Page 28 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

I imagined sitting upright to tell them no, stay.

To tell them that I couldn’t be bothered to stand.

But then I understood they weren’t waiting for me.

They were talking about me, without me. As the door closed and the murmur of indecipherable voices continued outside, I felt the ache of betrayal in my throat.

I tried to rise; I imagined the act of rising; and yet perhaps I was as helpless as they made me out to be.

The medicine taking effect, I succumbed to sleep.

I woke from a bad dream, groggy and disoriented. Squinting at the stark white walls surrounding me, I stood and felt a cramp shooting up my leg. How long had I slept for? Why was sunlight coming in through the window? And why did I feel so horribly weak?

My right wrist was uncomfortably heavy. I raised my hand—and caught sight of the gleaming iron band locked around my wrist.

Panic started in my throat before surging through the rest of my body.

Without thinking, I bashed my wrist against the edge of the table.

Of course the iron did not budge. I ignored the stinging pain, the angry red welts left on my skin.

I brought it down again, and again, using more and more force until the wood cracked beneath me. Still the iron did not budge.

The pain was but a distraction. I could feel a far crueler agony spreading through my chest—an aching lack where my spirit power had once been. I could not survive without the dragon’s presence, without the weight of lixia to sustain me.

Reaching for my jade, I tried to steady my thoughts. Think rationally, Meilin. Sky would have given the key to Zibei. All I needed to do was find him.

Limping to the door, I twisted the knob.

It did not open.

“Sky?” I rasped, but my voice did not carry.

Why was I locked inside? Why had everyone forgotten about me? I was taken back to the war, when I had rescued Sky and Sparrow and Tao, only for them to flee without me. They had left me behind. They were free, but I would remain in chains.

The injustice of life never failed to astound me.

Circulate your qi. Uncle Zhou’s instructions rang in my head as I sank to the cold floor.

He had taught me qi gong after I’d begun experiencing panic attacks in the wake of my mother’s passing.

Now I tried to follow his instructions, and yet I could no longer feel the pulse of my qi.

My life force felt thin, weak, like a riverbed in the thick of summer.

The barest trickle of water ran down the rocks, soon to be subsumed by sand.

The door opened. I rushed toward Sky, only—it was not Sky, but his brother.

A crease marked the space between Winter’s brows. Although he maintained his composure, there was something unsettled about him, like the air before a typhoon. “You’re awake,” he said, with some surprise.

“Where’s Sky?” I asked him, accepting the cup of hot tea he handed me. I cupped the porcelain between my palms, letting it warm my skin. Skies, why was I so cold?

“He’s…” Winter hesitated, which was unusual for him. “Indisposed.”

I was too tired to decipher what that meant. As I drank the bitter tea, my heart rate steadied, and my racing thoughts slowed.

“I would keep that on, if I were you,” said Winter, eyeing the iron band. “As disagreeable as it is, it may offset your growing lixia addiction.”

Addiction? I thought, repulsed. Addiction was a disorder that belonged entirely to my father—his habit for opium, his weakness for gambling.

I had spent my entire life trying to separate myself from him, trying to run as far from his legacy as I possibly could.

And yet here I was, my father’s daughter.

For the past few months, every waking thought had been fixed on securing the throne. Now, without the dragon’s voice in my head, my mind was startlingly empty. A barren wasteland.

I took another sip of tea, and my sleeves slipped past my elbows, exposing my pallid forearms and the purple-black veins that ran beneath. Under Winter’s gaze I flushed and hastily adjusted my sleeves. But he did not look frightened of me. He looked as if he saw me—and saw the worst.

In his eyes was none of the steadfast optimism that Sky expressed. Instead, I was confronted by bleak cynicism.

“You understand, don’t you?” I asked quietly.

I had always felt an implicit connection between us, though we’d never bridged the gap to a closer friendship.

Always there was Sky between us, Sky speaking, Sky asking, Sky directing.

The youngest Anlai prince was someone who brought people together, but also kept people apart.

There was too much life and spirit and energy to him, so that when he was in the room, all attention could be fixed only on him.

Winter and I both preferred to act in the dark.

But now, as I watched his closed expression, the polite mask he wore around me, I wondered if this distancing between us had not been intentional.

Although he had saved my life on multiple occasions, he maintained a clear distinction between ally and friend.

“Do you know,” said Winter, “I was offered a spirit seal once?”

I looked at him, uncomprehending. I wondered if I was still dreaming. “You made a bargain with a spirit?”

He smiled mirthlessly, smoothing his robes and taking a seat on the low settee across from me.

“No,” he said. “I turned her down.”

I sat back in astonishment. There were few recorded instances of humans being confronted with a spirit bargain—and refusing the offer. I could only think of the Great Warrior Guan Yang, but even he’d given in after multiple rejections.

I looked at Winter anew. Seated as he was on the low settee, he had to look up to catch my gaze, but this seating arrangement did not seem to irk him. Instead, he looked comfortable lounging beneath me, without concern for hierarchy or social convention.

“Why?” I said at last.

“I understood I wasn’t strong enough to withstand the sway of power. I understood it would change me irrevocably.” He lifted one shoulder. “Sure, I wish I could fight sometimes. I wish I could make those I hate cower in fear. But I like my life as it is. I like it too much to give it up.”

It was that simple, wasn’t it? When confronted with the past or the future, with safety or risk, too often we chose the future, thinking this was bravery. But Winter had looked at his life and thought, I am well pleased with this. And I need nothing more.

If Winter knew the cost of power, then he knew I was paying it now.

“There are ways in which I’ve… changed ,” I said cautiously, treading on uneven ground. “You know I’m not the same person I was when I first met Sky.” I swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in my mouth. “But I’m not sure he recognizes that.”

