Fury of the Phoenix (5 page)

Zhong Ye didn’t rise. He waited until he could no longer hear the tinkling ornaments on Yokan’s sash. But he smiled the entire time.

Two hours later Zhong Ye was still waiting outside the Emperor’s private study. The guards didn’t move or talk and never bothered to acknowledge his presence. He was used to standing for long intervals and was as motionless as they were. Through the door panels, he could hear low murmurs and, on occasion, a hearty laugh from the Emperor. Zhong Ye wished he could hear the conversation; his mind continued buzzing over Yokan’s claim to immortality. Surely the man lied? Zhong Ye reviewed the details, remembering all he could about the diplomat, his dress, the way he carried himself. He didn’t doubt that Yokan was an intelligent and powerful man, probably high in rank within his own kingdom’s court. Why had he really been sent to Xia?

The dragon panels opened, and Yokan appeared,
his gray wool robes dull and out of place next to the Emperor’s richly embroidered tunic. He kept his head bowed.

“Ah, good,” said the Emperor. “Zhong is here. He’ll show you to your quarters.”

Yokan walked briskly and led the way, which amused Zhong Ye, as the foreigner had no inkling where he was going. Although Zhong Ye was taller, he had to quicken his pace to match the man’s stride.

“Tell me about yourself, Zhong,” Yokan said, his accent thick.

“I was born into a farming family, the fifth child and second son. From the province of Bai He.”

“That means nothing to me. Tell me about yourself,” the diplomat said again.

Zhong Ye cleared his throat. “I left home at eleven years. I apprenticed with various scholars in different fields. At sixteen years, I gave myself to the Emperor’s service as a eunuch.”

The man stopped in mid-stride. “You gave up your manhood?” Yokan spoke with such distaste it was obvious what he thought of the practice.

“It was the quickest way to enter the palace and work for the Emperor,” Zhong Ye replied.

The foreigner strode forward again, and Zhong Ye
turned down another corridor, forcing Yokan to backtrack and follow.

“That is a sacrifice I cannot fathom,” said Yokan when he was beside him once more.

“I don’t regret it. It’s been less than two years, and I’m already part of my Emperor’s court.” Why was he being so honest with this man? Would Yokan tell the Emperor what they discussed?

They walked through a courtyard filled with songbirds, the sunlight reflecting off their silver cages. He led Yokan to spacious quarters in the outer court. The diplomat was obviously considered important. One always knew by the accommodations.

“Tell me, who is the alchemist at court?” Yokan asked.

Zhong Ye folded his hands behind him. “There are several, each working feverishly to become the Emperor’s best and favorite.”

A smile touched Yokan’s thin lips. His eyes were so light a blue Zhong Ye was uncertain if blue was their true color. “Will you point them out to me in court tomorrow?”

He bowed his head. “Of course, Master Yokan.”

“And you? Have you any skills in alchemy?” the diplomat asked, appraising Zhong Ye openly.

“I’ve studied as much as I could on my own.” Zhong Ye
had once been told he was a natural, excelling because of his curiosity and faultless memory. But he didn’t think that bragging would be a boon.

“Hear me,” Yokan said, waving Zhong Ye toward one of the seats in his grand reception hall. “I need a friend and an ear during my stay. You seem intelligent and…ambitious. Willing to learn, yes?”

Zhong Ye was becoming used to his stilted speech and accent. “Yes, master.”

“Very good. Perhaps we can help each other in our endeavors?” The foreigner smiled, though it did not reach his deep-set eyes.

“Of course.” Zhong Ye wondered what those endeavors were.

C
hen Yong was still asleep when Ai Ling was woken by heavy footsteps on deck. They had wedged a thin blanket between them. And although she still stared at the dark for quite some time before drifting to sleep, the night had passed. She sat up and stretched, then touched her head. She wasn’t used to sleeping with her braid, but she couldn’t allow Chen Yong to see her with loose hair either. Only husbands saw their wives’ hair unbound. As Zhong Ye had seen hers on their wedding night. The thought came unbidden, and she bit her lip hard to scatter it.

