Fury of the Phoenix (6 page)

“I can’t explain. You must believe me.”

“I can vouch for her words,” Chen Yong said.

“Where are they?” Peng asked.

“Beyond the starboard side and drawing nearer as we speak,” she replied.

“Yen, ready the crew. Prepare for attack.”

Yen bowed and retreated with quick steps.

“It’s a large ship,” she said. “I counted twenty-three men.”

“I knew there was something different about you. But this…” Peng seemed unable to find the right words.

Chen Yong grasped her shoulder, surprising her. She felt concern and a strong sense of protection before she closed herself to him.

“Go below deck, to your cabin,” Peng said. “You’ll be safer there.”

“No,” she replied. “I can help.”

He glanced at Chen Yong.

“She can,” he said. “And it’s no use trying to talk her out of anything.”

Ai Ling almost laughed.

Peng shrugged off the dark silver coat he wore. “Put this on at least. It’s cold.”

She reached for it, the material slippery in her hand. She pulled the coat on, still warm from his body. “Thank you.”

He gave a curt nod. “Let’s go.”

They emerged into the mist. It was as if they were floating in the air, though the ship still swayed with the waves, and she heard them lap against its sides.

“It is beyond, that way?” Peng asked, squinting into the white haze.

“Yes.”

“How far?” he asked.

She flung her spirit forward, and there was no tautness in her navel this time. “Soon within shouting distance.”

He turned to her, his black eyes unreadable. “Yen!” The pilot emerged like a wraith in the weak morning light.

“Are the fire lances ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I’ll give the signal,” Peng said.

Five men ran to the railing. Ai Ling saw that the closest one carried a tube the length of his arm.

“It’s made from bamboo and filled with gunpowder.” Chen Yong leaned closer. “It can shoot flame, but not far.”

A blast of intense fire burst from the fog toward them.

“The heavens have mercy,” Peng said. “They have a flamethrower.”

“What’s that?” Ai Ling asked, her heart thudding too fast.

“It uses a double-piston bellow to shoot fierce fire oil. The flames can’t be doused with water,” Peng said in a grim voice. “If it ignites the ship, we’re doomed.”

They could hear shouting now. And a roar and stench filled the heavy air, as another explosion of fire shot toward the
Gliding Dragon
like a lashing tongue. The fog lifted slightly, and they could see the hulking shape of another ship, heading toward them.

“Extra sails!” Peng bellowed. “Go!”

The crew scrambled to their stations, but it seemed to Ai Ling that the
Gliding Dragon
was stuck in rice glue while the other ship slid on cooking grease. She could see the pirates now, drawing ever closer.

“Put down your weapons! Or we’ll set your ship afire!” A voice boomed from the prow of the pirate ship.

A loud hiss and another flare. This time the ball of
fire disappeared into the water just short of the
Gliding Dragon
.

“Curses on the devil’s daughter,” Peng muttered. “Drop your weapons.”

The men obeyed, and their weapons clattered to the deck.

“Very good. I’m sending over fifteen men armed with flame lances. Don’t do anything foolish, and no one will get killed.” The pirate captain paused. “We want the cargo, that’s all. If we meet resistance, we’ll burn your ship.”

He was lying. The pirates would kill them and take the
Gliding Dragon
. Blood thirst mingled with greed ricocheted among the pirates to her. She flung herself forward, gripping the spirit of every man on the other ship. She held them immobile and focused on the pirate behind the flamethrower, leaped into his being. Excitement coursed though him, and his heart beat hard against his ribs. Heavy sweat rolled down his back.

He was the best with the flamethrower and itched to set the
Gliding Dragon
on fire. But not unless the idiots were dumb enough to fight. He wanted the loot but would almost trade it to ignite the ship. It would burn so gloriously.

Ai Ling was aware of the terrified babbling of the men who had discovered that they couldn’t control their limbs. Their terror mounted even as their captain shouted for calm. She folded herself over the pirate behind the flamethrower and took possession of his body. He mewed in surprise. She probed through his mind, understood how the weapon worked, and turned the four-wheel pushcart until its mouth was aimed at the bridge of the pirate ship.

The fire roared across the deck shooting up the masts and igniting the sails.

