The Dragon's Promise, page 12
When I’d left home, my country was on the cusp of spring. Now heat clung to the air, and my skin was sticky with humidity—a sign that we were well into summer.
I’d been gone for half a year.
My knees buckled at the realization. Six months, lost.
It could have easily been six years, or sixty, I reminded myself. When I looked at it that way, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. I was home. I’d won.
The wind threw Kiki up, and she squealed, flailing her wings. It felt like magic. It brimmed in the air, faint but stronger than before. As my cheeks tingled, Kiki and I dissolved into a fit of giggles.
Seryu shook his head. He’d shifted into his human form, but his hair was still green, darker in the sun than it had been underwater. “I’m starting to think I should’ve let you drown in the Sacred Lake.”
Still laughing, I sat up, digging my heels into the sand. “Then you would have missed out on a grand adventure, Seryu. And a wonderful friendship.”
“Your friendship has caused me nothing but trouble.” Seryu kicked at the sand. “Who knows what Grandfather will do to me when I return? He might cut off my horns. Or exile me from Ai’long.”
“Your mother wouldn’t allow that,” I replied. “She might take joy in tormenting me, but she cares for you. When you reached your full form, I swear she preened.” I offered him a slanted grin. “It must be an important rite of passage for dragons.”
“It is,” said Seryu. “Were you impressed?”
“Very. You don’t look like an eel anymore.”
His chest puffed out, just a little, with pride. “Then I guess it was all worth it.”
I stopped smiling. “You could stay here, you know. On land, with my brothers and me. We’d make you welcome.”
“I’d rather Grandfather turn me into a squid than live among your kind for the rest of my immortal life,” Seryu huffed. “And I’d rather choke on seaweed than watch you and that horse-trough boy make fish eyes at each other.”
“We don’t make fish—”
Seryu covered my mouth with a sleeve, silencing me. His snide expression had fled, and he lowered his arm. “I have to know,” he said quietly. “If not for him, did I ever have a chance?”
A lump swelled in my throat. I didn’t want to hurt him. “Takkan and I are connected by the strands of fate.”
I expected him to be jealous, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “Then I’ll have to find you when you’re reborn—before your strands have time to knot with his again.” His red eyes twinkled. “I only pray you won’t be a human again in the next life. Now that I’ve reached my full form, I’m far too majestic to stomach your world again.”
I didn’t know whether to punch him or laugh. Or cry. My shoulders softened, and I spoke. “So this is goodbye?”
The twinkle left his eyes. “I doubt I’ll be permitted to visit your realm for many years. Maybe not until you’re an old woman. All pruny and wrinkled, with seventeen great-grandchildren.” He snorted in distaste. “See, your hair is already starting to gray.”
I let out a laugh. “White,” I corrected, combing through the snow-touched locks with my fingers. “It turned white from using the Wraith’s pearl, not from age.”
“Same difference.” Seryu waved a dismissive hand. His sleeves and robes were already dry, unlike mine. A useful enchantment.
He was in a mercurial mood, his true thoughts impossible to decipher. But when he spoke again, he sounded strangely gentle. “If you do end up marrying that lordling, I hope they take after you, not him.”
“Who?”
“Those great-grandchildren,” he replied, tartly now. “Gods forbid they be dull and stiff-necked.”
I couldn’t help defending Takkan. “He isn’t dull and stiff-necked. You barely spoke to him!”
“Something I regret deeply,” Seryu replied. “He should know I won’t be saving you again, so he had better be up to the task.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You do realize I’m capable of saving myself from time to time.”
“Even still. With all the trouble you get into, Shiori…all the trouble you’re going to get into…you need whatever help you can get. Make sure he knows that.” After a pause, he said, “Make sure he deserves you.”
There came a twinge in my heart, and my hands fell to my sides. Not long ago, I could have imagined falling in love with Seryu. If Raikama had never cursed me, if I’d never spent that winter in Iro, it might have been him that I longed for, not Takkan.
But that would have made for a different story. Not this one.
“He does,” I said softly, “deserve me.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” grunted Seryu. “I’ll be visiting those great-grandchildren, you know, and telling them stories about you. Unflattering stories, to repay all the grief your friendship has given me.”
I hid a smile. For all his churlish remarks, Seryu was trying hard to be impassive and dragon-like. But I knew him better than that.
“Tell them some nice things too,” I said lightly.
He grunted again. “I suppose I’ll have time to think of some.”
Seryu arose now and turned for the sea. His horns were growing—the first sign that he was beginning to transform back into a dragon.
“Wait!” I shouted after him. “Don’t forget this.”
I held out the necklace he had given me what felt like a lifetime ago and pressed it into his palm.
“Don’t you dare say it,” he muttered, hooking his claws through the necklace.
“Say what?”
“All those idiotic Kiatan farewells: ‘May our strands cross again’ and, worse yet, ‘May the luck of the dragons be with you.’ If you say such things, I’ll have no choice but to drag you back into the sea.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. “Farewell, my friend,” I whispered. I’ll miss you, I wanted to say, but the words caught in my throat.
Instead, I hugged him.
