CHAPTER TWENTY

THE MAN WITH TWO SOULS

Despite Khine’s words, I did feel a chill descending on me then. I wondered if it was from the wind whistling through the tunnel. Whatever light there was seemed to focus solely on Myar’s face, the flames playing with the shadows as they danced against that unsettling blue gaze.

My expression must have betrayed my thoughts, because Myar held a hand out in a gesture of peace. “Dai knows this, of course. And for his part, for a while he was tempted to drift away from this body and leave it to me, returning to the agan. Both desires go against nature. A soul belongs to the body it was born to, and it must stay until the body dies. An intruder, over time, will find itself at odds with its host. A soul ripped unnaturally from its body, without the proper mechanisms of death, will become corrupt. They lose all sense of where they belong and instead of following the natural process of wherever it is souls go off to—another realm in the agan, maybe, or back here into a new life—they turn into predators, eager to jump into places, lives, where they ought not to be. If anything, our arrangement is a compromise. It keeps our natures locked in place while allowing us to indulge a little in our desires.”

“So you do not stay for very long?” I asked.

Myar shook his head. “I come but once in a while. I dare not even stay an hour, else I risk tainting this body.”

I thought about Eikaro. How long had it been since he had taken over the dragon? “What happens if the other soul isn’t there?” I found myself asking. “If you had thrown Dai back into the abyss, then you wouldn’t be at odds with him, would you? There would be no other soul to take over, no one else to hold at bay and cause these changes. This body would be your own.”

“I, ah, don’t think you should be giving him ideas,” Khine whispered.

“Believe me when I say it’s crossed my mind once or twice,” Myar said. “But I wouldn’t dare. For one thing, in such a case, the possessed become mindless monsters. And I wouldn’t do that to Dai. Believe it or not, I do like the surly bastard.” He laughed after a moment, as if responding to an unheard statement.

“So you wouldn’t know what would happen in that sort of situation.”

“No,” he replied. “I think you’d need to have some sort of attunement to the agan to accomplish such in the first place, a thing neither of us have. The circumstances of my attachment to Dai are…unprecedented.” He pushed himself away from the rails. “Does this answer your questions for me, Queen Talyien? Or do you have others?”

“For you,” I said. “Not Dai?”

He smiled thinly. “The entire realm knows how you are, Beloved Queen. Bold. Rash. Lovely qualities for a leader, mind, particularly if combined with wise counsel—”

“Yours again, I’m assuming. Not Dai.”

“If it was up to Dai alone, he would be content with setting the Sougen free of these creatures. But I believe the problem cannot be solved so simply. The concerns of Jin-Sayeng start from within, and until we fix it from the inside, we cannot hope to fix it from the outside. Marrying your son to our daughter will usher in a new era, the sort your ancestors have all been dreaming of. Consider how you and your people have botched your rule. If everything continues down this road, you will be faced with more trouble than you know how to deal with. I told you I loved it here. These lands, this nation, this people. The last thing I want is to see it go up in flames.”

“Then help me,” I said. “If you truly desire to serve the land, you will not look at me as an enemy.”

“We do not, Beloved Queen. We still acknowledge your title.”

“My son and I—are we to be mere puppets in this new regime? One noose in place of another?”

“You are being overly dramatic. I don’t see a noose around your neck. Did you not have a warm bed in our home? Good food? This man, your lover—” He nodded towards Khine.

“He isn’t,” I bristled.

“Is that right?” Dai asked. “Why hide it now, after your husband’s announcement? The way you look at each other…”

“I met him in the empire. In any case, if I support you, if I dare proclaim my son’s betrothal to your daughter, we are all as good as dead.”

Myar’s eyes turned back to me. “We will protect the both of you. You have my word on that.”

“And therein lies my noose,” I snarled. “I will not be able to walk two steps in any direction without one of your men shadowing me. You told me once that you needed to show me what was happening in the Sougen. That you would risk war to save us from that. Well, there is no need for war. I’ve seen it with my own eyes—let me return home. Once I have cleared this mess with my husband, I will send people to you.”

“Don’t you understand yet, Queen Talyien? You have nothing to bargain with. Change cannot happen without sacrifice.”

“My father would say such things,” I whispered. “How are you planning to stand against the entire realm? Your sellswords? Do you even have enough? You’d dare talk of war as if it were a game…that’s more arrogance than a mere rice merchant ought to have.”

“Ah, but see, Dai is the rice merchant,” Myar said.

