Fury of the Phoenix (13 page)

His eyes widened; then he laughed. “Four, if you can,” he said in Jiang. Which was the closest they had to “please.”

The woman pointed at one of the baskets and asked if they had one. Chen Yong said no. She pulled a small basket from a shelf behind her. It was oval and deep, with a single braided handle. She placed four of the sweet buns (as this is what Ai Ling was calling them in her mind) into the basket for them.

“Thank you,” Ai Ling said, haltingly in Jiang.

The woman smiled, surprise flitting across her face, and nodded. Chen Yong handed her a silver coin, and she tucked it into the front pocket of her tunic.

Ai Ling poked at one of the buns with her finger. “They’re still warm,” she exclaimed. “Let’s try one now!”

They sat on a rough bench near the dock and watched the crew of the
Gliding Dragon
unload the cargo. The buns were sticky, and she licked her fingers. “I think it’s
the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” she said, closing her eyes.

Chen Yong took a large bite out of his bun, nodding. “It’s really good,” he said, his voice muffled.

The sun was beginning to sink, and the sky blazed with swirls of orange. She sighed and glanced at the other two buns in the basket.

He caught her. “You can’t possibly eat another!”

“I’ll save it. But I’m certain they taste best when warm.”

He laughed. “I want some tea now.”

She did as well. “Do you think they drink tea here?”

“I know that Peng has brought many crates of it. I don’t know if they have their own version.”

They sat in silence then, listening to the soft roar of the sea.

“Will you wed her?” Ai Ling asked softly. Her entire insides seemed to sour, to curdle.

He tensed, but he did not look at her. “I owe my mother that much.” It sounded as though he were trying to convince himself.

She turned and studied the massive cliffs behind them. They were like a living entity, while her own heart was cold. Stone heavy. Chen Yong felt very far from her in that moment, as the sun slipped beneath the sea.

Two weeks had passed since Zhong Ye had returned with the empress roots. He continued to work on translating texts for Yokan, although the alchemist often sent him away early these days. It was the fifth moon, and the air was fragrant with peonies in bloom; the courtyards and imperial gardens were wreathed in the colors of spring. Zhong Ye visited Mei Gui’s quarters after the evening meal. He entered the bedchamber without announcing himself, as he did on purpose every so often.

Mei Gui stood in front of the bronzed mirror, and Silver Phoenix hovered near her, both hands pressed to her mistress’s lower abdomen. Their chatter and laughter stopped abruptly. His love dropped her arms and stepped away from Mei Gui, almost as if she had been caught in an illicit act.

He was adept at reading people, and Silver Phoenix, although an enigma in the beginning, was opening herself up to him. He knew what he had seen in her expression: joy and longing. Her eyes were downcast now.
Too late.
He cleared his throat, heart heavy, wishing he had knocked.

“Lady.” Zhong Ye dropped to his knee by the concubine, and her eyes widened. She was growing plumper in the face, and it made her more fetching. Her black hair flowed down her back in thick waves. “I spoke to
the Emperor regarding your news. He is much pleased and gives you this.” He drew a slim gold ring from his pocket.

Mei Gui’s hand flew to her mouth. Zhong Ye nodded, and she extended the other so he could slip the ring on her finger. It was a powerful symbol, for it announced to the court that she was pregnant with the Emperor’s child.

“Thank you, Master Zhong, for choosing me,” Mei Gui said, twisting the ring nervously.

He stood and smiled. Silver Phoenix was by far the more beautiful, the more intriguing. Thank the gods she could never be a royal concubine. “I only brought you to him. The rest was from diligent work on your part,” he said. Mei Gui ducked her head, and he gestured toward Silver Phoenix.

“Be sure you are even more aware of all that goes on around your mistress. Now that the pregnancy is public, we’ll gain enemies.”

“Yes, Master Zhong,” Silver Phoenix said as she followed him back to the reception hall.

He drew her to him for a brief moment, long enough to whisper, “Can you come to me tonight?”

She smiled and nodded. Zhong Ye left the quarters without a glance back, almost afraid that she’d change her mind if he lingered.

They lay tangled in silk sheets, and Zhong Ye ached with a desire he would never be able to satisfy. Silver Phoenix rested with her head tucked against his shoulder, her hair fanned out, tickling his face. She touched the faint scar on his torso. “How did you get this?”