The dragon was caught off guard and immediately stiffened, but he didn’t push me away. Before he could utter anything that might ruin the moment, I pressed my lips to his cheek. A kiss, like the one I’d given him all those months ago by the Sacred Lake the first time we’d said goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”
Seryu’s breath hitched, and his skin felt far too warm for him, a cold-blooded dragon. He drew back and, mustering a lofty tone, said, “It would never have worked between us, being companions and all. We’re both far too proud—and I’m far too magnificent.”
I tilted my head but didn’t speak. I knew he wasn’t finished.
His voice went solemn. “All the same, I’m glad to have known you, Shiori. You’re interesting, for a human. When you look into the sea, think of me sometimes.”
“I will,” I said softly.
As he whirled, a hard gust of wind made me fall back into the sand. By the time I got up again, all I saw was a splash in the water—followed by a sharp flare of sunlight. I shielded my eyes, trying to stare through the light to glimpse the dragon’s tail.
But Seryu was gone.
For a long time, I watched the water, half wishing he might bubble up again.
Kiki landed on my shoulder. I’ll miss that dragon, horns and all. She peered up when I said nothing. You all right, Shiori?
No, I wasn’t.
Seryu’s strand and mine had been knotted once, tied so closely by fate that we had almost been bound forever. Now I wasn’t sure whether they would ever cross again.
The taste in my mouth was bittersweet, and I swallowed hard, finally answering: “I will be.”
I will be. I pulled myself to my feet and wrung my skirt of seawater. “Come, Kiki, it’s time to go home.”
Sand kneaded between my toes as I hiked across the beach, chasing the rolling hills in the distance, the curved red roofs that peeked out from behind a sprawling wall of pine trees.
Gindara. The palace. Home.
In a few hours, I’d be back. Maybe in time for lunch with my brothers—and Father, whom I hadn’t seen in over a year.
Look! Kiki cried, spying ships. Your father’s sent the navy to greet you!
An entire fleet was assembled behind the sea cliffs, crowding Kiata’s coastline with brilliant red sails and banners.
My throat tightened. I replied in a low voice, “Those are A’landan ships.”
I clambered up the dunes to higher ground and shielded my eyes from the sun, squinting to figure out why A’landan ships were docked on Kiatan shores. But it was impossible to see from so far away.
Nine Hells, Kiki uttered. Has Kiata been conquered?
Six months ago, when I left, relations with A’landi had grown increasingly volatile. Had the situation escalated while I was in the dragon realm?
“It’s too early to make assumptions,” I replied as calmly as I could, but my fists were clenched at my sides. Answers would come once I reached Gindara.
Or sooner.
In the middle distance, a group of men were calling my name. “Princess Shiori!”
The coast’s keen winds distorted their voices, but I recognized their crimson-feathered helmets. I’d grown up surrounded by them.
My father’s sentinels.
Relief washed over me. I straightened my back and squared my shoulders, trying to summon an air of royalty. There was little I could do about the sand clinging to my cheeks or the kisses of algae in my hair, but I could at least stand like a princess.
“Princess Shiori’anma?” the captain asked. He and his men kept their distance, and their hands were not far from their swords.
Honestly, I couldn’t blame him for questioning who I was. I looked like I’d been spat out from the sea, and I still wore the robes of the dragon court. Though they were stained and wrinkled, their gossamer layers were undeniably from another world, sparkling with pearls. And there was that bolt of white in my hair.
“It’s me,” I confirmed. “Shiori’anma.”
At the familiar sound of my voice, the sentinels bowed as one, and the captain relaxed his stance, slightly.
“Forgive us for asking, Your Highness,” he said in a careful tone. “We’ve been stationed here for months to await your return. We were told to expect you, but we didn’t know where or when or…”
His voice trailed, but an unspoken how lingered in the air.
How had I come back, the sentinels were surely wondering, without ship or mount?
And where had I been? The men were striving hard not to stare at my dress, but I could read their bafflement easily.
I put on a smile. “I didn’t have to wait long. Thank you.”
The captain cleared his throat. “We should have found you sooner, but with the arrival of the A’landans—”
“Yes, I saw the ships down by the cliffs,” I interrupted. “Are we at war?”
“Not if Prince Reiji’s wedding proceeds smoothly.”
The smile fled my lips. “Wedding?”
“I assumed that’s why you’d returned.”
I had no idea what wedding he spoke of. I knew I should keep quiet, but I couldn’t help myself: “When is it?”
The captain didn’t manage to hide his surprise in time, and I wanted to kick myself. Of course he assumed I would know. I was the princess of Kiata—how could I not be aware of my own brother’s wedding?
“It is today,” he replied as his men exchanged awkward looks they thought I wouldn’t see. “Right now, in fact.”
* * *
The sentinels advised me to change my dress before barging into the Temple of the Sacred Crane for Reiji’s wedding. Their suggestion was perfectly sensible, and I meant to take it.
But once I returned to the palace, my mind changed like the wind. I’d been away for far too long, and I’d missed far too many important moments. I wouldn’t miss Reiji’s wedding.