Winter looked out the window, exposing the high planes of his cheekbones to me. He reminded me of a great migratory bird, a wild swan perhaps, or a river crane. Elegant, lovely to look at, yet impossible to pin down.

“My brother’s gift, as frustrating as it may be, is his propensity to hope. He will always believe in the best possible outcome; so much so that I’ve seen his untenable belief manifest in reality.” Winter smiled, lost in a memory I would never know. “He’s always had luck on his side.”

Was it luck, or something much simpler—good looks, wealth, an affectionate mother who told him he deserved the world? Not for the first time, I could not tell if it was admiration or envy that I felt toward my former commander.

“Give him time,” said Winter, rising to his feet and taking the empty cup from my hand.

“He’ll come around.” His tone was polite, and I did not know if he truly believed his own words, or if they were merely pithy remarks meant to comfort a lost cause.

I recognized that he was returning distance between us again.

It did not matter how much he understood me and the effects of spirit power; he would always choose his little brother over me.

A wave of exhaustion overcame me after that, and I slept like the dead, awakening only to a low murmur in my ear. I felt gentle hands lift me, carrying me down the stairs. Recognizing the shape of him, I fitted my head against his shoulder and slept.

I woke again, this time in my own bed. Sky was composing a letter by my bedside.

“What happened?” I asked him, my voice coming out hoarse.

Sky’s hand moved to cover the letter.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he said, but I could see the tension in his face, the strain around his eyes that did not ease even when he tried to smile. He’d never known how to lie. “Rest, Meilin.”

“But it’s day,” I said, looking past him to the open window, where gardeners were trimming the rosebushes and cleaning the lily pond. “I need water,” I said to myself, but before I could push off my blankets Sky had already crossed the room to pour me a drink.

I thought of the last drink I’d had—the bitter tea Winter had given me.

Had it been sleep-inducing? “Did your brother drug me?” I demanded, struggling to dredge up my anger.

I should be angry. I was tired of being drugged and coddled and handled like a child who couldn’t take care of herself.

I was tired of being misled by those I considered my friends.

Yet overwhelmingly I was exhausted, and even the effort of maintaining my anger felt too wearisome.

Sky handed me a clear cup of water, which I inspected thoroughly. I took a small sip. It was water.

“Happy?” he said, but with none of his usual sarcasm. Instead, he smoothed the blankets back over my legs, then rested one hand over my ankle. When he caught me staring, he reluctantly removed his hand.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked me.

“Why are you treating me like an invalid?” I demanded. “What did the physician say?”

His face heated; he would not look at me. “Nothing.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

Sky smoothed my blankets a second time. I had never seen him so evasive; he’d always been one to face problems head-on.

“I-I think it’s best you stay home for now.”

“But…” I processed this. “You mentioned you had a new lead on the spirit gates?”

He gave a curt nod. “A seer told my father he could find a powerful weapon in the Reed Flute Caves.”

Privately, I wasn’t convinced. No sword could stand against the might of spirit power. But all I said was “When do you leave?”

His face looked even more pained. “Tomorrow.”

“I’m coming with—”

“No.” His hands clenched into fists around my blankets. “You will remain here.”

“I’m not going to live my life waiting at your beck and—”

“Meilin—” he said, his voice breaking on a strangled note. It was so bizarre I paused, peering at him. His eyes were overbright.

“Are you crying?” I asked, bewildered.

He turned away, rubbing at his eyes angrily.

“Sky?”

Abruptly he rose from my side, pacing the length of the room. I got out of bed and realized I was in my nightclothes, though I couldn’t remember changing. Already my memories from this morning were hazy.

“Sky,” I said. “Look at me. I’ll keep up with you, I promise—”

Sky swung toward me and I braced myself as if preparing to be struck. Instead his arms came around me as he buried his face in my chest, like he was seeking comfort. Nonplussed, I patted him on the back. He only gripped me harder, as if certain someone was about to pry me away.

“Sky…what’s wrong?”

“I’ll do anything to make you stay,” he whispered. “I just never know how to sway you.”

Because he was not Lei, I mused, who knew how to persuade and manipulate until you no longer trusted even your own thoughts.

I thought of how Sky had tried to find the missing jade during the Three Kingdoms War, how he’d marched up to a crew of Ximing sailors and expected their total honesty.

As if you need only ask, and the world would provide.

Still, something about me staying in the Forbidden City mattered to him, though I could not say why. I had never seen him so distressed.

“Will you stay?” I asked selfishly, capitalizing on his anguish. People were dying out there, and Sky was trying to save them. But I wanted him for myself.

Sky hesitated, only for a moment. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll stay until the festivities end,” he amended, for the new year began tomorrow. “Then I must depart for the peace talks.”

The treaty would be signed at First Crossing, the connecting point between the Three Kingdoms.

I kissed him on the soft underside of his jaw, where I’d once held a blade to his throat. We had our share of fights, I thought, but it was only because we both cared so deeply. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand me. It was enough that he cared for me.

He cupped my cheek and guided my face up to meet his.

I pressed myself hungrily against him, craving the hardness and heat of his body.

A low sound rumbled at the back of his throat as he anchored my hips against his and crushed his mouth over mine, tasting me as if it was the last time he ever could.

When I gasped for breath, his lips left mine to follow the line of my neck, finding the pulse at my throat, worshipping it.

“I’m going to protect you,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m going to keep you safe.”

He repeated these words like a mantra, over and over again, and by the way his hands held me, reverently, I wondered if he also said them as a prayer, as if by speaking them aloud, he could make them somehow come true.