All fifteen crew members were awake. Lao Lu was in a foul mood, and her spirit glided past him. Xiao Hou had helped prepare the morning meal and spilled half the
broth on the floor. A mess and a waste! He was not given his portion as a result, and she felt the boy’s stomach tighten with hunger, even as hers did.

Leaving Chen Yong in bed, she used the latrine and ran into the galley. She stuffed half a steamed bun into her mouth before clambering onto the deck. Xiao Hou was just beginning his chores and handed her an extra broom. “Make sure you sweep along the edges. Get every nook.”

Ai Ling gave him the other half of her steamed bun before taking the broom. “A trade,” she said. The boy’s round eyes widened; then he grinned. She began sweeping and passed Yam Head, who tipped his hat to her. She circled the ship twice, before helping the crew wash the deck down with seawater and scrubbing the dirt away with a stone.

She was sweating by the time they were done. “Tomorrow you can bring your clothes on deck to wash,” Xiao Hou said. An image of all the men scouring their underclothes beneath the sails came to mind, and she chuckled. The boy’s eyebrows lifted. “Every three days, miss, we wash our clothes.”

Ai Ling inclined her head solemnly. “Thank you for informing me, sir.”

“You’ve been assigned the captain’s lot.”

She kept a straight face. If Peng wanted her to wash his dirty laundry as punishment, she would.

She retreated to the galley and helped Lao Lu wash the dishes from the morning meal, before finally settling at the table for her lesson. Chen Yong had already begun reading his text and did not greet her. She sat beside him and poured herself some tea.

“How do you keep all the food fresh?” she asked Peng, who had been writing on a thick parchment.

“Giant ice blocks in the cargo,” he said. “It takes a lot of planning for such a long journey with a large crew like ours. Everything is rationed carefully.”

Peng was dressed in dark blue trousers and a long-sleeved tunic that hugged his lean frame. The tunic was cut at the waist with an opening in the front, showing his gray silk shirt. His black hair was slicked back this morning, the look so unusual he appeared foreign. “As captain I have to account for all possibilities: being swept off course; getting caught in a bad storm…even stowaways.”

Ai Ling pursed her lips, and Peng laughed. She felt Chen Yong glance at her.

“Do you dress like them?” she asked, taking a sip of tea. “I’ve never seen such clothes. And your hair…”

He smiled as he dipped his quill into the inkpot. “Yes,
it’s in the Jiang style. I find it easier for trade when I look a little like them at least.” He swept an elegant hand over the thick parchment, where tiny letters were strung together like so many beads on a sleeve edge. “Let’s practice what we learned yesterday, then move on to more complicated phrases.”

Ai Ling sighed, not looking forward to wrangling her tongue around the strange sounds. She didn’t have a knack for language, as Chen Yong obviously did.

After their lesson had ended with a conversation between Peng and Chen Yong that made her head ache, she went up on deck. She pulled a stool to the ship’s stern and stared out to sea, holding her sketchbook and charcoal, but became too mesmerized by the diamond-spangled waters to draw. Her chin dipped. The crew’s words and thoughts buzzed like distant mosquitoes. She closed herself off, reached for elusive silence…

Her head jerked up. The brightness of the day stabbed her eyes, and she winced.

“Miss, you musta fell asleep.” Xiao Hou was standing beside her.

“We didn’t mean to scare you,” Yam Head said. The two boys flanked her like guardian lions.

Ai Ling rubbed her face and smiled. The charcoal clinked to the deck.

“Who’s that?” Yam Head pointed to her lap.

Puzzled, she looked down. A detailed portrait of a young woman had been sketched into her book. She didn’t remember drawing it but recognized her own hand. Her throat closed, and her fingers flew to her neck. Her pulse fluttered so fast she thought she would faint.

“She’s pretty,” said Xiao Hou.

“Could you bring me some water, please?” she managed to say in a weak voice.

The two boys scurried off together.

