Lu dismissed her Yunian handmaidens at the door of the apartments she’d been sharing with Nasan. The women left as commanded, but Lu couldn’t quite shake the feeling they’d have preferred to stay and watch over her. The Yunians had all been consummately polite—there was no question whether she was their guest or their prisoner—but she could sense that they did not quite trust her.
Fair enough, she thought, not without some bitterness. Between them, Nasan, and everyone from there to Yulan City, she was growing accustomed to the feeling. Seeing the damage her father and his father before him had wrought, she could hardly blame them. It was exhausting, though, this constant scrutiny.
She watched the handmaidens disappear down the corridor before closing the large wooden doors behind them. She sighed and stepped into a large common room, spacious and clean, its cream-colored marble floors and stone walls softened by a cozily lit fire pit at the center. Crowded around it were tuffets and heaps of shaggy carpets.
Beyond the fire pit stood a long stone table, laden with trays of rice and dumplings and cakes, unfamiliar fruits, and an array of colored liquids in crystal decanters. They never saw who brought the food or who took it away. It simply appeared around mealtimes, then vanished while they were asleep. Nasan found it spooky. Lu thought it not so different from the silent manner in which the servants would bring her dinner at home.
No wonder Nasan didn’t trust her. No wonder Nokhai didn’t trust her. She inhabited a different world than they did, one where plenty was so ubiquitous as to be invisible.
Or perhaps there was something ill in her. Something inherently untrustworthy. Nasan seemed to think so. Certainly, Prince Shen and Priestess Vrea had done nothing to assuage that feeling today.
As for Prince Jin, was he as stalwart an ally as he let on? Could he be as naïve and well intentioned as he seemed? Had the Triarch schemed together to produce the outcome he’d offered her? Or did he have a deeper, private scheme at play?
Maybe he’s just sick of all the gray here.
Behind her, the doors opened with a groan.
“Princess! You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble!” Nasan said, waving toward the food.
She made the same joke every day. Lu rolled her eyes. Then Nokhai slunk in behind his sister.
He looked even thinner up close, and his black eyes were sunken, rimmed, but alert as ever, roving around the room, as though seeking out missed dangers.
She wanted to run to him, she wanted to hold him, she wanted—but it didn’t matter what she wanted anymore. She’d already made her choice, even if it had felt like she didn’t have one.
“You look well,” she told him.
Nokhai’s mouth jerked up at the corner. “Do I?”
“He’s hard to kill.” Nasan took the room in a few bold strides and snagged a golden-skinned fruit from the table. “Runs in the family,” she added, flinging herself onto a pile of carpets by the fire and taking wet, noisy bites of fruit.
Nokhai followed her, sitting on an overstuffed cushion. Not wanting to be left out, Lu toed off her slippers and joined them, her bare feet clammy against the radiantly heated stone floors.
“So,” Nasan said as Lu sat. “I think that Prince Jin likes you.”
Lu flinched, hazarding a glance at Nok, but he was studying the carpet.
“You should have seen the way he looked at her when we first came upon you two on the beach,” Nasan told her brother. Lu flushed, wishing more than ever that she would shut up. “It was like he’d never seen a girl before.”
As Nasan spoke, she walked back and forth between the table and where they sat, ferrying trays of food and drink with her. Once, she laid a plate of savory pastries upon Nokhai’s lap, but he only stared at it.
It worried Lu—he ought to eat as much as he could, in his state—but she thought she understood how he felt. The aromatic foods stirred nothing in her, either. There was too much happening to focus on something as mundane as eating. She turned her palms toward the flames. The heat felt nice, at least. Nokhai didn’t move, but his eyes flicked up, tracking her movements.
“So, you’ve got what you wanted now, don’t you?” Nasan said. “Yunis in your pocket, an army at your back.”
“And a prince at your side.”
Lu’s head jerked up at Nokhai’s words. The silence that hung between them was metallic, ringing.
“Well, let’s have a toast to the future Emperor Lu,” Nasan said, stooping to fetch one of the decanters by her feet. She took a messy swig before thrusting it into Nok’s hands. He considered the amber-colored liquid before taking a cautious sip.
His face crumpled. “Oh gods. That tastes awful.”
Nasan just laughed and plucked the bottle from his hands. “You’d never guess, but these Yunians know how to make a hard brew.”
“To Emperor Lu!” she proclaimed, taking another brazen swallow. She handed the bottle to Lu with an exaggerated bow.
Lu raised it, essaying a wry smile. “And to both of you.” Then she drank.
Fire tore through her throat, pricking tears into the corners of her eyes. “Oh … my,” she choked out. They laughed.
“So,” Nasan said, reclaiming the decanter. “When does our army leave?”
Lu arched an eyebrow. “Our army?”
“Yes, our army. Our armies, if you prefer.”
