Page 18 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

Thirteen

Though the southern monks control much of Tianjia’s most fertile land, spirits generally avoid their territory, for those who enter seldom return.

The methods of defense used by these reclusive monks remain a mystery, but it is said that when confronted by one, a spirit would sooner choose iron than dare challenge them.

After Sky left me, Winter requested my presence in the plum blossom grove.

He awaited me beneath a wax plum tree, its yellow blossoms at their brightest in the depths of winter.

As he inclined his head in greeting, a few petals drifted softly onto his white robes.

The gardens, typically brimming with life, lay barren in winter.

In an effort to fill the void, the gardeners had meticulously arranged potted camellias and narcissus, brought in from the south.

But the lush, colorful flowers only called attention to the bare, frost-kissed landscape beneath.

“Walk with me?” asked Winter.

A party had gathered just beyond the plum blossom grove. Instead of steering us away from the crowd, Winter led us toward it, where the resonance of the zither, mingled with laughter and lively debate, would mask our conversation.

“Yuchen is meeting with the Imperial Security Commissioner tonight,” Winter murmured beneath the music. “Palace security is outside his jurisdiction—and he’s never publicly allied with Lord Xu before.”

Lord Xu oversaw the security of the Forbidden City, a role that granted him considerable influence. Typically, he coordinated only with the Imperial Commander. But with Liu Zhuo’s health failing, Lord Xu might now be looking to align himself with a more favorable faction.

The army’s loyalty lay with the Imperial Commander, and with Sky. If Yuchen needed rival forces, Lord Xu would be the perfect ally. But what leverage could Yuchen use to bribe a man as powerful as Lord Xu?

The Saiya gold mines.

“A secret army would certainly explain the need for the gold mines,” I said, and Winter nodded.

Prince Yuchen was playing both sides. He had collaborated with Princess Yifeng to eliminate me while simultaneously plotting against the crown prince.

If he was amassing a secret army beyond his father’s watch, it was clear he had no intention of honoring his succession plans.

He was preparing to take the throne—by force if necessary.

“I can send a spy to tail him tonight. Or”—he paused, casting me a sidelong glance—“I can ask Sky.”

My skin tightened at the thought of Sky knowing our machinations. “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll go.”

He raised a brow. “Are you certain? You’ll be vastly outnumbered.”

“I don’t plan on fighting,” I said. “Besides, this job is too important to delegate.”

“And you trust yourself to handle it?”

I met his gaze. “There’s no one I trust more.”

Winter inclined his head, his attention sliding past me to the party sitting beneath the Rain-Listening Gazebo.

Captain Tong stood at the edge, looking bored out of his mind until our approaching footsteps caught his attention.

He raised his head, and though Winter barely acknowledged him—just the faintest quirk of a smile—a rosy flush crept up Captain Tong’s neck before he quickly looked away.

Winter’s pace remained even. As we rounded the bend, the rest of the party came into view.

I spotted a few finely dressed imperial advisors, familiar faces from the Anlai treaty delegation.

But then, in the corner—my skin crawled.

Lei was slouched against a bench, one arm draped lazily around a striking girl with porcelain skin.

Her crimson lipstick was smudged, half of it transferred to the underside of Lei’s jaw.

As the zither performance drew to a close, the girl twisted to whisper in Lei’s ear. He smirked, one hand lazily stroking her shoulder.

You have no right to be jealous.

“Interesting,” said Winter. “That is Lady Tang Liqing, whose father just happens to control the Anlai treaty delegations.”

“Did I ask who that was?” I snapped. “I don’t care.”

“Of course not,” said Winter, but his eyes were appraising. Sputtering an excuse, I made my exit.

As I waited for night to fall, I forced myself to read my mother’s diary in its entirety. I had been avoiding this task, knowing it would stir painful memories, but I could no longer afford to remain in the dark.

Lei was right: the diary was almost entirely illegible. But unlike Lei, I recognized my mother’s handwriting, and moreover, I recognized certain characters that only appeared in women’s writing.

He is comforted by my beauty, and does not perceive me to be a threat.

The new warlord is an intelligent fool. He does not suspect a thing. I can only thank the skies Emperor Wu has been deposed, for surely he would not have let me live.