He was grateful she had never seen him without his tunic before. “I was whipped only once in my life, when I was thirteen years.”

Her mouth formed a small circle, and he fought hard not to smile.

She shifted onto her side so she could see his face. The lanterns burned low, and her black eyes were liquid. “What did you do?”

“I stole…” He caressed her bare back, attempted to gather her thick hair into one hand, then nuzzled her throat.

“What did you steal?” She pulled back and stared at him so intently, his mouth twitched.

“Someone’s wife.”

“At thirteen years!”

He couldn’t contain his laughter, and she tried to smack his chest with an open palm. But he was too quick and twisted out of reach. He caught her wrist when she tried to hit him a second time.

“Tell me!” she said.

“It was from a tree branch. I was climbing after a swim and fell.” He composed his features and tried to look earnest.

“When you were thirteen years?”

“When I was thirteen years,” he said.

She leaned over and kissed the scar, sending a shiver through him. “You have yet to tell me about your journey.”

Zhong Ye closed his eyes as he started the story, giving her a milder version of his adventure, in which the Poison Eagle was just a hungry wildcat, and he did not nearly die killing it. He told her he had been searching for a root that could cure the ache of swollen joints, and it probably could. Silver Phoenix listened quietly, tracing his scar with her fingertips until it felt as if she were an extension of him.

It wasn’t until the sixth moon that Yokan shared his news. The alchemist looked different when Zhong Ye saw him that morning. He couldn’t stop grinning and paced the large study with a spring in his step. “I’ve made my spell work!” Yokan exclaimed. “It truly is the empress root, and my potion can extend your life!”

Zhong Ye kept his face smooth. “You tried it?”

“I did.” He waved his hands frenetically. “I feel ten years younger!”

“How can you be certain? It could just be the healing effects of the root.”

“No. Your body can feel it. Your soul can feel it. I am replenished. Renewed.” He gripped Zhong Ye’s arm in a surprisingly tight clasp. “Do you understand what this means?”

“You can live forever?” Zhong Ye didn’t flinch from the foreigner’s pale gaze, wondering if it could be true. Or if he were mad. Healing he could believe, had experienced. But immortality?

“Give me your share of the roots, and I’ll show you,” Yokan said. His eyes almost glowed. Zhong Ye didn’t respond, and Yokan went on. “It takes almost one-third of the root for the ritual to work. You can experience it for yourself.”

“I want to know the ingredients for the spell.”

Yokan’s eyes widened; then he laughed. A nasal hitching sound. “Perhaps you should try it once before you bargain with me?”

What could be the risk? Because certainly, immortality would be worth it.

Zhong Ye, curious yet wary, sat down and rested his arms on the blackwood table. “Remember these charms
given to me by my king?” Yokan swept one finger across the silver pieces at his waist. “For valor and sacrifice.”

What was the man’s point?

“Nothing great can ever be achieved without either.” He smiled.

Zhong Ye could swear there were fewer lines in his face, that they were less deeply etched around his mouth, all but gone from the corners of his eyes. Was he imagining it?

“But to have something as wondrous as immortality, it takes even greater valor and sacrifice, you see.”

“I’m willing,” Zhong Ye said.

Yokan pursed his lips, ran a hand through his short hair, which appeared a deeper and more lustrous shade of yellow this morning. “You are willing to do anything to achieve immortality?”

Zhong Ye was certain of it.

“Because it requires that you take someone else’s life,” Yokan said.

“What?” Zhong Ye jerked back, accidentally sweeping sheets of parchment to the floor and knocking over a jar of ink. It stained several pages before he set it upright again with an unsteady hand.

“Something as great as immortality: it can’t be easily achieved. You need someone else’s life for it to work.
Another’s soul.” Yokan steepled his fingers and leaned forward.

“Someone’s soul?” The sick feeling in Zhong Ye’s gut spread to his chest. “Is that what you did?”

“It was.”

He remembered the disheveled prisoner who had been dragged into Yokan’s quarters. Was he the victim of the alchemist’s dark arts? “It can’t be. It’s not right.”

Yokan laughed. “There is no right or wrong in this quest, Zhong. It’s a tremendous opportunity. Can you do this or not?”

He wished for some rice wine. Or for Silver Phoenix to talk to—not that he could ever speak to her about any of this. “I need to think about it.”

