Page 120 of The Poet Empress
So it was over, then. There had been no heartbeat after all.
Perhaps I should have felt disappointed. Afraid for my own life, maybe. Or, at the very least, I should have tried something else in desperation or panic. Instead, I just sat there silent, feeling like I was very far away.
I felt, strangely, like someone else had lived the events of the past year. Like someone else had been chosen to be Empress-in-Waiting. Like someone else had been enduring those horrid nights, and learning to read in secret, and piecing together truths for her spell. It felt like someone else’s eyes, not mine, staring down at the arena. Watching Maro make it to the dragon and kneel in front of its head and put his palm to the scales between its glass eyes. Someone else seeing him channel his magic, sending his red light into the Crown, persuading it to amplify his power of?/Lu, of roads.
Then I blinked, because I realized I actuallywasfar away. I was not just imagining it.
Part of me was still on the terrace, in my body, under the tent, but another part was—
There.Inside the arena, as a spark. A spark right inside Terren’s heart. I could feel its warmth around me, the embrace of its pulse. The spark became brilliant light, and the light flooded the entire ground of the arena before I could take a breath.
And then I saw—with the part of me still on the terrace—the arena transforming. Transforming into an orchard. Soft grass unfurling from amidst the scattered salt, trumpet flowers bursting out of the cobblestones against the crushing wind. In another span between breaths, trees sprouted, grew, and blossomed—pear and apricot, and cherries, and sweet peaches, turning the dry air lush and fragrant.
And amidst them, a little fish made of golden light sprang into life, tail wagging as it wriggled among their trunks.
A Fish That Swam Among Trees.That was the title I’d given my poem.
Maro must have sensed the change in the air. He stopped channeling, stood, and turned.
With the part of me inside the arena—the part that lived inside the little fish—I saw Terren’s eyes open. I watched him summon his eight swords back to his side and use one of them to push himself to his feet.
66BUILDING BRIDGES
Maro crossed the distance between them until they were seven paces apart. As he faced his younger brother, the tail of his elegant white-and-gold gown billowing behind him, the first son looked almost serene.
Terren, in contrast, was battle weary, blood drenched. His gown blew tattered in the wind, his hair wild and scattered with salt. But the Blessing, I was relieved to see, had healed him completely. Even the gash on his back had closed.
“I did not know you could cross the barrier,” he said.
Maro’s voice was just as calm. “I did not know you could come back from the dead.”
A wind brought down a shower of blossoms from the canopy above, red pomegranate and pink cherry and white pear.
To my surprise, they said nothing more. It was the first time they were alone with each other in so many years. With no advisors in their way, no tutors, no mothers, no allies. Alone, with a literomantic barrier between them and the world, they were as tucked away as they had been on the golden roofs of that pagoda, where no grown-ups could ever hear their secrets. But where I had expected honest words—if ones that were tense and hate-filled—there was only silence.
Maybe they knew each other so well that words were not needed.
Maybe they had grown so far apart, there was nothing left to say.
Up on the terrace, the audience of ten thousand clamored in shock and bewilderment. With the part of me in the tent, I could hear their cries:
“How is the Winter Dragon still alive?”
“Which literomancer has healed him?”
“What kind of spellwasthat? To have sprouted all those trees…”
Everyone—the guards, the servants, the clansmen, the concubines—was rushing back to my side of the terrace now, to get closer to the brothers and the dragon. Since they could not see from inside the arena like I could, they all jostled for a prime viewing spot around the balustrade, trying to catch a glimpse of the princes through the gaps in the canopy.
Silian was the only one who knew it was me. When she returned with the West Palace men under the tent, she gave me a look so vicious that I could not help but feel vindicated. There was nothing she could do now. The spell was already cast.
There was nothing anyone could do. The fate of Tensha rested entirely on the two brothers.
From within the arena, Maro moved. I saw, through the eyes of the little fish, as he loosened the ribbon tied around his neck, drew the metal staff from his back, and let it expand to its full length.
When he charged, it was so quick that I didn’t see his cloudstaff thrusting forward. Not until it hit metal—Terren had crossed his eight swords into a star-shaped shield.Prang.Maro used the momentum from the clash to leap back. He pivoted on the grass and struck from a different direction, again lightning quick. Terren shifted his star of swords to parry.Prang.Maro kept up the assault. He ran at him, over and over again, relentlessly—dashing at his side, bouncing off the tree trunks to attack from behind, sprinting across the leaf-heavy branches to strike from above.Pring. Prang. Pring.
The wind pummeled the trees, shaking down a rain of blossoms and leaves.