“And you?” I asked, realizing the source of my trepidation. I had been looking from Dai’s point of view. I never once considered the ambition of the other.

“Well,” Myar replied. “You could say I was once a king’s son. My father was Agartes Allaicras, hero of the Kags.”

I frowned at the name. A part of me couldn’t blame people for wanting the Dragonthrone. It was, after all, a tasty prize, one that others had died and killed for. My own father had given up so much for the chance to sit on it. I suppose I don’t need to go through a history lesson to convince you. Power is power. Everyone thinks they want it. I knew Dai did, but it caught me off guard to what extent. What began as an innocent suggestion to undermine Jin-Sayeng’s ruling class was now a full-fledged intention to turn everything upside down.

I should’ve seen it coming.

As queen, such things were my responsibility to ward against, were they not? To maintain the balance of power, break the legs of whoever dared rise beyond their expected position. But embroiled in my own personal affairs, I had neglected to look beyond the obvious. Dai Kaggawa’s friend, a certain Myar Allaicras. I recalled reading about him once in a half-hearted translation of prominent Kag figures in Jinan. Myar Allaicras was a footnote in it. Son of an old hero, an important general and would-be king. The boy was cut down before his twelfth year, along with his entire family—slaughtered by Dageians, as the story goes.

I watched Dai—Myar—whoever he really was. He had his back against a rock column, not an ideal place to attack him from—I wouldn’t have room to draw my sword. I glanced at the three men with me; we weren’t in a good spot to charge him, either. It was too dark, and Agos was too far away to take signals from me. I couldn’t expect Cho and Khine to do much more than keep themselves alive. Anyway, Kaggawa had six guards, all of whom were blocking the entrance to the tunnel. The only clear path was down the slope to the underground riverbank, down to the dock where the boat was.

I turned my gaze to the side, towards Lahei, and my mind started to form a plan. Her form was clear under the streaks of golden sunlight pouring from the cracks of the cave, the shadows of the current dancing on her face. She could barely sit straight. By all rights she should be recovering on a bed somewhere. They had all forgotten she was now an invalid.

I held my breath for a moment, wondering if Dai’s reflexes were faster than mine. Did a second soul lend a touch of strength to him, just as it did with the dragons? I had to make a decision. I made one step towards Lahei before dashing down the slope.

“Myar, you careless fool!” he thundered. Dai’s voice. He tore after me, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, I had my dagger at their daughter’s throat.

“Queen Talyien,” Lahei croaked. “This is a mistake.”

“Everything is,” I murmured.

“You hate not having power,” she whispered. “I understand. But hating it won’t change the truth. We’re offering you a chance to regain it, Beloved Queen. You speak of a noose. You’re looking at the wrong place. It’s in the east, with your royals, waiting for you to stick your head in.”

“Into the boat,” I told my men, ignoring her.

It was Khine who moved first, shrugging his way out of the guards holding him. Cho quickly followed. They started down the path leading to the dock.

“Princess, maybe we should—” Agos began.

I turned to him. “What?”

“I think he is remarking on the foolishness of this,” Dai said. “How far do you think you’ll get before one of your enemies catches up? The whole world is against you. We’ve offered you something valuable here, Beloved Queen. All you have to do is open your mind a little.”

I smirked, holding the dagger at Lahei’s throat as I directed my men to board the boat. Khine clambered in, followed by Cho, who began to untie the rope.

“Agos,” I said. “Get in.”

He conceded with a small grumble. The boat creaked with his weight. Cho finished untying and held the rope with one hand, keeping the boat from drifting away. I pushed Lahei towards her father before jumping in. Cho let go just as the guards attempted to chase after us. The boat was at least two arm’s lengths away by the time they reached the riverbank; one tried to wade into the river, stopping only when he realized the current was too strong.

Dai didn’t move a muscle. He remained watching from the shore, arms folded. We drifted down the river, deeper into the cave, into the shadows.

“You should know,” he called out, when we were halfway down the channel, “that Zarojo landed in Kyo-orashi several days ago.”

I folded my hands across my knees.

“From one trap to another, Queen Talyien. When will you learn?” His voice faded into the darkness.

We sat in silence for several moments before Agos and Khine began to work the oars, shifting the boat steadily downstream. “This should just lead back to the Yu-yan River,” Agos remarked. He coughed. “You realize we’re not going to make it all the way to Fuyyu on this dinky little thing, right?”

