Chen Yong stooped down and leaned his ear over her face. He placed a hand on her breast and lifted an ashen face. “She’s dead,” he said.
His clear eyes filled her with relief, although they were dark with sorrow. They were his eyes. Did he realize what had happened? She could do nothing but shake her head—another innocent life lost because of her. She spoke a prayer under her breath.
“Let’s go this way,” she said. “I can see the main street from here.” Her insides felt twisted, her chest heavy as she dropped down clumsily on the other side of the wall.
Chen Yong climbed over the stone wall with ease, and they returned to the main street. Her legs were shaking; she was barely able to walk.
“They were night-worm fiends,” she said.
Chen Yong stopped and regarded her. “I was trying to think if I’ve come across them in any of my readings.” He shook his head in obvious admiration. “You win.”
“It’s from The Book of the Dead,” she said.
“I was never allowed to read it.”
She knew most of the text by heart.
“The initial curse was set by someone powerful. I don’t recall the passing of the evil through touch in my readings. That was something new.”
Chen Yong stood in the crowd, the people moving past him like water against a stone. He shielded and protected her with his body.
“But you were stronger,” he said. “I felt you within me fighting. I had no willpower against it. I would have been one of them within a moment’s time.”
So he knew.
“How did you do it?” he asked.
She looked down at her hands, smudged with grime. Tears began to well in her eyes. They were her friends. And now Li Rong was dead, and she had put Chen Yong in danger again.
Chen Yong guided her to a stone bench. They had walked into a lush open garden within one of the massive town squares without Ai Ling noticing. The ebony stone of the bench was inlaid with gold plum blossoms around its edge. She traced the curved lines with one finger. Only in the Emperor’s city. Anywhere else, and the people would have scraped off the gold with their pocketknives.
“I’m thinking of Li Rong,” she finally mustered through tears.
Chen Yong nodded. “I miss my brother more than I can express. It’s a pain I’ve never known—not even—” He stopped abruptly.
Not even compared to losing your first love, she thought.
“I can’t lose you too,” she said.
Chen Yong turned so she could see his face. “You won’t.”
They sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the sunlight filter through the trees, the air scented with earth and the subtle perfume of roses.
“We can pay tribute to Li Rong when this is over,” he said in a quiet voice, breaking the silence.
Ai Ling looked away, feeling her stomach clench. Chen Yong would forgive her. Once he saw Li Rong again. “We should go to the Palace,” she said, too abruptly.
“But how? They won’t admit just anyone. The walls are too tall to climb. No way in but through the main gate.”
“There’s a back gate. The one leading to the inner chambers and living quarters of the Emperor,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Father told me,” she said.
“Do you know anything else about the Palace layout? Its routines?”
Ai Ling sighed. “No.” She scuffed the ground with her worn shoe. “I didn’t plan on sneaking in.”
Chen Yong cocked his head. The color had returned to his face. She remembered the filmy white that had glazed over his eyes, and shuddered.
“I thought we’d knock . . . and ask to be let in,” she said.
He threw his head back and laughed. She smiled, even though he laughed at her expense.
“I was thinking too much like a man.” He grinned, then his face grew serious. “But we’d walk straight into the hands of the enemy.”
Ai Ling’s fingers made star shapes now, triangle after triangle on the stone bench. “I think that’s what I need to do. Walk into the hands of the enemy.”
“You’re the leader, Ai Ling. I just try to stay alive.” He smiled, but it did not touch his eyes.
“I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.” She swallowed the knot in her throat. “I would never have come this far.”
“You’ve returned the favor more than once.”
She rose, feeling weary and drained. What wouldn’t she give to be home right now with Taro curled in her lap and her mother sipping a cup of tea across from her? But being home would not make things right again. They walked north. The midday crowd thinned as the sun grew hotter and people in the packed taverns and restaurants escaped the heat. If she thought Qing He was big, the Emperor’s city must have been ten times its size, the Palace secured within its heart, nestled in the inner city of Huang Long.
They finally saw the massive moon-shaped gate of the Palace of Fragrant Dreams after what seemed like a halfday of walking. Sentries guarded either side of the gate, but their post was so high up she could not see anything except moving shadows within the observation decks. No one was down below to indicate how a person could enter.
Ai Ling scanned the wall. It stretched on for as far as she could see in both directions. “This way,” she finally said, turning right and walking along the expanse of stone.
They hugged the wall of the Palace, and rounded yet another corner after a long stretch of walking. Her legs ached, and her chafed feet felt on fire.
“Perhaps we should rest at an inn. Gather our strength,” Chen Yong ventured as they stared at the endless wall.
She pressed on. Something told her it was time, that lingering would not be an advantage at this point.
“I think they’re waiting for us.” Her scalp prickled at her own words.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But I’m drawn there, Chen Yong.”
They turned another corner. She felt no fear, only a sense of resignation mingled with determination.
They finally arrived at the back entrance. The moonshaped gate was demure compared to the main entrance, a few hand spans taller than their heads, its edges set with a thick band of carved ivory.
Ai Ling approached the gate and touched the elaborate carving. It was wider than her hand. She saw etched peonies, magnolia, jasmine, and plum blossoms. She traced one finger across a long-legged bird perched among chrysanthemums and butterflies. She recognized it as a phoenix, but it did not look like the actual red-breasted pair she had seen wandering in the Immortals’ garden.
Magnificent bronze lions stood on either side of the door, perched on ebony stones. Chen Yong examined them with a cautious air. “I almost expect them to move,” he said with a wry smile, reminding her of their experience approaching the gate of the Golden Palace.
“I guess I’ll knock,” she said.
Chen Yong moved to stand beside her, his posture relaxed, his expression confident.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, her hand poised midair.
He looked down at her with surprise. “I think we’ve finally made it, Ai Ling. The enemy may lie within, but perhaps our loved ones do as well.”
She brought her hand against the door with a hard rap. But it barely made a sound. “No one will hear us.”
The gate swung open just as she uttered the words. A girl of no more than fourteen years stood in front of them—a servant, according to the two braids coiled in circles on either side of her head. But she was dressed more elaborately than anyone Ai Ling had ever seen. Her sage green robes were embroidered with gold and silk thread designs. Pearls nestled within her ebony locks, and a delicate gold filigree circled her brow.
The handmaid inclined her head. “Please enter.”
They walked together into the Palace grounds. The afternoon light gleamed off the gold tiles of the sloping roofs. They were in an intimate courtyard filled with the fragrant scent of gardenias—reminding Ai Ling instantly of her mother. Birds flitted from branch to branch. She saw a golden-haired cat leap into the tree, then heard the panicked flutter of wings.