Fury of the Phoenix by Cindy Pon Page B

tears.
    “You’ve studied The Book of the Dead .” The teasing amusement had vanished from his voice, and the silence that followed stretched too long. “Do you practice it still?” he finally asked.
    “No. I made a rash decision. The wrong choice. I shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t thinking. I only wanted to bring him back. He shouldn’t have died.” She was babbling. “I burned his heart in the end.”
    Peng was quiet, turning the dagger slowly in his hand. He met her gaze. “Good.”
    “Chen Yong doesn’t know,” she whispered. “Please don’t tell him.”
    “Your secret is safe with me.” He handed the exquisite weapon back, offering it by the hilt. “But it is one that will only fester.”
    Ai Ling touched his spirit then and saw that he spoke truly. But what could she do? Chen Yong would never forgive her. “Can you clean the dagger?” she asked.
    “No. You’ll never be able to restore the color of the blade.”
    Somehow she already knew that deep down. “Thank you for the beautiful tunic, Peng. And for listening.” She felt limp when she rose, wrung dry.
    “Of course,” he said, and opened the door for her.
    She walked past him, the tunic draped over her arm.
    “Ai Ling?”
    She turned.
    “I’m always here to help.” He inclined his head, his dark eyes serious. “You can trust me.”
     
    Two weeks had passed since the pirate attack. They sailed across the Sea of Seven Stars, more vigilantly than before. Peng insisted on increased patrols and double shifts. Chen Yong kept his distance. It hurt Ai Lingmore than she would admit, but she would not beg for his friendship.
    One evening she strolled the perimeter of the deck to admire the moon—so brilliant it rendered the water into rippling beams. She let the wind fill her lungs, her ears. She had gazed at a full moon just like this one over the curving rooflines of the Emperor’s palace, excitement coursing through her. Wait for the extra moon then dark again. A riddle solved. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory that was hers but not hers. She didn’t sense Chen Yong’s presence until he was beside her. Her body tingled. And she hated herself for it.
    “It’s a beautiful night,” he said.
    She made no reply.
    “How have you been?” His features were in shadow.
    “You ask now?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. She felt his regret, and she clutched her spirit tight.
    “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t expect to see you.” He leaned on the railing, cupping his chin. The gesture made him appear young. “Why did you never respond to my letters?” He met her eyes.
    Chen Yong had written six letters to her while they were apart. She had replied to only one. “I did respond.”
    The corner of his mouth slanted upward.
    “It wasn’t easy to find someone traveling to Gao Tung to deliver them,” she hurriedly said. What could she possibly write to him? That she felt alone? How she isolated herself from others as her power grew? That she missed him more than she could say? “Is that why you’re angry with me? Because I didn’t reply to your letters?”
    He laughed under his breath. “I’m not angry with you. Well, perhaps I was when you first appeared on board like a clever cat.” Chen Yong turned his gaze back toward the water. “It was a difficult choice to leave home to look for my birth father. My mother wasn’t pleased, especially after losing Li Rong.” He straightened. “In truth, I’m glad you’re here with me. Even if…” He shifted, his posture tense. “Ai Ling…”
    The hesitancy in his voice caught her attention. He was nervous. She tilted her face toward his. His golden eyes slid away from hers before he spoke. “I’m betrothed.”
    She was certain her heart stopped for a moment, and she dug her nails into her palms, tried to keep her features a smooth mask. “What?”
    “My mother arranged it right before I left. I—”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?”