, and the shadows in my room play tricks with my mind as I try to center myself. Outside, the night is silent—a silence I know too well. I drop my head into my hands, listening to my ragged breaths, counting them slowly, trying to forget that I’m stuck in a town being eaten alive by the desert.

Sand.

Tiny, trifling motes that make me feel like a scared eight-year-old boy again. Insignificant specks that make me remember what I want to forget. A decade has passed since I escaped, but my fears still stalk me in the shifting sands.

I muffle the sounds of my mother’s screams, bury the moment when my sister’s fingers slipped away from mine. I promised myself a long time ago I would not shed any more tears for them. A promise I struggle to keep now that I’m back in the land in which my nightmares were born.

I reach for the amulet at my bare chest. Seeking comfort. Seeking the will to do what I must. Even in the desert heat, the jade is cool to the touch.

Eventually, I get up to push the lattice windows open and stare into the night. The moon hangs high in the sky, her ethereal light creating a landscape of strange silhouettes.

“Sarangerel.”

I haven’t said my sister’s name in a while. She would have been eighteen by now, the same age as me. Even as children, we stood apart from everyone else, our skin and hair a rich golden brown like our mother’s people from the north instead of the pale faces and black hair of the Shi. And for that, we were thought by some as less royal despite the fact that our father was the emperor.

“Sarangerel,” I say again, voice cracking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I forgive you, the wind seems to whisper.

A laugh, too loud and skittish, comes from my throat. These sands may be full of ghosts, but that was a message from my own guilt-ridden imagination looking for absolution.

“Letting your guard down, eh?”

I pivot and flick my wrist. Metal flashes, but it doesn’t connect with flesh or bone.

“Relax, it’s only me.” A figure glides out from the darkened corner with my dagger in her hand.

“Ten Hells. What are you doing here?” I breathe out and flex my hand. A small flame flickers to life at the end of my fingertip, and I light the lamp.

Tang Wei’s heart-shaped face appears as the room brightens. She flips her hair and stabs my blade into the wooden tabletop with such force that the teacups rattle. With a smirk, she puts a foot on the seat of the chair and leans an elbow on her knee, her own recurved dagger spinning casually in her hand.

“You lost. Again.”

I groan loudly. Tang Wei will rub this small victory in for a while. We have been sneaking up on each other since we were children. At first, it was because our respective mentors often pitted us against each other to sharpen our pugilistic skills. Then, it became a rivalry of sorts. Mostly friendly. Although she has come very close to putting that blade at my neck and drawing blood.

“How long were you watching me?”

“Long enough.” Her expression turns serious. “Another nightmare?”

I pull on my robes and my eye patch. She doesn’t flinch at the sight of my scars—not anymore. But that thin piece of cloth has become a part of me.

The tea in the pot has gone cold, but I pour myself a cup and down it anyway, avoiding Tang Wei’s eyes as she observes me. I don’t want her tattling any tales of my weakness to Shīfù.

He cautioned me, advised me to stay away from the desert. Told me not to seek this path.

It is your choice. But know this: every choice has its consequence, and you must weigh the consequences of your actions.

I hear Master Sun Tie Mu’s voice in my head, clear as a ringing bell in the still of the night. I want to prove him wrong, to show that I made the right choice.

“What are you here for?” I ask Tang Wei again.

“Babysitting.” She arches an eyebrow. “You.”

“On whose instructions? My shīfù or yours?”

The recurve dagger disappears into her sleeve and she sits on a wooden stool, smoothing out her skirt.

“Both, actually. Master Sun and Elder Hong Feng seem to think that your choice was unwise. No one knows for certain if the Phoenix is alive. The rumor of its cry may have been started by a superstitious farmer or some cunning innkeeper who wants business in his pathetic mountain village.”

“Did Shīfù send you here to dissuade me? It isn’t going to work, and you know that.”

The corner of her lips twitch. “We all know you’re a stubborn water buffalo. They sent me to keep you safe.”

I scoff. “You don’t have magic, and I can protect myself.”

“And yet, I managed to watch you for a good five minutes before that nightmare woke you.” She grins. “Did you know that scowl of yours disappears when you’re sleeping? You look much prettier without it. Keep it off your face long enough and maybe some girl will fall in love with you, Golden Boy.”

“I thought we decided you’re to stop calling me that.” She has been calling me Golden Boy for ages because of my hair, but it is too close to my birth name for it to be safe any longer. Not with what I’m planning.