“Idiot! Are you mad?” the pirate captain bellowed. “We’re bedeviled!”

Ai Ling snapped back into her own being with a gasp and collapsed hard against the railing, trying to keep from sliding to the deck. The pirates were screaming. They would burn to death or drown. She didn’t know which fate was worse. The
Gliding Dragon
’s crew erupted into rowdy cheering, dancing behind her. The mist had cleared, and the sun rose like a blazing god across the sky. Hungry flames fed on the planks of the pirate ship, leaping like angry phantoms.

Suddenly a strong wind blew toward them, carrying the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood with it.

“Hurry, catch the wind and go!” Peng shouted, racing
across the deck. “If one ember so much as touches us!”

Without warning, her knees buckled, and she slumped to the ground. Chen Yong caught her from behind and held her. Horrified shrieks filled the air, and the choking fumes of smoke and fire grew thicker.

Chen Yong picked her up, and only the feel of his strong arms kept Ai Ling conscious, grounded in reality. She clutched his tunic with tight fists, breathing him in: cotton and sweat and the faint scent of lemon. He somehow maneuvered down the steps, holding her still and gently seated her on a stool in the empty galley.

“You did that, didn’t you?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Unable to answer him, she rested her head in her arms. She was trembling so hard it was difficult to stay on the stool. He brought her water, and she made herself sip it slowly.

“That entire crew will die,” she finally whispered.

“They probably planned the same fate for us.” He sat beside her and held her elbow, his concern a dark swelling around them.

“But you weren’t the one who sent them to their deaths.”

His fingers tightened a fraction. “No. But I would have killed them to stay alive. You did what you had to.”

She wiped the heat from her eyes. “I’m tired of it, doing what I have to.”

He paused, then said quietly, “Your dream of Li Rong was right. You saved our lives.”

She doubled over, hugging herself, unable to look at him.

“Did your necklace glow?” he asked.

Ai Ling snorted, but it came out as a rasp, like a gulp for one last breath. She gripped her clouded pendant and shoved it in his face. “The gods have abandoned me. Abandoned and used me like they did Li Rong.” She yanked on the gold chain so hard it snapped, and the pendant fell.

He caught it in one hand, the motion lightning quick.

She wanted to cry. For Li Rong. For herself. But her eyes remained dry. Her face burned. Her neck. Her chest. “Throw it into the sea,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Ai Ling.” Chen Yong’s voice was rough. He closed a cool hand over her open palm, leaned forward, and cupped her cheek.

Peng bounded in, and Chen Yong jerked back.

“Here’s our heroine!” Peng proclaimed. “Ai Ling, you warned us about the attack. And the fates blew their own flames back at them. It’s a fortuitous sign indeed. The gods smiled down upon us.”

Perfect. She wanted to cackle.

“I’ve asked Lao Lu to sacrifice a chicken. We must give
thanks and celebrate. You’ll be the guest of honor.”

At that moment her belt slipped from her waist, and her dagger clattered to the floor. Ai Ling stared at it, perplexed.

Chen Yong bent down and retrieved it for her. “Why is the blade black?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

Peng drew closer, his brow creased. “Bring it to me. I may be able to clean it.” He studied it for a moment longer before stepping back. “I’ll see you both at dinner. My gratitude, Ai Ling.” He nodded and left.

It took all her strength to hold her head up. She was burning, blazing so hot she was certain that her skin crisped, fell in piles of ash from her bones.

Chen Yong pulled her into his steady coolness, lifted her in his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

She was asleep before he made it to their cabin.

Mei Gui was expecting. Zhong Ye wanted to jump and holler when Silver Phoenix shared the good news. Instead, he grinned widely as if he had drunk too much wine. “Wonderful,” he said.

Silver Phoenix lifted her chin. There was not a
fraction of handmaid in her. She was too self-assured, too smart…too beautiful.

“That’s the first genuine smile I’ve ever seen from you, Master Zhong.”

His eyes widened. “You share good news.”

“You should smile more,” she said. “You always look so serious.”

She smelled of jasmine and spring. Zhong Ye wanted to pluck the pins from her thick hair one by one and bury his face in it. He took a step back. “Being the Emperor’s adviser is a serious task.”

