Sacrifice (6 page)

The teahouse appeared to be filled almost to capacity, and they stood at the edge of the main floor. Dark columns supported the large building, and Skybright saw similar beams lining the ceiling. The banisters along the stairs and second floor balcony were carved elaborately, gilded in gold, conveying an understated opulence. Sunlight filtered through the space; bright and airy. The patrons seated at the square wooden tables were mostly men, and the few women who were present appeared to be consorts. They wore their hair unbound, something no respectable woman of virtue would do in public. Virtuous women, in fact, would have never been seen in such a place.

The roar of the patrons dimmed slowly, as one head turned, then another, to appraise Skybright and Stone near the entrance. The men considered Stone, disguised as a rich merchant, but none had the gall to let their eyes linger, much less hold Stone’s gaze, as if they could somehow sense his power. But they were not so shy in examining Skybright. They stared blatantly, eyes roving from her face, then down her body before returning to her face once more. The drunk ones actually gawked at her.

She had never felt more on display. Self-consciously, she raised a hand to her cheek. “They are staring at my scar,” Skybright whispered to Stone.

“They are staring because you are stunning.”

“They think I am a consort.”

“No. They wish you were a consort,” he replied with a tinge of amusement.

A stout man, his fingers laden with gold and jade rings, hustled over and led them upstairs to a quiet corner table with a lovely view of the canal and glimpses of the rest of the famous town. A server immediately set a ceramic jug of rice wine and two cups before them.

“Bring us your most popular dishes,” Stone said.

The young man nodded before rushing off without a word.

Stone poured into both cerulean cups and passed one to her. “Have you visited Qing Chun before?”

“I’ve heard of it.” She took a cautious sip of the wine; it burned her throat yet seemed to steady her insides. “But I have never traveled so far south within the kingdom.” Her gaze wandered above the slate blue tiles of the curved rooflines, catching peeks of peach trees in blossom and the sweeping leaves of weeping willows along the banks of the canal. “It is as beautiful as they say.”

Stone smiled. She noticed he had not touched his wine.

The same server from before returned holding a round, lacquered tray. He placed a plate of chopped roast duck, a bowl of beef stew with carrots, and a platter of mushrooms and young bamboo before them. Then he set down a bamboo basket filled with steamed dumplings. Skybright plucked one out with her eating sticks, unable to resist. The filling was a mixture of shrimp, pork, and chives. She ate three more without speaking before taking another sip of rice wine. Her cheeks felt too warm, and she draped a hand outside the lattice window, enjoying the soft breeze that brushed against her palm.

Two rowboats floated along the canal beneath them. One man sang in a hearty voice a song Skybright wasn’t familiar with, about the flow of the river giving life even as the days slipped by. He moved his oar to the rhythm of his song, and she listened, humming the refrain under her breath as he drifted around a bend and out of sight.

“You should eat some more.” Stone’s voice jarred Skybright from her reverie. He sat across from her, unmoving, and still unnervingly handsome. Stone had kissed her three times already but never in passion or desire. Each time she had literally been taken away from herself, stripped physically, as if flung into the heavens. It was unimaginable that she desired this remote immortal, so lacking in emotion and condescending to humans, ludicrous that he had somehow worked a sexual charm on her.

“Eat with me,” she replied. “I feel strange eating alone.”

Stone picked up his eating sticks, and she reached for two more dumplings before filling her plate with beef, mushrooms, and bamboo. The food was cooked and flavored as well as any dish served in the Yuan manor. She ate until she was satisfied, feeling the contentedness of a full stomach. Skybright couldn’t remember the last time she had a nicely cooked hot meal—not since she left the Yuan manor in search of Zhen Ni so long ago, it seemed. All the meals she had eaten had been conjured by Stone before this. He had mostly kept her away from towns and other people until now.

They dined in silence, and she felt Stone’s dark eyes studying her as the server came and removed their dishes, leaving them with a pot of tea and a platter of lychees. “What?” she finally asked, uncomfortable beneath his gaze.

“You make quite the vision of a lady.”

“I wasn’t born to be a lady.”

“No,” Stone said, and she heard the weighted emphasis behind that one word. “You are a serpent demon.” He leaned an arm across the top of the carved redwood banister that displayed a scene of the Immortals in a heavenly garden in perfect detail. “Look at the patrons below.”

She obeyed, filled with an unease that tasted sour at the back of her throat.

“What do you see?”

The teahouse had become even more crowded since they had entered. A few consorts had moved into the laps of their various patrons, and most of the men below were red-faced and becoming increasingly boisterous. All the tables were cluttered with half-empty dishes and multiple jugs of rice wine.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said.

“Look closer.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but the seriousness of Stone’s expression stopped her. Skybright narrowed her eyes and observed the faces of the patrons below: the drunk man in his fourth decade with a long beard, tapping an erratic beat against the table with his fan; the beautiful woman reclined on the lap of a man who looked like he could be her grandfather, his hand gripping her hip so tightly, her dress fabric creased. There was a profound sadness in the woman’s eyes that contrasted harshly with her pretty features. Then something strange happened—a soft glow of light seemed to emanate from the woman’s face, creating a fuzzy halo around her features.

Gasping, Skybright lurched away from the railing. “That woman, her face seemed to be unnaturally lit.”

“Interesting.” Stone paused, as if considering this. “And what else?”

