Fury of the Phoenix by Cindy Pon Page A

pass, and she entered his cabin. It was three times bigger than the cabin she shared with Chen Yong, yet still not spacious. A large table strewn with maps dominated the room. Books, dozens of them, were stacked in wooden crates against the wall. She remained standing near the door, her hands clasped in front of her.
    Peng nodded to his narrow cot. “I wanted to give you a small gift, for warning us of the pirates.”
    A silk tunic was arranged on Peng’s berth. She ran her hand along the sleeve. It was a deep, rich purple, slippery and cool, with gold designs embroidered on the wide armbands. The silk shimmered like a jewel in the dim light.
    “It’s lovely,” she murmured.
    “I’m glad you’re pleased with it.” Peng smiled. “We sella lot of our silks in Jiang, and I often have a few sample outfits made to showcase the fabrics.”
    He waved to a chair, indicating she should sit. Ai Ling lifted the tunic to her chest and pressed her cheek against the brocade, not caring how foolish she appeared. “My mother is wonderful with needle and thread. She would admire this tunic.”
    Peng sat down, and she settled in a chair across from him. “And your mother let you run away to chase Chen Yong?”
    She tucked her chin in surprise. “He’s a responsible brother,” she said, after too long a pause.
    A smile played at the corners of Peng’s mouth. “Come, Ai Ling,” he said. “Chen Yong’s your brother like I am your brother.”
    She bunched the tunic in her fist.
    “It’s so painfully obvious, the way you moon after each other.” He chuckled.
    “I…” She closed her mouth. “He…”
    Peng tapped his leather boot against the floor and lifted a brow.
    “Chen Yong does not moon after me,” she said finally, heat burning the tips of her ears.
    “He never left your cabin once, the entire two days you were asleep.” Peng stretched his long legs in front of him. “We had to deliver his meals.”
    Her heart expanded, filled. She hadn’t known.
    He studied her openly. “I’ve heard of you.”
    Ai Ling swallowed.
    Peng smiled. “Yen and I traveled to the Palace of Fragrant Dreams half a year ago for trade. The gossip in Huang Long centered on the newlywed girl who had killed a much-despised adviser on his wedding night.”
    She smoothed the tunic in her lap, her palms damp.
    “Is it true?” Peng asked. “Did you kill Zhong Ye?”
    “What does it matter?”
    “You don’t seem the vindictive type. Not one to chase power and status. But you’re bold.”
    Flustered and confused, she continued to focus on the beautiful tunic.
    “Zhong Ye was powerful in the dark arts,” Peng said. “It would have had taken someone very strong to kill him.”
    “What do you know of the dark arts?” she whispered.
    He paused and raised a hand. “No. I never practiced. I studied the dark arts as one studies an enemy’s tactics. You cannot fight evil without understanding it.”
    Ai Ling did not look at him. She shouldn’t have come to see Peng alone.
    “For example, I can tell that your dagger is tainted.”
    Why had she even brought her dagger on this trip? True, it was the only weapon she had, but she should have buried it long ago. Cast it into a fathomless lake.
    “Do you have it?” Peng’s tone was gentle.
    She unsheathed it and handed it to him without speaking. She didn’t understand why she felt she could trust him. She knew she could never undo what she had done. But perhaps it would help to tell someone, to share her story.
    Peng held the dagger by its ivory hilt, the red jewels glinting even in the dim lantern light. “It’s been blessed.” His black eyes met hers. “Blessed specially for you.”
    She nodded, thinking of Lao Pan.
    “How did it become tainted?”
    “I used it—I used it for the Calling Ritual.”
    Peng sucked in his breath. “To remove a heart. Whose?”
    “Li Rong’s. Chen Yong’s younger brother. He was—” She choked. “He was my friend.” She blinked back her