Page 27 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

Nineteen

One must remain vigilant in preserving qi as a summoner. For when a spirit depletes their vessel entirely of his life force, full control becomes inevitable. In such a state, the spirit may manipulate their human vessel as a puppet master commands a marionette. Thus, death is the only escape.

The next day, with Winter’s help, I made certain Consort Caihong made it safely out of the city.

She was to travel with a wealthy marchioness who was returning to her hometown in eastern Anlai.

Consort Caihong, who would now be simply known as Caihong, would serve as her lady-in-waiting.

She was vastly overqualified and far too pretty for the comfort of most noble ladies, but the marchioness was wealthy and widowed, and she claimed Caihong’s beauty was a feast for the eyes.

On the morning we parted, Caihong wore plain gray linen robes, nothing like the fine attire she’d once donned as imperial consort.

And yet her beauty was so brilliant it felt like staring into the sun.

I wanted to say this, to compliment her, but I wondered if she’d grown tired of being praised for her looks.

“You look well,” I said instead.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed in a low voice, as we waited for the marchioness to climb into her carriage.

A bit shyly, I offered her my hand in parting, and was gratified when she accepted it.

“I was too, when I left home,” I told her. “But I don’t regret my decision for a day.” I squeezed her clammy hand. “Your story is only beginning.”

She nodded, before the marchioness poked her head out the window to shoo Caihong inside. The last I saw of her were her bright eyes, luminous with hope and expectation. I hoped they would stay that way.

I waited until her carriage pulled away before returning to the palace.

I had lied to her, though I hadn’t meant to.

There were days I regretted my decision, wondering how much simpler life would have been if I’d stayed at home and married Master Zhu as my father had ordered.

I would not have so much blood and violence and death on my hands.

I would not have to live with the tremendous consequences of my mistakes.

To know that hundreds if not thousands of people were falling ill or starving or mourning loved ones—all because of what we’d done in the war.

All because of choices I had made, or failed to make, decisions I might never truly know were right or wrong.

But that was the price of power, wasn’t it? That was what I had bid for, vied for, fought for, and that was what I had finally claimed as my own. I had taken my prize—and with it, the curse of winning.

Before my appointment with the palace physician, I nervously picked at my congee, barely managing to swallow a few bites. Sky monitored my lackluster attempts before finally allowing me to leave for the examination room on an empty stomach.

The first assessment was routine. With Sky’s permission, Master Qian had me undress, measuring various parts of my body.

He tsked at the new bruises that had formed on my arms—I chalked them up to sword practice, though I didn’t remember how I’d gotten them.

After physical measurements, he listened to my heart rate, counting each pulse, and pricked my finger, testing the viscosity of my blood.

Hopefully, I watched Master Qian’s expression, reading the dip of his mouth like a weatherman reads the skies. He expressed pleasant surprise at my physical recovery, the weight I’d put on, the color I’d regained.

A knock on the door interrupted the examination.

Sky frowned at the delay, and Master Qian apologized profusely, explaining that he’d told his apprentice not to permit any visitors.

But the visitors were acceded to once they’d made themselves known.

For it could not have been a more peculiar pair that walked through the door: Liu Winter and Cao Ming Lei.

“What are you doing with him?” Sky demanded, as I hastily finished tying my robe around my waist.

“Your Highness,” said Lei, inclining his head. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

As Lei entered the room, Sky stepped in front of me, shielding me from view. “Get out,” he said.

“Why the paranoia?” Lei asked smilingly. “Afraid she’ll change her mind if she sees me?”

Sky’s hands clenched into fists. I touched his arm, standing. I had not seen the Ximing prince in weeks, ever since the night we’d spied on Lord Xu together. “Why are you here?” I asked Lei. Why are you here, when you’ve been avoiding me all this time?

Lei’s piercing eyes seemed to bore into mine, and I shifted uneasily. He’d always possessed an uncanny ability to guess the hidden motives of others. Now I wondered if he was reading my mind, or if I was simply imagining it.

As if he heard me, he smiled.

The back of my neck prickled.

“Pardon the interruption,” said Winter. “Master Qian, could you give us the room?”