She looked at the portrait again. Piercing wide-set eyes stared back at her from a heart-shaped face. The woman’s brows were delicate; the mouth was bow-shaped and full. The ebony hair was pulled up in a style fitting a servant. It was as if she were gazing at a splintered image of herself.

She closed the sketchbook with a trembling hand. Despite the fact that she had never seen her before, Ai Ling knew she had somehow drawn a portrait of Silver Phoenix.

After the midday meal Ai Ling decided to ignore her tight, aching legs and attend Chen Yong’s shuen lesson. She needed to clear her mind. The group was larger by
two. Peng was dressed in Xian clothing again, the only time he seemed to wear it, and Yen had taken his tunic off, revealing a compact body with powerful muscles. Chen Yong asked everyone to resume the Horse Riding stance after some initial stretching. Her legs quivered in protest, and she had to suppress a cry of pain.

From the expressions on some of the other faces, she was not the only one who suffered. Peng and Yen seemed untouched, however, both sitting deep into the stance. Chen Yong moved down the line with his dreadful bamboo rod, tapping shoulders and legs, correcting form. He passed her without comment.

Again, he demonstrated the Jade Serpent Steals Breath punch. The skies had become overcast, blanketing the world in gray. Yet Chen Yong, dressed in a deep green tunic with gold details, glided like a bold stroke of color across the deck. It was as if he were the only living person and everyone else a pale shade around him. He pushed people lower at the shoulders, twisted hips with his hands to reiterate the power of the punch, pried fingers open and closed them again to form the correct fist.

Ai Ling was at the end of the line once more. She put her heart into every lunge and punch, but a part of her was always aware of Chen Yong. He spoke to the crew
in quiet, patient tones, leaned his head close to the boys as they babbled up to him excitedly. Ai Ling thrust her leg and fist out again and again, losing herself in the movement.

Then he was before her, his hands behind his back, so close she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. “I’ve been watching you,” he said, a hint of something unreadable in his golden eyes. They were the first words he’d spoken to her all day.

He took a large step back, and she almost followed, as if drawn on strings.

“Show me.” Chen Yong gave a slight nod.

She lunged forward, punching toward his solar plexus. He circled her, just as he had the previous day. Her nostrils flared; she was determined neither to twitch nor to blush.

“It’s perfect,” he said.

Ai Ling collapsed out of her stance, almost sputtering. Perfect! She had no inkling what she was doing. If he truly was so angry with her that he wouldn’t teach her properly, would just ridicule and ignore her…

He cocked an eyebrow, then grinned. It took every fraction of her willpower not to smile back.

Chen Yong ended the lesson by demonstrating a sequence of forms with such fluidity and strength he
appeared otherworldly. He twisted and rolled from an imaginary attacker and backflipped twice before spiraling with a series of kicks, floating, suspended in the air for so long it seemed as if he were flying. He had stripped off his tunic, and despite the chill in the air, sweat gleamed at his throat, on his collarbones. But no hint of exertion touched his face, which was intense with focus.

She stared, entranced, admiring the way his muscles tensed and eased as he moved. She realized all at once exactly how powerful Chen Yong was, how lethal and precise. Better than she ever was, could be. He would have made the perfect assassin in the palace.

Ai Ling faltered in mid-thought, bewildered.

Everyone erupted into applause as he landed gracefully and bowed to his small audience. Looking embarrassed and suddenly boyish, he waved his hand to silence them. Several of the sailors crowded around him, speaking simultaneously, and she headed toward the galley for water. She was reminded of the last time she had seen Chen Yong practice his forms, after his sparring session with Li Rong when they had visited Lao Pan’s cave. Her heart ached to remember it.

She encountered Peng in the galley, already seated at the table with a cup of water. He didn’t look as if he had
broken a sweat. “I’ll ask Lao Lu to leave a few jugs of water for us on deck tomorrow.”

Ai Ling sat beside him and drank in large gulps, spilling on herself as the ship swayed. “Have you practiced shuen before?”