“Maybe if you observed me once?” Yokan scrutinized him with narrowed eyes.

Zhong Ye nodded slowly. “You’ll take another prisoner?”

The alchemist shrugged. “They would be killed anyway, in a much crueler fashion. I’m doing them a favor.”

As Zhong Ye headed to the alchemist’s quarters the following morning, a dark mood clamped down on him like a death vise. He arrived at Yokan’s study all too soon.

The alchemist was weaving around the chamber, gathering jars and boxes. “Ah, Zhong. Are you ready for today?”

Zhong Ye unpacked his materials and began to grind ink.

“Be certain it’s dark. You’ll want to write very clear instructions for yourself.”

Yokan tapped his thin lips with one finger. He whirled toward Zhong Ye. “Did you bring your empress roots?”

Zhong Ye hesitated, then took them out of his satchel and placed them on the table. Yokan reached for the one that had already been sliced and brought it to his nose. “It’s a heady scent. Even the smell revives me.”

Zhong Ye finished grinding his ink and pulled up his sleeve before dipping his brush in the ink slate. He looked at Yokan expectantly.

The alchemist clapped his hands together. “Right. These are all ingredients that can be obtained in your kingdom, but most are seasonal. Fortunately, they don’t need to be fresh for the spell to work.” The alchemist began rattling off various medicinal ingredients, each time showing Zhong Ye the component, before adding it to a bronze bowl. Zhong Ye was familiar with most of the ingredients, but some, such as the ground molar of a giant bear cat, were used less often. That particular
animal dwelled in the remote mountainous regions of Xia. He had never seen the creature with his own eyes, only in sketches rendered by traveling scholars.

After Yokan had explained the preparation of all the ingredients for the spell, he indicated how much empress root was needed. “The spell is useless without it. Ingest the empress root; then begin the ritual by lighting the potion.” He waved a hand at the bronze bowl. “I’ve already eaten the root slices.”

Zhong Ye remembered the surge of energy and life he had felt when he ate that one thin slice. What was Yokan feeling now?

“Then you must utter the incantation I’ve written, a calling and honoring of the gods.”

“What gods?” Zhong Ye asked.

Someone rapped on the door panel. “Good. The prisoner is here. Enter!” Yokan called.

The panel slammed open, and Zhong Ye glimpsed the guards outside. A broad-shouldered guard pushed a thin man toward them, and the prisoner fell to his knees, slouching forward. Tears and saliva dribbled onto the stone floor. What was this poor wretch’s offense?

“This is the traitor?” Yokan wrinkled his nose.

“Yes, master,” the guard said.

“Pull him up.”

The guard kicked the man in the rear. He scrambled on all fours until he reached the edge of Yokan’s robe. “Please, master. Show mercy!”

“I am. Stand.”

The man swayed to his feet. His face was gaunt and filthy. How many months had he spent in the prison? Zhong Ye took a step back. The traitor reeked of feces and urine. Of vomit.

“It’s your lucky day. Instead of hacking your limbs off and feeding you to the hunting dogs, we’ll give you a quiet death. Here,” Yokan said.

The prisoner’s dark eyes bulged. “No. Please! Spare my life!” He sank to his knees again.

“Pull his head back,” Yokan told the guard.

The guard yanked the prisoner’s stringy hair, and his face jerked. Yokan drew a vial from his robe. He poured the green concoction down the prisoner’s throat. The man thrashed his head from side to side, and tears streamed down his face. Zhong Ye’s stomach turned, and he backed away until he hit the blackwood table.

“Leave us,” Yokan said to the guard. He stared at the prisoner. “Did you think your act would go unpunished? Planning the assassination of your emperor?” He turned and struck a match, then ignited the concoction in the bronze bowl; the oil he had poured over the ingredients
brought it ablaze instantly. Incense had already been lit, to counter the dreadful odor that began to rise from the burning potion.

The prisoner was fading, the life seeping from him. Zhong Ye dug his fingers into his own arms, trying to keep still, to contain his horror. The traitor had hunched forward, as if bowing to the gods. Yokan crouched down, put one hand on either side of the prisoner’s head, and began chanting aloud. He entreated the demons of greed and desire, lunacy and compulsion. His voice grew louder, more commanding while the prisoner started to twitch until they both shuddered together. The prisoner stopped moving. Yokan remained crouched, his eyes slits, his head thrown back.