“He said Zarojo,” I said. “Does he mean Yuebek?”

“Anything is possible at this point.” Agos sniffed.

“He wasn’t wrong. The whole world against me sounds about right.”

“It’s not you,” Agos said. “You just happened to be right in the thick of it.”

“Me and my son,” I replied bitterly.

“They want the Dragonthrone. Maybe you should let them have it. The world is bigger than Jin-Sayeng.” He craned his neck to the side. “I can turn this boat back, if you want.”

“Don’t joke around, Agos.”

“You realize,” he repeated, “that there is no way we’re getting Thanh out of Oka Shto by ourselves. Kaggawa has given you the most sensible option.”

“Marrying Thanh to his daughter is far from sensible. It’s just another pathway to war.”

“Gods, Princess, after all this time, you still don’t get it? You don’t have to stick to your word. Just agree to it long enough to get Thanh out, and then ditch the bastards. Easy enough to do.”

“You’ve seen what he is. I wouldn’t trust the man with a dog, let alone my son.”

Agos grimaced. “He’s already sent people after Thanh. How do you expect to get there before them? Or the Zarojo? How, Tali?”

I couldn’t muster up a reply. Exhaustion had rendered my mind blank. With the chaos erupting around us and the sting of Nor’s betrayal still fresh in my mind, all I wanted to do was see my son again. The details didn’t matter.

The tunnel ended. We found ourselves floating down a narrow section of the river, into a sea of fog.

Sometime before sundown, we took a fork in the river that opened up to roaring currents, transforming tranquil waters into a sheet of raging foam that went as far as the eye could see. We pushed ourselves to the bank while we still could and landed on soft, silty ground that went up to my knees as soon as I stepped in.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way to Fuyyu,” I said as I emptied mud and water from my boots. “Take a boat up River Agos.”

“If there’s even any running this time of the year,” Agos said. “I’m worried about Anyu’s soldiers. They catch up to us, they’ll take you back to Shirrokaru. Then we’ll be really hopeless.”

I didn’t like the tone of his voice, and turned away from it with a frown. “We’ll follow the river and then crest along the coast. It’ll be slow walking, though.”

“Not a problem unless you have basilisks,” Khine replied brightly.

“I’d pay to see them all ripped apart by basilisks,” I huffed. We gathered our things and began to walk downstream. The fog had lifted, but the wind still carried wisps of rain with it, light enough not to soak.

It was evening when we finally stumbled on a small village on the eastern side of the Yu-yan River, the sort that didn’t have inns or other facilities for lodging. Khine managed to convince a fisherman to offer us use of his hut in exchange for a few coins. We were all exhausted, but Agos went off to do a quick patrol and keep an eye out for anyone who might be sniffing around for us, leaving me alone with the Lamangs.

I sat cross-legged on the small porch overlooking the dark river, watching as the window shutters shivered slightly in the breeze. Khine was standing beside me, arms crossed, his attention captured by the wind chimes on the beams. Eventually, he scratched the side of his face and said, “We need food, Cho.”

From inside the house, Cho started to grumble. He fell silent when Khine peered through the door and flipped him a coin.

“Tell me how this all works,” Khine said as soon as Cho disappeared. “You’re queen, and then suddenly you’re not. What’ve you left to work with?”

I sighed. “Even as queen, I can only really lay claim to the Orenar lands. The throne and I are two separate entities.”

“What about this city we’re travelling to? You’ve got no allies there?”

“Back in the days of the Merchants’ War, Fuyyu was designated as the official port. It’s nearly a Kag city. I’d say about half the population are immigrants. We’re not exactly closed to foreigners, but many of the warlords make their lives difficult and you’d be hard-pressed to find an immigrants’ quarter as expansive as Dar Aso in many of our cities. So instead, many of them prefer to settle in Fuyyu. Our soldiers are supposed to leave the foreigners alone, too—despite my father’s efforts, many of Reshiro Ikessar’s policies remain in place.” I took a deep breath at the tired old answers, the ones that seemed to just fall out of my mouth without bidding. “To answer your question, no. I have no allies. Fuyyu has no warlord. The guards all answer directly to the Dragonthrone, which really means they’re the Ikessars’.”

He watched with that same expression he always regarded me with. I suddenly had the distinct impression that he didn’t listen much to what I said; it was how I spoke that he paid attention to. I remembered we were alone.

“It’s Rayyel’s influence,” I murmured. “And my father’s. I’m still not entirely sure how to talk like—like real people do.”