Pensive, Peng swirled his cup. “I did once,” he said. “Yes.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, and she realized he wasn’t going to explain further. The ship lurched as he brought the cup to his mouth for another sip, compensating for the sea’s erratic movements without thought. He certainly didn’t wash his face by accident while trying to drink.

“Are you not wed?” she blurted.

His black eyes widened; then he laughed. “I’m not. I don’t believe a wife would agree with this lifestyle. I would never be there for her or our children.” He glanced down at his hands. “It’s not something I want.”

“How many years are you?” Her curiosity overrode decorum.

Peng laughed again. “You’re quite forthright. You’ll fit right in in Jiang Dao. If I may ask, how many years are you?”

“I’ll be eighteen years in the ninth moon.”

“The Jiang consider eighteen years to be a significant year,” he said, smiling. “I am twenty-nine years.”

Twenty-nine!

“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “You don’t look—I mean, I didn’t think—” She drank another sip of water, managing to keep dry this time.

“Thank you.” He smiled with gracious amusement, rose, and rapped his knuckles on the table. “You jested about not having practiced shuen before?”

“What?”

“Your form is excellent,” Peng said.

“No…my father only taught my brothers.”

His dark eyes narrowed a touch as he gauged her. Did he think she was lying?

“The talent must run in your family,” he said, then nodded once before leaving the galley.

Ai Ling gazed into her empty water cup, too perplexed to laugh at the irony.

They had sailed two weeks without incident when something jolted Ai Ling from a deep slumber early one morning. She sat up without realizing it, tilting her head to listen to the creak and groan of the wooden ship, the quick scurrying of steps climbing topside. Maybe that was what had woken her. The crew was rising for the day. She lay back and listened to Chen Yong’s steady breathing. Just a few moments more…Her mind wandered,
and her spirit touched the crew, most of whom were still shaking off the heaviness of sleep.

Suddenly she felt something different. She shot up again. Unfamiliar voices. From farther away, but not that far. She cast her spirit beyond the
Gliding Dragon
, felt the tug within her navel, something she hadn’t felt in a long while.

The fog hides us. They’ll never know what hit them.
She heard the man speak, felt his anticipation and greed. Ai Ling shook Chen Yong’s shoulder. He was warm with sleep. “What is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Come on deck with me,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”

“In our sleep clothes?”

“There’s no time. Hurry!”

They tried to rise at the same time and tripped over each other. There was a tangle of limbs, before Chen Yong caught her by the waist, set her on her feet, and opened the door. Lantern light filtered in from the passageway. Ai Ling strapped her dagger to her side but didn’t bother to pull on her shoes as she followed Chen Yong.

Dense fog so thick she couldn’t see beyond arm’s length hung over the ship. The air was wet, cold. She shivered. The sun had not yet risen. She walked to the
starboard side, with Chen Yong beside her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, peering into the white haze.

“It must be another ship. I heard someone not from our crew speak.” She gripped the railing. “Wait, I’ll learn more.” She looked at Chen Yong. His hair was not yet pulled back, and too worried to appear aloof, as he had these past two weeks, he rubbed his cheek with one hand. She cleared her mind and cast her spirit over the water, searching for the people she could not see but knew were there.

She found them, counted twenty-three men in all. Most were on deck. Eager, filled with the desire to plunder, they carried long wooden tubes and rocked on their heels, waiting for the captain’s orders. Their ship had moved closer to the
Gliding Dragon
, but the fog made them impossible to see.

Ai Ling pulled back, gasped when she returned to herself. “We have to find Peng. I think they’re pirates, and they’re going to attack soon.”

Chen Yong ran toward the bridge, and Ai Ling followed, barely able to see in the thick mist. They burst in without knocking. The captain was bent over a large table covered with maps. Yen stood beside him, as they studied one map together.

Peng’s head jerked up, and his dark brows lifted.

“A peaceful morning,” he said, straightening. “Did you run out of clean clothes to wear?”

She had forgotten about her sleep clothes and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Ai Ling believes a pirate ship will be attacking the
Gliding Dragon
soon,” Chen Yong said.

Peng’s gaze hardened, the amusement disappearing. “What makes you think this?”