Page 20 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

Fourteen

Do you remember the elephant that Father received from the Leyuan delegation?

You were only eleven back then, but I still recall how boldly you answered when Father asked how to have the elephant weighed.

“Put the animal on a boat,” you told the entire court.

“And mark the water level. Then replace the elephant with bricks until the boat reaches the same level.” Father was so proud.

But your mother—I recall her anger, how harshly she scolded you!

Perhaps she predicted the curse of your cleverness then.

I know you say you are needed in the Anlai capital, but don’t forget to look after your own needs.

If it is too dangerous out there, come home. We need you too.

Lei began to walk, and I hurried to keep up with his long, even strides. Even though the rooftops would have been faster, he opted for the more scenic route along the Wen River.

As we walked, I recalled what Lotus and Lily had told me—how he’d been fraternizing with certain nobles as of late. Knowing Lei, those couldn’t be happenstance friends. “You’re negotiating the treaty terms, aren’t you?” I speculated aloud. “For Ximing.”

I watched his face, the way he tilted it up toward the fading stars, as if expecting the night sky to fall upon us like a velvet blanket. Though he said nothing, I saw a tendon in his neck rise.

He’d once told me, on an equally late night, how the war had begun.

After the collapse of Tianjia, the Three Kingdoms had been divided unfairly—leaving Ximing with nothing but scraps.

Over time, its people had grown hungry and vengeful, clamoring for change.

And as violence begot violence, change became synonymous with war.

Could another unjust treaty become grounds for a second war? Weren’t the people sick of fighting already? And yet it did not matter what the people wanted, in a world such as ours. It mattered only what the throne wanted. And those in power would do anything not to give it up.

The system was broken, and I had suffered beneath its weight. But now, rather than try to fix it, I only wanted to rise above it, ensuring I would never be the one suffering beneath again.

Xiuying, I knew, would be ashamed. She would expect more from me.

Compassion, kindness, self-sacrifice. All the qualities she exhibited.

And yet I did not wish to become another selfless woman hidden beneath the shadow of men.

I wanted to be remembered, and I wanted to carve out a legacy of unquestionable greatness.

I did not question the pulsating warmth of the jade against my skin.

Lei was looking at me oddly, in that penetrating way of his that made me wonder if he could read my thoughts. His mother had possessed the gift of second sight. I did not understand how the Ruans passed down their abilities, but I sometimes wondered if he had it too.

“Did you see something?” I asked him, clearing my throat. “About the fate of the Three Kingdoms?”

His smile was mocking. “I can’t see the future, sweetheart,” he said. “I can only look at the past, and see the way cycles repeat themselves.”

A hard expression flitted across his face. He glanced past me to the looming silhouettes of the palace pagodas, and the craggy mountains beyond them. “I won’t let another war happen,” he said lowly, and it felt like a promise. “I can’t.”

Selfishly, I saw an opening—and I seized it. I caught his sleeve, forcing him to stop. “Then help me,” I said, more loudly than I’d intended. The harshness of my voice seemed to shatter something in the night’s stillness. “Help me and I promise you—I’ll ensure the treaty terms are fair.”

He laughed, a scornful, derisive sound. “You think I need you for that?” he asked. “Do you really believe I don’t have alliances with every potential successor?”

Caught off guard, I hesitated, but only for a moment. “Then help me for another reason,” I said, changing tactics. “Help me take the throne because you know me. Because you know I’ll be a better ruler than the rest of them.”

“Meilin,” said Lei quietly, “what makes you so sure you’ll be better?”

“I—what?” Taken aback, I dropped my hand. “I’m not…you know I’m not like the others!”

He shook his head. “I mean this as a kindness,” he said gently, but his tone only made his words cut deeper.

“It’s true you aren’t like the others now.

But who’s to say what you’ll become, in one year or ten, once the cancer of power has taken root?

I’ll tell you this—there is no one in all of Tianjia who can take the throne and not be changed by it. ”

“I’ll be different,” I promised. When he refused to look me in the eye, I recalled his former weaknesses and wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing his face down to mine. “Please, Lei,” I whispered. “I need your help.”

It was not a kiss, but from afar, it would have resembled one. Sky, I knew, would have been furious with me.

But what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Lei’s eyes were heavy-lidded, yet within their amber depths, I could feel his suppressed desire. To my surprise, it mirrored my own.

Then Lei broke from my grasp, and I thought I’d lost him. “Who’s the little trickster now?” he asked, his voice taunting.

I colored but refused to look away, waiting.

He adjusted one of his many rings, his face unreadable.

At last, he spoke in a careless voice that was anything but.

“For you, sweetheart, I’ll gather the evidence against Yuchen.

Besides, you are hopeless at this.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a wry glance.

“As for Prince Keyan, it’s no secret that he and Princess Yifeng have a loveless marriage. ”

I nodded; Lily had mentioned this before.