Curious, she leaned over the railing again, concentrating on the faces she could see. Her gaze settled on a brooding man sitting at a table with others but silent as if he were all alone. The golden cap he wore had caught her attention. He couldn’t have been more than thirty years, but a deep furrow already marked the place between his thick eyebrows. The man lifted his wine cup and tipped his head back, emptying its contents. He pounded a fist against the table, and a server scrambled up, filling his cup before dashing out of the way, as if afraid he’d get hit.

A bleary haze began to obscure the man’s features, and Skybright could hear a distant buzzing in the back of her mind as she gazed at him. Frightened, she looked away, scanning the other patrons who appeared normal before she let her eyes rest on the man with the golden cap again. Now she could no longer make out his face; it appeared as if an angry swarm crackled over his countenance. The effect was aberrant and frightening, like some faceless monster sat among the other patrons in the body of a normal man. Then an image began to fill her mind: the brooding man staring in horror at a bloody knife he clutched in his hand as his victim writhed in agony at his feet, blood spilling from his abdomen onto the cobblestones.

Skybright shook violently until Stone gripped her wrist, releasing her from the vision. “You can see then,” he said, “as your mother used to.”

She snatched her hand away, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. With trembling fingers, she took her teacup and drank deep, welcoming the feeling of the hot liquid scalding her tongue. After she emptied the cup, she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief placed on the table—her upper lip damp with perspiration. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her tone not as strong as she would have liked.

Stone refilled her cup before replying. “Your mother was able to see the true essence of people; gauge their sins. I was not certain if you had inherited this ability. It seemed unique to Opal. She used it to choose her victims.”

Skybright began to feel lightheaded. “Do you mean that Opal was some sort of … vigilante?”

“I never thought of it like that, but I suppose she was.” Stone took in the raucous scene below them, his expression unreadable. “She killed men she thought deserved to be killed—bad men.”

“But who is she to judge? She was not a god or a hell lord—”

“She seduced and killed, Skybright. The fact that she singled out the cruel men: murderers, thieves, and rapists, that was her own sport. I have told you she took much pleasure in it.”

Skybright gazed downward again, unable to believe what she had seen. All the faces were blurred: some haloed dimly, some with a fiercer light from within. Then there were those men whose features were obscured, buzzing with dissonance. For some, she could still see their eyes, catch the tip of a nose, or an angular cheekbone, but other men’s faces were completely clouded over, as the brooding man with the golden cap had been.

She shoved back from the banister, feeling as if she’d throw up all she had eaten. Stone seemed not to notice.

“I was hoping her gift was passed on to you,” Stone said. “You can continue with Opal’s legacy—be a judge of sinners and give punishment. You will select your first victim today.”

“You want me to murder a man?” Skybright whispered.

Stone’s emotionless expression was answer enough.

“No,” she said, so loudly that the lone patron sitting near them gave her a sidelong glance. Ignoring him, she leaned toward Stone. “I will not do this.”

“If you refuse to use your gift,” Stone replied, “I will choose an innocent bystander instead.” His dark gaze swept over the noisy crowd, settling on a quiet man sitting in the far corner—a young scholar by the looks of his simple robe.

Skybright saw that his face shone with light. But then the young man’s eyes widened, and he clasped his throat, mouth opening and closing like a fish flung out of water. She jumped to her feet, gripping the railing.

Stone watched the young man with detached interest, as if observing a slow game of Go.

The man had scrambled to his own feet, eyes bulging with panic, his face gone white, both hands encircling his neck, as if he were strangling himself as he struggled to take a breath. Two other patrons sitting near him had risen, gaping at the helpless man in alarm.

“It seems such a foolish way to die, does it not?” Stone asked. “Choking on a piece of meat.”

The young man crashed into a table, knocking plates and cups to the floor in a loud clatter. Patrons shouted in alarm. A large man with a thick beard slapped the scholar on his back, trying to dislodge the food from his throat. But it didn’t help. Skybright could see the light in the young man’s face slowly dimming, like a flickering candle at wick’s end.

“Stop.” She lunged across the table and grabbed Stone’s arm—the first time she had ever willingly touched him. “You’ve made your point.”

“We are agreed then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I will choose.”

Another thwack brought something large and dark from the young scholar’s mouth, and he collapsed against a table, chest heaving as he gulped down air. The teahouse owner ran up, then helped the man onto a stool pushed to the wall. A few patrons banged on the tables with their fists in approval, then returned to their food and drink.

“Good,” Stone replied, his mouth curving into the ghost of a smile. “Who will it be then?”

Kai Sen

The night was so deep that it was impossible to see in the forest. Kai Sen relied on his senses as he trod carefully between the trees and walked for a fair time before stopping somewhere within its depths. He cocked his head and listened to the night noises that surrounded him: the soft rustle of leaves, the steady hum and chirping of insects, and the stirring of nocturnal animals.

Kai Sen cupped his hands and looked down, but his vision remained black, too dark to discern anything. He chanted the spell Abbot Wu had taught him and opened his senses to the night. The elements enveloping him felt eternal—endless—twining tight around his own spirit and unraveling into the stars, then reaching down again as deep as the world’s core. Sifting in his mind’s eye, he tugged at the intense fire element, bypassing the wavering water strands and the solidity of earth, which tasted like grit against his tongue when he called its magic. The wood element was overpowering here, supple and surprisingly light, as it commanded the air and wind and sound as well. He tasted a sharp tang every time he touched metal magic but focused on pulling threads of fire to him. The slickness of hellfire settled into his curved palms.