Although she hadn’t intentionally activated the magic of the Phoenix Blade, it had summoned the fog nonetheless. She couldn’t send it away, nor could she release the weapon.
She saw Marenqo shaking his head as she raced for the boat. Tendrils of fog licked at her boots, reaching for her. She put on more speed, desperate to escape the eternal sleep that had claimed the corpses in the meadow. The boat was coming away from the dock, the sail catching wind. In that moment, she knew she had to lose one of the weapons she carried in order to use the cricket. Her grandfather’s saber meant everything to her, but her duty was to fulfill the trust she’d been given. Besides, she didn’t think she could release the other blade. So with an ache in her heart, she cast the saber aside and shoved her hand in her pocket, grasping the cricket. The burst of magic propelled her into the air, vaulting her over the fog that was poised to envelop her.
She landed past the boat, falling into the icy river. She began to sink, her thick clothes soaking in the frigid water, but she wouldn’t let go of the blade. In fact, she couldn’t. It felt fused to her hand. She clawed toward the surface and broke free, choking on the water that suddenly lapped in her face. Confusion roiled her senses. She felt something heavy and rough strike her.
“Grab it, Bingmei! Grab it!”
It was a rope. She gripped it with her free hand, squeezing hard, and they began to reel her in. Her legs were quickly exhausted by the frigid chill of the river. She panted, coughing, and spat out water, but she didn’t let go.
A strong hand grabbed her wrist, and another grabbed her elbow. The fisherman’s son pulled her into the boat, sopping wet and spluttering, the Phoenix Blade still clutched in her hand. Kunmia and the others gathered around her. The weapon seared her skin, shooting bursts of power up her arm, but she couldn’t release it.
Kunmia touched her staff to the blade, and finally Bingmei’s hand was able to open. Once it did, the magic of the sword faded. Kunmia took the blade and brought it away from her. Bingmei’s hand tingled from it still.
“She almost died,” Zhuyi said worriedly.
They were all staring at her, especially the fisherman’s son. And she realized her dripping wig was askew, revealing the white hair beneath. The others in the ensign already knew her secret, but now the fisherman’s boy knew too. She’d been born this way—pale skin and with hair the color of ice.
You aren’t like other children, Father had told her. You’ll be teased and mocked if you go beyond the quonsuun. You must learn to not care what others think of you. You have arms and legs like other children. You have teeth and fingernails. You can fight! Who you believe yourself to be—that is what will define you. People shun those who look different. You cannot change your hair or your skin. But you don’t have to. Be an ice rose. Be unique. And always protect yourself with thorns.
“I’m cold,” Bingmei said, her teeth rattling.
But when she saw the blade in Kunmia’s hand, she wanted it. She needed it. And it was the need that made her afraid of it.
CHAPTER THREE
Wangfujing
Bingmei had changed into warmer clothes and huddled beneath a fur blanket, watching the cavernous walls of the inlet as the fishing boat sailed toward Wangfujing. The coastline was a maze of forested peaks and fjords that stretched north and west to the high glaciers and then west like a giant bow before going south again, hugging a vast sea. The mountains rising from the water were mostly uninhabitable except in a few locations where nature had permitted some settlers in flatlands and meadowed valleys. Villages and towns were also hidden within coves, invisible unless one knew they were there.
Ensign services, like Kunmia Suun’s, were paid to know not only the inner secrets of the coastline but also what lay in the hinterlands. The landscape was harsh and unforgiving, and when the winter months came, it was almost impossible to travel. While Bingmei had never been on a mission before, she had visited Wangfujing many times to collect supplies to endure the season changes.
And the end of the season was fast approaching again.
The days were growing shorter, each one ushering in the time when the Dragon of Night ruled the world instead of the Dragon of Dawn. Bingmei hated the winters, the forced confinement, the bitter cold, the long days of darkness, but Kunmia was always quick to remind her of the opportunities the cold season presented. Time to hone and improve her skills, to calm her mind, and to prepare for the spring, when daylight could last all day long. In the warmer months, when the sun and moon were sisters in the sky, the farmers would coax the barren land to life again, hoping for a harvest that would last through the next cycle. The world felt joyful during the season of the Dragon of Dawn, full of delicacies to be tasted, festivals, and color. So much color. Bingmei loved the flowers that survived in the wild—peonies, larkspur, lilies, yarrow, irises, and globeflowers. There were wild berries too, black crowberries and bog bilberries.
“Wangfujing,” Kunmia announced at long last, her voice breaking Bingmei’s reverie.
They’d been sailing upstream for most of the day, the mountains coming closer and closer. Wangfujing was built on both sides of the river, connected by a series of six arched stone bridges. The first bridge lay ahead, and it was there that the fishing junk would be forced to stop, for the stone bridge was not tall enough to permit the mast through—just the first defense of the highly defensible town. That protection made it attractive, and it continued to grow in population every year. People were willing to pay extra for the promise of safety. It didn’t stop the Qiangdao from attempting to plunder it now and then, but King Budai had many guards and officers, and they organized the citizenry to help defend the city.
Although Budai’s dominion was not as vast as some of the other kings who ruled coastline towns, Wangfujing was not an easy prey, and Budai knew how to persuade people to serve his purposes. His power had grown. Greed drove him, but at least he was fair to them. Kunmia had worked for his father as well and was trusted in his court. Her integrity and sense of duty fetched a premium in her pay.
“Can we eat before we see Budai?” Marenqo asked innocently.
“You don’t think we’ll be feasted at the palace?” Mieshi asked, giving him a mocking smile.
“I’m counting on it. I’d hoped to eat twice as much.”
His quip earned him grins all around. It felt better to jest than to focus on what they’d endured to get there. The fisherman’s son, Quion, began to untie the ropes and brought down the sail slowly yet efficiently. Kunmia approached Bingmei’s seat and squatted near her.
“How are you feeling? Warmer?” she asked.
“I’m much better. The old clothes are still wet, but they’ll dry quickly enough in front of a fire.”
Kunmia nodded. “You will help the boy sell his fish,” she said. “See that he chooses an honest fishmonger. Then bring him to King Budai’s palace with you.”
Bingmei had looked forward to arriving in honor with Kunmia and the others. Her task was distasteful to her, but it was not her place to refuse it.
“Yes, Master,” she said, bowing her head.
Kunmia touched her knee in gratitude and then rose and conferred quietly with the young man. When they reached the wharf and tied off, they were thronged immediately by peddlers seeking news of the cargo of the ship. Kunmia passed them, saying nothing. Bingmei saw the Phoenix Blade had been wrapped in a cloak and tied to Kunmia’s pack, disguising it. She felt that queer craving in her belly upon seeing it. It was a valuable sword. No doubt the Qiangdao leader had killed someone to obtain it. The others followed the ensign master out of the boat, leaving Bingmei and Quion alone to face the crowd. The young man’s father had been buried at sea at the peak of noon with prayers to the Dragon of Dawn to safeguard part of his soul to the afterlife.