“Of—of course,” said Master Qian, though he colored at the request. To add insult to injury, when he opened the door to leave, standing outside was another man dressed as a physician, whom Lei beckoned forward.

“As you know, Anlai is advanced in traditional medicinal arts but lacking in the specialization of lixia treatment,” said Winter. “Lei has kindly sent for a Ximing physician who specializes in the treatment of lixia-induced disorders. Master Yan can examine Lady Hai’s—”

“This is the lixia specialist you mentioned?” Sky glared daggers at his brother. “You think I’d let some Ximing snake anywhere near—”

“Sky,” I said. “I trust him.”

I did not trust Lei to help out of altruism, but I trusted him to help when our objectives aligned.

He had visited me in prison, stolen my seal for me, and even helped Sky secure the throne, though Sky did not know this.

I trusted Lei did not want me dead, most likely because alive I played some part in his convoluted schemes.

Lei’s eyes flicked to mine. “Will you submit to the examination?”

A knot of fear clogged my throat.

Deep down, I knew something was terribly wrong with me. My qi was depleted, my memories missing, and my chest ever hollow, as if gnawed by an aching void that refused to go away.

I had avoided seeing a physician for months, choosing to hide in the comfort of false hope.

But as I met Lei’s knowing gaze now, I saw the foolishness of my denial.

No amount of ignorance could stop what was already in motion, and hiding from my diagnosis was nothing but cowardice.

The only path to healing was to face the truth, no matter how wretched.

I took a small, reluctant step forward. Sky shot me a look, as if to say Stay out of this .

This infuriated me—we were talking about my health, after all. Ignoring his mounting anger, I stepped around him toward the lixia specialist. “I consent.”

“You will do no such thing,” Sky said, seizing me by my arm. His hand closed over my newest bruise, and I gasped sharply in pain.

Winter lifted an appraising brow. Lei’s face turned cold, expressionless.

And Sky—though I could not see him—I could feel him, feel the heat radiating off his body, his trembling hand, clenched on my arm, the weight of his indecision and hatred and fear.

Because I knew him; I knew it was fear that made him behave this way. Fear for me, for my safety.

Slowly, he released me.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked the physician.

“Please sit on the examination table, Lady Hai, and drink this,” said Master Yan, offering me a newly mixed herbal drink. The smell was foul, but I gulped it down.

Too late, I realized the tea’s purpose was to help me relax.

I felt my eyelids flutter as Master Yan eased me back onto the examination table.

“What are you…” My words slurred together as my tongue refused to cooperate.

My increasingly heavy eyelids begged to rest. I let them fall shut—just for a moment, I told myself.

Distantly, I heard Master Yan chant a sutra over me, and I felt a burning sensation that began in my chest, before spreading through my veins across my entire body.

I heard a collective inhalation of breath and blinked open one eye; to my amazement, gleaming threads of elemental light floated in the air above my body, in a way that I’d seen only once before—in the space between realms, when I’d dueled Sima Yi.

I could see threads of water, metal, and fire in my bloodstream, but frighteningly, water had spread to dominate the others.

“It is natural to contain some level of elemental imbalance,” said Master Yan. “However, as you can see here, overuse of lixia heightens the natural imbalance found in our bodies, intensifying the overrepresented elements and leading to further polarity.”

He exhaled, chanting another sutra, or perhaps the same one. His hands, which were raised in the air as if holding an invisible sphere, began to shake. The glowing lights above me shifted, growing dimmer as what looked like black mold spread across each thread. Slowly, lights began to wink out.

“This is the effect of lixia overuse on her life force. Like yin and yang, lixia and qi balance each other and keep the realms in equilibrium. But while lixia can imbue humans with power, it is also unnatural to the body, and given time, dependence and addiction will poison and corrupt from within. As you can see, her wood and earth threads have already been consumed in entirety. I’m sorry to say… ”

Despite my attempts to pay attention, my eyelids fluttered shut. So I nearly missed Sky’s interruption, if not for the release of the burning sensation in my chest. “Let’s talk outside,” Sky said quietly.