Lu let it go. They had a good deal of negotiating and planning to do between them; the last thing they needed was to quibble over language. “The Triarch and I still need to sort out the details—”
“And when are we going to do that?” Nasan interrupted, thrusting the decanter back into her hands.
Lu took a perfunctory sip. It’s just language, she reminded herself, but she could not stop from repeating, “We?”
“Yes.” Nasan swiped the decanter back again and drained the last of it. “We. I’m not getting edged out just because you found yourself a bigger, shinier army to help you. Our deal still stands.”
“Of course it does,” Lu said with forced calm. “I keep my word.”
“That’s good to hear, Princess. That’s very good to hear. Because your people don’t exactly have a reputation for it.”
Before Lu could formulate a response, Nasan stood, fetching a stack of brass-plated cups into which she poured sloppy, generous slugs of garnet-colored wine.
The room felt overly hot, stifling. An effect of the alcohol. Agitated, Lu stood and unclasped her fur mantle, letting it fall. Then she shrugged off the floor-sweeping outer layer of her scarlet robes, leaving only loose-fitted trousers and a sleeveless tunic that belted tightly at the waist.
As she sat again, she caught Nokhai’s gaze skittering down her bare arms, before his eyes disappeared beneath the dark fringe of his lashes. Nasan watched him watching her; she raised an eyebrow, but for once made no comment.
“Are you sure you’re up for all this, Princess?” she asked Lu, shoving a cup of wine into her hands. “You’re putting a lot of lives on the line for a pretty crown and a fancy title.”
Annoyance flared in Lu’s chest. “Of course I’m ready. I was born for this. Duty demands it of me—it’s not just about a title. My cause is just. I will save lives that Set would just as soon—”
Nasan snorted. “Your cause? Please. And when has your empire ever done justice to anyone? Everything it—everything you—stand for is counter to it.”
Lu took a calming breath. “I am trying to rectify our past crimes. I will return your lands, and make certain nothing like what happened to you ever happens again.”
“Things like what happened to us happen all the time, every day. What makes you so special that you could turn it around?”
It felt as if the other girl were taking a prybar to the door Lu had tamped down over her impatience. She forced her voice steady. “If you have such little faith in my abilities, then why work with me at all?”
“Because you’re the only chance I’ve got. And I have an actual cause, Princess. I’m trying to save my people. Get back our land. We know what we’re fighting for. What we’re prepared to die for. I have to know that you understand the stakes as well.”
Lu stared, disbelieving. “This isn’t just about my life. Which—I don’t think you fully appreciate—is on the line as well. This is about the fate of the empire and everyone in it.”
“I’m not sure you even know what that means,” Nasan said flatly. “The lives of others? Your title, your station—your very existence—is built on the subjugation, on the suffering of others.”
“That—that’s not me,” Lu frowned. “That isn’t what I want.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re playing a game and asking your new friends to sacrifice their lives for it. It comes naturally to you, to demand everything of everyone else.”
Nasan took a swig of wine straight from the bottle, the cups she’d just poured apparently forgotten. Then she thrust it at Nok. He took it but did not drink, black eyes dithering between his sister’s face and Lu’s own.
“The way I see it,” Nasan continued, “you and your cousin are no different than you were when we were kids—just two royal brats running around where they don’t belong, fighting over who has the bigger stick. Not caring if everyone around you gets hurt, too.”
Seeing Lu’s reaction she smirked. “Oh, that’s right, I remember what you did when we were kids. I was little, but I was old enough. I remember how you got my brother in trouble.”
“Got him in—that was Set! I was trying to protect him!”
“He wouldn’t have needed protecting if he hadn’t gotten mixed up with you in the first place.”
Lu looked at her disbelievingly. “I hardly see how befriending someone is—”
“Oh, ‘befriending.’ Is that what you city dwellers call it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lu demanded.
“I don’t know; what’s it mean to you? What does my brother, or anyone you use along the way, mean to you?”
“I don’t use anyone!”
Nasan scoffed. “You use everyone! Nok, the Yunians. You’re using me—and I’m using you right back, but I’m out of options. At least I have the honesty to admit what I’m doing. You, you just draw people into your schemes, blackmail my brother with promises of saving his apothecarist friend. You agreed to marry some poor infatuated boy of all things—”
“I’m doing what needs to be done!” Lu stood so fast her cushion tipped sideways, knocking over a bowl. It shattered across the stone floor, sending candied nuts and shards of crystal skittering.
Lu leaped to the side to avoid cutting her bare feet and swayed—the drink was stronger than she’d thought. Her head rang with it, but she straightened. “How dare you presume to know anything about my life—”
Nasan stood and moved in on her. “I presume nothing, Princess. You’re completely obvious—”
“Obvious?” Lu barked. “What happened to me being deceitful?”
