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After wandering through the garden, my pouch bulging with new additions, we enter the house, placing our shoes outside. Delicious smells waft from the kitchen as I stare at the polished wooden floor, the latticework on the windows, the brocade cushions on the chairs. The sea in the distance glistens from the windows at the back, while those at the front face the hills. My heart beats faster, recalling something my mind no longer does: blurred shadows of the past, echoes of voices gone silent.
A round table is already set with plates and bowls for four. When I think of my father and Dian sitting here amid the empty chairs, my heart twists. Dishes of food are already laid out: a whole fish glazed with sweet and sour sauce, prawns braised with ginger, bean curd stew with slices of the devil pepper Dian showed me, a plate of the leaves beside it.
“Where do I change?” I ask, eager to be rid of my red garments beneath the cloak.
“In your room, of course,” Father replies as he emerges from the kitchen, holding a clay pot, his fine robe stained with grease.
“Where is Ruilin?” Dian wants to know.
“Gone to your room. She was surprised we didn’t have a spare chamber, then told me she’d be staying in yours.” He sighs. “This must be the first time she’s ever ventured into a kitchen. I sent her away before she cut off her fingers—or mine.”
Dian grins as she climbs the flight of stairs at the far end. “I’ll come to help after I’ve washed up.”
My father gestures for me to follow him up the stairs. The ceilings are lower here, the space darker—yet a sense of comfort enfolds me. A thick carpet covers the floor, my feet curling instinctively into its softness. As my father opens the door at the end of the corridor, light floods the space. I walk into the room, studying the wooden bed by the wall, the sheets pristine like they’ve been recently changed. The window overlooks the garden beneath, the hills ahead. On a table are an assortment of small items: animals whittled from wood, a handful of marbles, a cloth rabbit with beaded eyes. The closet has stacks of folded garments. As I shake one out, I see it’s far too small. These possessions are those of a child. Cherished, lost… but not forgotten.
Mine.
My father’s brow creases. “We’ll need to find you new clothes.”
“All these years… why did you keep my room the way it was?” I ask.
A long silence falls. “Because, like Dian—I never really gave up on the hope of you returning,” he says at last.
My chest clenches. As he reaches out to pat the top of my head tentatively, I hug him instead, my eyes squeezed to drown the prickling sensation. He clears his throat like he’s trying to speak, but the words don’t come. Then he’s hugging me back, tears falling down my face. And though nothing in the world can heal the pain of our separation, in this moment—right now—he feels like my father.
CHAPTER SIX
I AM A STRANGER, LYING IN THIS BED—UNFAMILIAR WITH the softness of the sheets, the creak of wood when I shift. Gone is the beloved child who fell asleep here each night, whose greatest concern was a squabble with her sister. The woman in her place has lied, stolen, and cheated. She has blood on her hands, she has killed.
When I was taken by the Iron Mountains, they didn’t just steal my future… they erased my past. Except, I’m no longer the child who surrendered to fate and made her place in it as best as she could. I’m stronger now. Harder. Destiny isn’t something to yield to. It can be grappled with, wrestled and twisted into a shape that fits better.
The dragon’s magic roils restlessly in my veins. Through the window, the moon shines like the lantern of the gods, stars strewn across the dark in glittering abundance. Our island is beautiful, the kind of beauty that engulfs one’s senses, that makes you believe perfection isn’t just a dream.
At last sleep claims me in fractured bouts. I wake to a clear morning, sunlight spilling through my window. There is a pile of clothes on my bed—did Dian leave them here last night? After dressing, I make my way downstairs, treading lightly to avoid waking the others.
Someone is coming up the path to our home. Out of caution, I pick up one of Father’s smaller knives from the kitchen, tucking it behind me as I head to the entrance. The door swings open without warning—there are no locks here, whereas in the Iron Mountains this would ensure we’d be robbed, our throats slit.
It’s Captain Shenming, clad in armor, a sword strapped to his back. He inclines his head in greeting, though his eyes fix on my arm behind my back. I let my hand drop to my side, the blade pointed at the ground.
He frowns. “Were you planning to stab me?”
“If you were a thief.”
“There are no thieves here,” he says. “Mist Island is safe.”
I look at his sword. “Then why bear a weapon? Why are there so many soldiers?”
“To protect us from the enemies beyond.” He pauses, before continuing, “We aren’t like the Iron Mountains, ruled by grasping leaders. We share the food harvests, we cultivate what we need for other necessities, we help one another. Our people are content. What need is there for locks when we trust our neighbors, when there is nothing to hide?”
Greed thrives everywhere.
A warning from the Moon Dragon, one I agree with. I almost envy the captain’s unflinching belief in the peace of his home; he has known better people than me, his trust in the world unshaken. As mine might have been, had I grown up here.
“You are lucky to live here,” I tell him honestly.
“As are you.”
He is right. Though returning home isn’t as seamless as once imagined, I feel safe. “Why is the Honored Captain here at this early hour?” I ask formally, recalling my manners.
