Page 66 of The Dragon Wakes with Thunder (The Dragon Spirit Duology #2)

“Did a spirit kill him?” I asked. “Or a soldier?”

“Neither,” she laughed, but there was no resentment to it. “He passed in his sleep. So it goes,” she said with a shrug.

Talk of death reminded me of other matters. I spun toward Sky, who stood with his men. “Did you get Kuro out?” I asked, recalling the haunted, faraway look in his eyes toward the end. “ We had a good run ,” he’d told me. “ But I’m ready to move on. ”

Sky shook his head, his expression strained. “I couldn’t find him,” he said. He paused, glancing at a tall, brown-haired soldier behind him and adding, “I looked for him, and Winter too.”

“Winter?” I repeated in confusion, before the truth sank into me like a stone in water.

How could I have forgotten? Winter had joined us in the in-between realm, though it had not been part of the plan.

It had been his qi we’d required to seal the rift, his boundless, uncorrupted qi that had given us the life force needed to rebalance the veil to equilibrium.

I would never fully understand why he’d done it.

“Winter—is gone?”

Out of all of us, Winter was the one I most believed would survive.

He had never sought battle, never chased glory or honor in war.

He had no need to make a name for himself, nor would he let pride or greed lure him into a reckless bargain with a spirit.

Winter had cherished his life, had desired nothing more.

He had taught me what it meant to live with contentment.

I had imagined Liu Winter outlasting the rest of us—growing old with Captain Tong, playing his guqin to the delight of the flowers, the trees, the moon, and the stars. He would have been someone who brought gentleness and beauty no matter where he went.

But that life, as lovely as it could have been, was gone. He, who had never made a pact with a spirit, who bore no blame for the veil’s collapse, had given his own life to restore it. And now he was gone.

There was no justice in war.

Sky nodded. “He’s gone,” he repeated quietly.

“Sky…”

At the tightness around his eyes, I wanted so badly to hold him, to comfort him, to say anything that could ease his suffering. But with my happy memories of him came other, less happy ones. And I knew that my comfort was not what Sky needed.

“You should go,” he said, turning away. “Only a few days have passed, but you don’t have much time left. It could take weeks to find the eternal spring, if not months.”

Zhuque’s eternal spring. Meilin—I—had been seeking that spring.

To sever my connection to the spirit realm, and to heal my corrupted qi.

I grasped my jade, which pulsed hot against my palm.

Qinglong had not sought me out, neither here nor in the spirit realm.

I did not know what had happened to him, and I did not particularly care to find out.

“Your qi is weak,” said Xiuying gently. “You should make haste.” She restrained Rouha and Plum, preventing them from using me as a climbing frame. “What did I tell you?” she chided them.

Rouha spoke as if reciting a command: “We need to let Jie Jie go.”

“But when will we see her again?” asked Plum, pouting.

“She’ll come back, when she’s ready,” said Xiuying.

“If you take too long,” said Rouha to me, “I’ll come and find you.”

Xiuying scowled in disapprobation, but I only smiled, squeezing Rouha’s little hand.

Her bright eyes and gap-toothed grin brought memories of another, bittersweet ones, for Lily had passed.

I told myself it was what she wanted—to learn how to fight.

I had given those girls swords and trained them for battle, and now the world would live with the consequences.

Already the Black Scarves were composed of one-third women.

But that meant those young women would live and die by the sword.

That they would assimilate into a man’s world, rather than carve out a place of their own.

I tugged on Rouha’s braids. “You’re growing up so fast, little one.”

Rouha grinned up at me. “Just you wait. I’m going to become the best swordswoman the Three Kingdoms have ever known. And then I’m going to become a jinshi scholar.”

My mouth twitched at this last remark. “Oh?” I said. “And how are your grades?”

Her chest swelled with pride. “Master Shen says I’m the brightest pupil he’s ever taught.”

“More like the only pupil he’s ever taught,” huffed Plum.

At my look of confusion, Xiuying explained, “He’s a new teacher.”

Rouha rolled her eyes. She was only eight, yet her self-assurance and faith in the world far surpassed mine at that age.

“I’ll make you a promise,” I said to Rouha, crouching before her.

“If you pass the imperial exams—” Sky raised a brow at this, for women were not eligible for the exams. Not yet.

“I’ll come home to congratulate you. And I’ll bring you an enormous gift,” I added, knowing Rouha was a natural bargainer.

“Even if you’re in another kingdom?”

“Even if I’m in another kingdom.”

“Even if you’re off at war?”

I swallowed at this, but nodded. “Even if I’m off at war.”

“Skies forbid,” murmured Xiuying.

Rouha’s face shone, a challenge in her eyes. “See you there,” she said.

“But we’re so, so proud of you—no matter your accomplishments,” Xiuying broke in, shooting me a warning glance. I hurriedly echoed her sentiments.

“Now, go,” said Xiuying, ushering me toward the waiting horse and supplies Sky had prepared, most likely with her help. When she saw me still dawdling, she added, under her breath, “If you want to keep your word to Rouha, you best hurry now.”

But I was dragging my feet for another reason. Someone had once promised me he would accompany me to the eternal spring, and I had believed him. In my mind’s eye, I hadn’t intended to go alone.

“Looks like rain’s coming,” said Sky, peering up at the clouds and the Red Mountains beyond us, their jagged peaks like giants’ teeth piercing the sky. I shivered despite myself. “Storm’s heading west.”

I nodded reluctantly. It was best to depart the city now and make haste up the mountain before the storm arrived in earnest. I looked down at my veins—charcoal black—and sensed the weakness of my qi, a ghost of what it once was.

It was time to go.

Trying to ignore the heaviness in my heart, I said my final goodbyes and prepared to depart. It was only when a light rain had begun overhead that another mare skidded into the clearing.

The Ximing prince leapt from his saddle, windswept and out of breath. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not mincing words for once in his life.

As he crossed the clearing toward me, I examined him in the rain. His damp hair was plastered to his face, which was marred by a new gash below his ear. To my relief he walked with no visible injuries, his broad shoulders straight, his long-legged strides confident and easy.

Just as I studied him, he studied me. His eyes traced over every detail of my body with such attention that I blushed beneath his gaze.

It felt as though years had passed since we’d last seen each other, and yet he was familiar to me in a way I could not explain, like a verse from a childhood lullaby, one you never forgot.

“ You look well, my love ,” he thought to me, a crooked grin lifting his lips.

“ I feared you’d forgotten your promise ,” I told him.

In his eyes was his answer. He reached me at last and slid his arms around my waist, bringing me to him as if he’d been holding his breath all this time, and at last he could finally draw air.

“Never,” he whispered.