Broke into the imperial library today. It was a near miss; I am becoming too old for this sneaking around. No new information—a waste of time.

The myth of the eternal spring taunts me. It is just credible enough that I cannot keep from dreaming. But just fantastical enough that every lead turns insubstantial. And yet I must believe, for if it is but a fairy tale, then all hope is lost.

A new lead—a traveling lixia scholar from the east. She claims to be seeking a heavenly peach vendor in Chuang Ning. According to legend, she tells me, the heavenly peach takes its life from the healing powers of the eternal spring. If we find this vendor, perhaps it will lead back to…

A false lead. I have nothing. I am running out of time.

I have discovered a way to trick the dragon in his own domain. There is a way he cannot perceive me in the spirit realm, but it requires mastery of technique and time.

Who was creating the spirit gates? And if it was Qinglong, how in the skies was he managing it?

I was still no closer to solving this riddle.

Just as I was about to leave, certain I had read all there was to read, I took one last look at the waterlogged remains of the last few pages.

These entries were blotted out by large ink splotches and water stains, and yet, if I held the pages up to the candlelight just so, I could decipher a few characters here and there.

Slowly, filling in missing words from context, I deciphered the final entry in my mother’s diary:

My hands shake as I write this. The Ruan seer at last agreed to meet me.

She told me her great-grandmother once visited the spring, and that it is real.

Journey to the summit of the Red Mountains, she said, and within the clouds, you will see every peak covered in snow.

Look for the one covered in green—and there you will find what you are searching for.

But, she told me, you cannot go in winter, or you will die from cold.

It is winter now. I think I will die from impatience.

Tears leaked from my eyes. For my mother had died in winter. Whatever she had been looking for, she had never found.

As night fell, I armed myself to the teeth and donned black robes that would obscure any trace of blood.

To mask my identity, I tied a silk cloth over my nose and cheekbones, concealing the lower half of my face.

Then, pulling up my hood, I climbed over the balcony railing, now familiar with what to expect from this route.

But I had not come to expect company on the palace rooftops. As I scaled the low-hanging eaves, a shadow detached from the roof gable, rising from his crouch with all the lethal grace of a jungle cat.

I immediately drew my sword.

“You do not recognize a friend?” He pulled back his hood to reveal bright amber eyes. Cao Ming Lei.

My heart in my throat, I did not sheathe my sword, but I did not raise it either. “Are you a friend?” I hissed.

“Certainly,” he said, his smile a flash of white against the dark. “Unless you’re looking for something more?”

I scowled, grateful the darkness hid my flush.

“Why are you here?” I demanded.

“A little birdie told me you’d be up to trouble tonight,” he remarked. “You know me—I have such an incurable fondness for trouble.”

“Winter told you?” I asked, astonished.

“No.” He raised a brow. “You just did.”

I bit back a curse, hating him for making me fall for the oldest trick in the book. Lei had a way of doing that—throwing you off-balance, drawing out the words you least wished to say.

I sheathed my sword, then hesitated. My natural inclination was to go about this alone. And yet, although I doubted his allegiance to me, I doubted his allegiance to Prince Yuchen even more. For tonight at least, I trusted he would not sabotage me.

“Don’t get in my way,” I said, before taking a running start and leaping from the eaves. I did not look back, but I could hear Lei behind me, then beside me, matching my pace with ease.

After so long confined to the palace, it felt good to race in the dark. We leapt from roof to roof, avoiding the palace guards by staying close to the shadows. When I lost my way, Lei took the lead, somehow knowing precisely where the Security Commissioner’s residence was located.

Getting past Lord Xu’s personal guard proved more challenging.

Although his home lay outside the Forbidden City, it was heavily fortified, with guards stationed in even the most unexpected places.

I swore as a guard patrolling the roofs caught sight of us, bringing a whistle to his lips mere moments before Lei threw a knife at his chest. The man dropped, and I hastily leapt across the distance to stop his body from rolling off the roof.

“Lord Xu does have a reputation for being cautious,” said Lei, extracting his knife from the corpse. “Some might even call him paranoid.”

“For good reason,” I said, “if he’s plotting treason against the throne.”

“And is that why you are here tonight?” Lei asked, cleaning his blade on the guard’s tunic. “To protect the Imperial Commander’s reign?”