“I never said you weren’t a liar—just a bad one.”
Lu shook her head. “If this is how you treat your allies, don’t expect to get very far.”
“Oh, should I do as you do and spread my legs for—”
“Excuse me?” Lu said, and surged toward her.
“You heard me,” Nasan spat, not backing away. “Prince Jin fell for it, so I guess whatever works, right? And I see the way you look at my brother. Tell me, do you expect to keep him as a consort once you marry, or—”
Lu slapped her. Not hard—openhanded. Nasan turned with it to lessen the blow. Then lunged forward, shoving at Lu’s shoulders, screaming incoherently in her face. Lu shoved back, refusing to give her any ground.
“Enough!” Nokhai yelled. He was between them, wedging them apart. “I’m right here. And I don’t appreciate being used as some kind of bargaining tool”—he caught the sneer on Nasan’s face—“by either of you.”
Lu took a step back, breathing hard. That had been small of her, she knew. Beneath her. The wine, she thought.
“No,” she agreed aloud. “Of course not.”
“You’re completely gone for her, aren’t you?” Nasan said to her brother. “When I told you to live, I didn’t mean you should do it as an imperial lapdog.”
Nokhai flushed. “It’s not like that, Nasan—”
“She’s just going to hurt you, you know,” Nasan interrupted, all agitation. “That’s what people like her—that’s what imperials do. That’s what they are. I thought you of all people would know that by now.”
When Nokhai didn’t reply, Nasan shrugged coldly. “I can’t listen to this. I’m going for a walk.”
The heavy doors slammed behind her, leaving Lu and Nokhai alone in the cold silence.
Lu slumped down into her overturned cushion, dropping her head into her hands. She felt rather than heard Nok sit beside her. He didn’t touch her, but she could sense the heat of him. The hair on her arms prickled with it.
“Nasan’s afraid,” Nok said. “She thinks now that you have the Yunians you’ll abandon your deal with her.”
Lu sat up with a ragged, desperate breath, like surfacing from a too-deep dive. “I told her I wouldn’t,” she said, begging him, at least, to believe her. Believe in her.
“I know,” he said. “It’s just … well, you know.”
“How am I supposed to work with all these people if none of them are willing to trust me?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
She resisted the urge to cover her face again with her hands and settled instead for rubbing them up and down her arms. Her fingers caught over the scar from the crossbow bolt she’d taken the day they’d met in the forest. They’d left the stitches in too long according to Nokhai, and it had healed puckered and jagged. She worried the skin with her nails, and his eyes drifted down, drawn by the movement.
It struck her then, how long they’d been traveling together—long enough for the blood flowing from the wound to slow and clot, for the wet, open flesh to mend and gnarl and harden. So much had changed since then.
“Do you trust me?” she asked.
He turned to her in surprise. “I …”
She smiled ruefully, casting her gaze back at the dying fire before them. Never one for lying.
“I trust … I trust your heart,” Nokhai said after a breath. “Nasan’s right. You can do a lot of harm without meaning to.”
“Isn’t that true of everyone?”
“I suppose.” He grimaced. “You just happen to have a lot of power.”
Your title, your station—your very existence—is built on the subjugation, on the suffering of others. The specter of Nasan’s words hung between them.
“What about you?” she blurted, sounding more accusatory than she intended. “You can change shape, Nokhai. You have a power—magic—that’s all but lost to the rest of the world.”
It wasn’t the same, and she knew it. He must have as well, but all he said was, “I know,” looking down into his lap. “I-I’m trying to figure out what to do with that.”
There was more. A weight in the gut, a pinch in his forehead, a taut wire pulling his shoulders in tight. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, had been too caught up in her own worries, but now she couldn’t see anything else. “What is it? What’s happened?”
The question caught him off guard. Perhaps that was the only reason he answered honestly. “Vrea—the Oracle. She wants me to stay here. Learn from her how to care for the beast gods. Become a Pactmaker.”
“What about Omair?”
He looked startled again, as though he hadn’t expected her to remember. “She says he can come, too. Once we free him.”
“That’s good,” Lu said. “That’s—incredible. That would mean … you could bring the Gift back to Nasan, to your people. Not just your people—all those Gifted, too. That’s—you could change everything.”
He sighed, looking somewhat less delighted by the notion than she did. “Yes, I know.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It’s just …” He hesitated. “It just seems too big for one person—for me. I never asked, never wanted to be … this.”
“But it’s good, Nokhai. How could anything but good come from this?”
He shook his head, frustrated. “You don’t know that. I don’t know that. Why couldn’t it have been Nasan?” He laughed wryly. “The gods got it all wrong.”
Lu grabbed his hand. “No,” she said firmly. “Nokhai, you’re as clever and thoughtful and clearheaded as anyone. Much more so than most. That you take this power so seriously shows the gods chose correctly. Wisely.”