One of the sentinels had given me his cloak, and it flared out over my shoulders as I raced to the temple. This was home: the white sand courtyards, the pavilions with sloping eaves and hanging bronze lanterns. Jays and thrushes whistled from the gardens, and I could smell the citrus orchards ahead.
But not everything was the same.
Colorful banners swirled from the palace’s vermilion pillars, welcoming our A’landan visitors. Around the temple, hundreds had gathered to observe my brother’s alliance with the foreign princess. Naturally, the A’landans stuck out from the crowd, their ostentation rivaling that of the dragons in Ai’long.
Bedecked in the boldest shades of red, blue, and gold, our visitors strutted about, intent on outshining everyone. I wondered if the court officials, with their kingfisher headdresses and elaborately embroidered coats, tripped over each other on the way here, given how long their sleeves trailed.
Do they always dress like that? asked Kiki.
“Like a pride of peacocks?” I scoffed. “Only when they come to Kiata.”
The rivalry between A’landi and Kiata was as old as our countries. I could tell from our freshly pruned trees, the way the lacquered benches outside the halls shone, the stiffly ironed uniforms of the servants, that we had played our own part in this petty competition.
What an unwelcome sight I must be, wearing a sentinel’s cloak over my shoulders, with sand sprinkling from my slippers and seaweed stuck to my hair.
My return stunned everyone who recognized me: the lords and ladies kneeling outside the temple, the priests milling by the stairs. Even the guards jerked their heads for a second look when I passed.
“Princess Shiori!” one of the priests by the temple doors exclaimed, flustered by my arrival. “We were not told that you had returned.”
“I have,” I said in my most authoritative voice. “Now open the doors.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t permitted, not even for you, Shiori’anma,” he replied. “The ceremony has already begun, and they are in the middle of their prayers—”
“I’ll be quiet,” I said. “No one will even notice me come in.”
“But, Your Highness—”
I never used to pay attention to the priests before, and I wasn’t going to start now. With a lift of my arms and a whisper to the trees, I summoned a calamity of leaves to the temple’s grand entrance.
The leaves flew, pasting themselves to the priests’ faces like paper masks. As the priests cried for the guards, I traipsed up the temple steps, removed my slippers, and let myself inside.
I was quiet, as promised, closing the hefty doors with care. Still, everyone noticed me enter.
The temple held not the crowd of hundreds that I’d expected. The gathering inside was intimate; I could make out the backs of my father, my six brothers and a lady next to Andahai, the high priest and two monks, and a smattering of A’landi officials.
Takkan was nowhere to be found. And I didn’t even see Reiji’s bride.
Grumbles and sniffs punctuated the ceremonial silence, and I started to regret barging inside—until my brothers turned around.
How strange and wonderful it was to see them all, sitting beside Father and dressed in their court finery, as if nothing had changed. It gave me hope that I might slip back into my old life.
All six beamed at me, surprise and joy unraveling their ceremonial formality. Even Reiji, who knelt in the center of the temple beside a painting of Princess Sina Anan, his future wife, offered a nod.
I risked a glance at Father, daring hope he might acknowledge me too. But the emperor did as the A’landans did. With a clipped motion, he turned back to face the high priest.
Disappointment rose up to my eyes in a scalding wave, and I bit the inside of my cheek, shrinking into a corner to wait until the ceremony was over. Unfortunately, Kiki’s gauge of human emotion was sorely lacking, and she didn’t sense to leave me alone.
I thought your brother was marrying an A’landan princess, tittered my bird. All I see is a piece of parchment.
I shrugged.
Who’s that girl beside Andahai? She looked nervous to see you.
Did she? I’d been so happy to see my family that I had barely noticed her. With oval eyes and berry-colored lips, she looked as delicate as the lilacs embroidered on her lavender jacket. Her hands were demurely set on her lap, and if her ornate robes caused her any discomfort, she was a master of hiding it. She possessed the poise my tutors had long since given up trying to instill in me.
“Yihei’an Qinnia,” I said. “Andahai’s fiancée.”
Andahai was supposed to have married her last autumn, mere weeks after Raikama had turned my brothers into cranes and sent us all away. Obviously, that wedding had been postponed.
I watched my brother and his betrothed. Their heads were tilted close, shoulders touching. This tender side of Andahai was new to me. Then again, I had been away for half a year.
Much had changed.
Including Father.
He’d aged during the time I’d been away. There were new lines on his brow, etched with a melancholy that hadn’t been there before.
I ached to see him, to speak to him and make him smile, but not once did he glance back at me. With every passing minute, my heart sank a little deeper. I hoped he wasn’t furious I had left—or disappointed.
Finally, a gong resonated across the hall, and my brothers scrambled back to join me, barraging me with an unprincely slew of hugs and questions.
Wandei, the concerned: “When did you get back, sister?”
Andahai, the eldest: “You should have told us you were coming back.”
Benkai, the thoughtful: “You look well.”
Hasho, the sincere: “You look different.”
Yotan, already focused on the irrelevant: “But what are you wearing?”
There were other queries in my brothers’ eyes too, secret ones concerning magic and Ai’long. But no one spoke them aloud. There’d be time for those questions later.