Silver Phoenix touched her looped braid in one elegant motion, considering him in a way that made him want to shift on his feet. “I’ll keep you informed of my mistress’s progress. Should I tell anyone else?”

“It’s too soon. Let me tell the Emperor when the time is right.”

She inclined her head, a hint of a smile on her rouged lips. He exited Mei Gui’s quarters, trying very hard to clear his mind.

The oppressive summer months gave way to autumn. Zhong Ye continued to work closely with Yokan, finding ways to ingratiate himself, sharing the gossip at court, telling him about the Emperor’s alchemists and their
reputations and projects. After his return from summer progress, the Emperor resumed meeting with Yokan alone, elevating the foreign alchemist even higher in the eyes of the court.

Yokan was given his own elaborate study to conduct his research. All four walls were lined with shelves, piled high with books, boxes, and jars, full of compounds the alchemist had gathered from around the world for his studies. Glass lanterns, shining even during the day, were scattered around the square chamber. Yokan had asked the Emperor to make Zhong Ye his official apprentice. Surprised by his good fortune, Zhong Ye spent many hours reading aloud and interpreting texts for the foreigner. Yokan translated what he heard into his own language and transcribed it into bound books with thick pages.

The study never smelled the same on any given day. This morning the faint scent of licorice root permeated the air.

“I’ve studied Xian for eight years, yet reading the ancient texts still proves difficult for me,” Yokan murmured, his head bent over a leather volume.

“I think your command of the language is impressive,” Zhong Ye said. They were reading from
The Book of the Divine
, and Yokan had many questions.

“Do you believe in the gods? Of the underworld and its retributions?”

Zhong Ye paused. He had become used to Yokan’s personal questions, always direct. “I’ve never felt the presence of any god in my life.”

Yokan glanced up. His eyebrows were so light it appeared he had none. The effect was disconcerting. “I see. And you are not one to believe unless you feel something?”

“Even that is so ambiguous. How can one be sure it’s real if it cannot be seen or touched?” Zhong Ye asked.

“What about love?” The foreigner straightened on the stool and smiled thinly.

Zhong Ye tried to contain his surprise. “Love? What of love?”

“Love cannot be seen or touched, but it’s real, is it not? Surely, you’ve been in love before?”

Zhong Ye suddenly felt defensive. Even after four months of working daily with this man, he still knew very little of Yokan, who he was or what he thought. “No. I’ve had no time for love.” He caught himself thinking of Silver Phoenix.

“Interesting.” Yokan bent over his book again, his quill raised.

Zhong Ye suppressed his irritation. He couldn’t
ingratiate himself by acting abrupt. “And you? Have you ever loved someone?” he asked politely.

Yokan gave a slight shake of his head. “I, too, have had no time for love. It’s an unnecessary distraction.” He scratched something onto the parchment. “A weakness.”

“Is it true that you know the secret to eternal life?” Zhong Ye asked. Yokan had never mentioned it again in conversation, after that first day in court. But there must be some truth to his claim, or why else would the Emperor continue to meet with him alone?

“Have you read from
The Book of the Dead
?” Yokan asked, looking directly at Zhong Ye.

It was as if sharp needles were dancing across his scalp—Zhong Ye would never become used to the pale blue color of the foreigner’s eyes. “Only parts, random pages. I’ve never seen the actual book.”

“You will help me translate the entire volume,” Yokan said, tapping the tip of his quill against the blackwood table.

Zhong Ye swallowed hard.
The Book of the Dead
was evil. One studied from it only if one were a monk, wanting to combat and understand the enemy. Or if one were devoted to the dark arts. His pulse throbbed fast against his throat, and he nodded. He would do anything to learn Yokan’s secrets.

Zhong Ye walked along the edge of the massive palace square after meeting with a young boy of no more than twelve years, a eunuch and a favorite of the Empress’s for his falsetto voice. She was not with child, having been called to the Emperor’s bedchamber only once in the past two months. And her relationship with the Emperor’s top adviser was souring. Zhong Ye had allowed himself a small smile when he heard the news and had pressed a pouch of coins into the boy’s palm. Zhong Ye kept a wide network of spies, each bribed with coins, favors, or threats—whatever combination reaped the best results.