He was looking at their joined hands. “But I don’t know what to do.”
“You—you should do what you think is best. For you,” she told him. “Do what will make you happy.”
“Is that what you did? Did you choose what will make you happy?” There was a hint of venom in his voice. He didn’t let go of her hand, though.
“You deserve to be happy, Nokhai,” she said, not rising to the bait.
He met her gaze for a long moment before he slumped, the fight leaving him with a sigh. “Deserve?” He smiled sardonically. “That doesn’t mean anything. People don’t get what they deserve in this world. Things just happen, whether you earn them or not.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself for every bad thing. It doesn’t mean you have to push away every good thing.”
“Is that what this is?” he asked, looking down at their linked hands. “A good thing?”
This time when she kissed him, he sank into it, like surrender, like it was a relief. His hands, tentative and gentle, found her face, brushed the hair from her neck. He let her push him back down into the cushion until she was on top of him. She put her hands on him, moved them over his shoulders, across his back, down to his waist. Felt him shift beneath his tunic, felt the heat of his skin beneath, felt the muscles contract beneath the skin—
“No, I can’t,” he mumbled, the words moving his lips out of the kiss. “We can’t.” Renewed resolve wove threads of steel through his soft voice.
Lu drew back, lowered herself to the floor beside his knees. “Because of Jin?”
He looked away. “This was never going to be anything real, I know that. I’m not stupid. But I can’t just …”
The air trembled, dissolved his words like salt in water. For a moment, Lu did not understand, and then she did: a sound. A roar. So big, so loud it exceeded what her ears could comprehend. Terrible and wrong and physical. She felt it everywhere, in the cold stone floor beneath her, in her teeth, in her blood. Every part of her shook with it.
It was gone as quick as it had come, replaced by a stillness near as terrifying—silent but for the high ringing in her head.
An earthquake? But Lu already knew the answer in her heart—nothing natural had moved the earth that way.
She had fallen over, but she stood now, reaching out instinctively to help Nokhai as he struggled to his feet. His lips were moving wordlessly. It took another moment, a hard shake of the head, for her hearing to return. Even when it did, his voice was dim and distant.
“… you hurt?”
Lu shook her head again, half in an answer, half to clear it. “You?” She had the feeling she was shouting, but from the look on his face she could tell he couldn’t hear her well either. He shook his head.
“What was that?” she said.
“Nothing good. We need to find Nasan,” he said tersely. “She couldn’t have gotten too far.”
They went to the door, Lu grabbing her sword along the way. They moved stooped and cautious, wary of a second attack. With each moment that passed, none came, and soon enough they were trotting down the corridor, side by side. It wasn’t unusual for the passageways to their apartments to be empty, but the silence chilled her now.
When they opened the doors that led out onto the Heart though, all was chaos. Streams of panicked people running, children and bundles of their most prized possessions in tow. They were making for the main temple—the most secure of the large buildings, shored against the mountain.
“Lu!”
She stopped at the sound of Nasan’s voice and saw the girl standing at the top of the temple steps, Vrea at her side. Lu must’ve been easy to pick out in the crowd—the red slash of her tunic sticking out amid the gray.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing Nokhai by the hand. They ran to the others, dodging the panicked Yunians dashing into the open temple doors.
“What’s happened?” Lu looked between Vrea and Nasan.
“The city is under attack,” Vrea said. Her face was calm, tracking something in the sky that Lu could not see. “They have found one of the gates.”
“Who has?” Lu demanded. “My cousin?”
Before anyone could answer—was there even an answer to give?—Prince Jin ran up to his sister. “Shen gave orders for everyone to shelter in the temple. I’m sending soldiers to check all the homes, to make sure the elderly and sick are helped.”
“Do you know what’s happening, Jin?” Lu interrupted. “Who is behind this? Is this Set’s doing?”
Before he could respond though, the second attack came. This time the roar was punctuated by a deafening crack, followed by a cacophony of screams from the Yunians flooding past them. Lu ducked, throwing her hands over her head.
Madness, she thought as the earth shook around them.
When she tried to stand, she found Prince Jin covering her, as though he meant to shield her with his own body. She gently pushed him away and saw the others were safe as well.
“It is time,” Vrea whispered, almost to herself.
“Time? Time for what?” Lu barked.
Beside her, Jin gasped. “It can’t be.”
“It is,” Vrea said, maddening, insistently placid. “It has come to pass. Look for yourself.”
“Look at what?” Nokhai demanded. “What’s happening?”
Jin pointed upward, his already pale face gone milk white with terror. “The gate to the Inbetween, the seal between the worlds! It’s been destroyed.”
Lu followed his gesture and saw it then: a slash of eerie, earthly blue in the gray Yunian skies.