“You don’t always have that problem,” Khine said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Back in the Ruby Grove…”

I felt my cheeks burn at the memories. “Ah. Yes. A world away.”

“Now we’re back in the world you left behind.”

“When all I want is to be elsewhere, away from all of this.” I smiled. “Yet why does it matter? My very existence attracts the power-hungry like vultures to a slaughter. What Rayyel did ought to have come as a relief. My own Captain of the Guard abandoned me. My own cousin. Nor—”

Khine ventured closer and placed a shawl around my shoulders. Only then did I realize that I was shivering. I wrapped my fingers around the moth-eaten cloth, feeling both the discomfort and ease that I had come to expect from his presence.

“What happened to you out there?” he asked.

I mulled over my answer. “I saw myself against the backdrop of everything else,” I murmured. “For once in my life, I felt…real. Not a construct, not Yeshin’s daughter or Rayyel’s wife, not a wolf of Oren-yaro. Just me, making my own decisions. But I suppose when you’re down to it, that sort of thing doesn’t matter. Not to these people.”

He didn’t understand.

“Eikaro…isn’t dead, you know,” I said.

The confusion in his eyes deepened. But even before I could say anything to chase it away, I felt his hand on mine. I allowed him to wrap his fingers through my own before he turned my hand over, squeezing it. Warmth. Comfort. Acceptance. I wanted to pull away, but my body was starting to betray me. My skin prickled at his nearness.

“Explain,” Khine said, blatantly ignoring what was going on, this unsaid thing between us.

The words tumbled out of my mouth as I told him everything, about the mad dragons, and how Eikaro had sacrificed himself to save me, dragging the dragon and the corrupted soul into his own body and becoming the dragon himself. He listened without interrupting. I tried to focus on my narrative, but as I spoke, I considered his half-open mouth and my eyes traced a line from his neck down to his collarbone. For an instant, I became aware of nothing else.

My other hand came up his arm, drifting towards his chest.

The wind started to rattle the windows. He turned away from me. “Tali.”

I stopped.

“You’re tired, I think,” he whispered. “You should go to sleep.”

“Not that tired,” I murmured, playing with the hem of his shirt instead.

He swallowed. “Has Cho been talking?”

I felt myself flush. “He may have said something.”

“It wasn’t his place.”

“Khine…”

“Queen Talyien,” he said. “Let’s not complicate things any more than they already are.” It was as if he was speaking for his own benefit, reminding me who I was. Reminding himself. But the coldness of his voice felt like a blow. It carried echoes of how Rayyel used to treat me—the guesswork, that distant uncertainty, when all I ever really wanted was to rush head first into fire. That was why I’d slept with Agos, after all—a thing I had done out of weakness, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was Rayyel found in Chiha, a wave of emotion worth risking a kingdom for. If you believed yourself to be numb, you stuck your hand in the fire. That was what it was—a burning expression of rage I wasn’t allowed to feel, of passion that seemed to exist in everyone else’s world but mine.

Why couldn’t it exist in mine?

“What you’re feeling right now…” Khine continued. “You don’t have to feel indebted to me.”

“That’s what you think this is?” Outrage crawled into my voice.

“My own feelings are mine to bear,” Khine whispered. “You figure yours out.”

I stared at the river. “I don’t think I’m allowed to,” I found myself saying. “I never was.” I closed my eyes, the blood pounding in my head.

And I remembered something I had first learned when I was young and all I had was a father with the blood of thousands on his hands. People speak of love and all these things it ought to be, but the truth is that love is not always this wondrous thing to be carried with pride or celebrated. I can imagine, of course, that there is no comparison to joyous love, the kind that comes with no baggage or expectations attached. But I can only imagine. We cling to what is broken when we have no choice. Even love that tastes like poison, that presses like a blade on your throat, is better than gaping emptiness.

Khine placed his hand on my shoulder. I found myself turning around to gaze into his eyes. And I thought that if I could do this, if my heart was mine to give away and tomorrow was not a word fraught with burden…

He was reading my expression now. I wondered if he knew something I didn’t. Eventually, he ran his thumb over my cheek. “Go to sleep,” he repeated. “I will wake you when they return.”

I didn’t have it in me to argue. What else could I say that wouldn’t make me sound like a desperate woman longing for something she couldn’t have? I removed the shawl and stepped back inside the hut, willing my thoughts to leave me be. If only we could drift through life unfettered, and not feel. If only.