Still twisting one of his rings: “But what most do not know is that Keyan had a secret lover long before he allied himself with Yifeng in a political partnership. A pretty girl named Caihong, who was relatively unknown before she was discovered by the Imperial Commander and chosen as his concubine.”

My mouth fell open as I recalled the beautiful woman I’d met in Princess Ruihua’s quarters. “Prince Keyan shares a lover with his father?” His father would be furious if he found out.

“She’ll never admit to it,” said Lei, his eyes cutting to mine. “Not willingly, at least.”

I smiled, my fingers reflexively reaching for my jade. “I have ways of making people willing.”

Lei’s mouth tightened. Unexpectedly, Xiuying drifted to the forefront of my mind, and I wondered what she’d say if she were here. The thought left me nauseated with guilt.

Don’t think of her, then , a voice in my head whispered. And I could no longer tell if it was my voice or the dragon’s.

“You’ve changed,” said Lei, so quietly it was nearly lost in the early-morning breeze.

“People change,” I snapped. “You of all people have no right to judge me.”

He said nothing, only watched an old farmer lug his half-empty basket of crops up the hill. The bokchoy leaves looked brown and wilted, but I wondered if he had nothing better to sell.

“They will both be punished if discovered,” Lei said at last. “But you know who will be punished worse.”

It was not Prince Keyan. No, it was never the princes.

It was always the nameless women, who would either be blamed, or cast out from history.

“Don’t lose yourself,” Lei said lowly. “No power is worth that.”

“I’ll decide that for myself,” I hissed. Even though it had been a long time since I’d truly wanted to kill him, no one else could provoke me quite like he could.

I stormed away, not caring that I was going in the opposite direction of the palace. I had to get away from him—I had to get away from his hypocrisy, his two-faced manipulations, his stupid sanctimoniousness. I had to—

“Why don’t you visit your family?” Lei called after me. I ignored him, but he caught up with me easily. I thought about drawing my sword on him, but the sun was quickly rising, and morning delivery wagons winding down the street. It would not do to cause a scene.

I turned in the opposite direction, heading for the palace.

“They live in Chuang Ning, don’t they?” he pressed.

“I’m prohibited from leaving the Forbidden City,” I retorted, despite my best intentions to remain silent.

“And you’re so used to obeying the rules…?”

We crossed the crescent moon bridge overlooking the Wen River.

Once-green willow branches dangled lazily over the railing, waving hello in the wind.

Lei could not have known this, but my family was quite close by—just a stone’s throw away.

Within a few minutes I could be hugging Rouha and Plum, checking on Uncle Zhou’s bad leg, learning all the household updates from Xiuying.

And yet, instead of warmth and excitement, the thought sent guilt spiraling into the pit of my stomach.

“There’s no point,” I said, heading away from Willow District.

“Why not?”

“They’ll just be disappointed.”

Lei waited.

Suddenly, I was burning to tell someone. I kept silent until we’d entered a narrow hutong alleyway, then turned to him. “I-I’m scared,” I confessed, the words tumbling out of me with a life of their own. “I’m scared they won’t respect what I’ve become. I’m scared they won’t recognize me.”

“Then become someone they’ll respect, Meilin,” Lei said, closing in on me. “Don’t let him change you.”

My shoulders went up. “This isn’t Sky’s fault!”

“Is that so?” asked Lei, arching an infuriating brow. “Curious—why is it, then, that I always seem to see him reaping the rewards of your labor?”

I glared at him. “We’re a team, Lei.”

“Then where is he?” Lei looked around the abandoned alleyway, as if expecting to see Sky lurking in the shadows. “Why did he leave you without a lookout?”

“I didn’t tell him,” I said defensively. Under Lei’s razor-edged gaze, I felt compelled to explain. “If I’d told him,” I muttered, “he wouldn’t have let me come.”

My eyes dropped to my worn shoes. But Lei slid his hand beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You deserve someone who will work with you,” he said, a muscle in his jaw clenching. “Not someone who treats you like you’re made of porcelain.”

I pushed his hand away. It was always like this between us: this relentless chase, this unending push and pull.

We’d met under the ruthless shadow of war, and perhaps the war still lingered between us, because we could never seem to find common ground, could never seem to hold a conversation that didn’t spiral into conflict.

But the sun was rising, and I was so very tired. “I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Then talk to someone else!” he cried out, exasperation breaking through his veneer of calm. “Talk to your family, for skies’ sake. But don’t shut everyone out; don’t do this alone, Meilin. Your enemies want you isolated—that’s how they control you.”

“You would know,” I snarled, shoving him back, hard enough to hurt. He fell back a step, rubbing his chest.

“What does that mean?” he asked with a sigh.

“It means you’re the master manipulator!” I burst out, breathing hard. Trying to keep my voice level, I said: “Did you really think I could trust you—after everything that you’ve done to me?”

His eyes flashed with barely suppressed emotion. But when he spoke, his voice was cold and remote, unfeeling. “I’m not a good person, Meilin,” he said. “But the difference between me and your little Anlai hero—I’ve never pretended otherwise.”