Perched at the edge of a cliff, a tiny figure watched as a dark cloud floated toward her, accompanied by the thunderous whir of rotating engine blades.

A furrow appeared on Aihui Ying’s smooth forehead.

The High Commander’s airships were far noisier than they should be. It was a low-level problem that could have been easily fixed with mufflers fashioned out of bison leather. Her father’s hypothesis was that the guild masters had let this flaw slip through on purpose, because noise was apparently an effective show of intimidation.

“Why stop there? Might as well make lightning bolts shoot out of the keel,” she muttered.

The airships passed overhead. Two smaller ones in front and two behind, guarding the behemoth in the middle. Each of them was a black monstrosity emblazoned with the silver emblem of the cobra, bamboo-battened sails extending out from both sides of the hull and flapping majestically against the cold winds.

In her childhood, Ying had once disturbed a sleeping lizard lounging on a rock to find out if it was dead. It awoke in a fury, brightly colored frills flaring from its neck in a spectacular display. That was where the Engineers Guild must have gotten their inspiration from, she reckoned, when they added those sails to the airships. Again, for intimidation more than functionality.

“By decree of the High Commander,” a monotonous voice issued from above, “the Cobra’s Order is transporting a traitorous prisoner from the capital city to the mines of Juwan, where he is to serve his sentence till death. All civilian airships, keep away—I repeat—keep away.”

Ying snorted, covering her ears with her gloved hands to shield them from the racket. Trust the High Commander to make an exhibition of his own son’s exile.

Nevertheless, she had little sympathy for the former beile and High Commander–designate. He had dug his grave by trying to incite conflict between his brothers and then having the gall to declare that he would execute everyone he deemed a threat once he assumed command. The story of his downfall had spread far and wide across the nine isles, no doubt with silent approbation by the authorities, as a warning to all who might threaten the stability of the Aogiya High Command.

Once the airships had gone by, Ying focused her attention back on the task at hand. She was losing daylight, and while the night views of the Huarin isle were magical, landing was far more challenging in the dark. She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears, adjusting the cloth band at the back of her head to make sure her bun was secured. Inhaling the frigid summer air, she stretched her hands out to the sides.

“In Abka Han we trust.”

She leaned forward, tipping her center of gravity over the edge of the cliff. Her body hurtled downward, the distance between her and the perilous rocks rapidly shrinking.

A sprinkling of ocean spray kissed her cheeks—and she sprang to action.

Ying yanked at one of the colorful silk cords dangling off the bulky contraption strapped to her back. An enormous pair of wings unfolded, bamboo bones clicking as each segment snapped into place, stretching the thin silk fabric that lined the frame.

The wings caught a gust of wind, sending their wearer flying upward and out.

“Thank you!” she yelled to the sky, eyes glimmering with excitement as she soared above the waves. Abka Han, the god of the skies who watched over the Antaran territories, was probably sneering at her foolishness, but the proper respect still needed to be paid.

Respectfulness she had learned from her mother; the foolhardy part was all from her father.

Ying closed her eyes and basked in the serenity of her surroundings. The occasional cooing of gulls punctuated the soft humming of the waves. By the time she opened her eyes again, the circular white roofs of her village’s gers came into view, looking like tiny mushrooms sprouting amid the grass and snow. Farther in the distance, small specks of white and brown dotted the grasslands, the village’s many flocks of sheep, yak, and horse herds grazing peacefully. Tugging at the blue cord on her left, she adjusted her course so that she was now homebound.

Before setting off, she had identified a clear patch of grass off the western edge of her village as her landing spot. She had even stuck a large red flag into the ground. But landing was more difficult than she’d imagined.

Instead of sailing comfortably toward her flag, Ying lost the updraft midway over the cluster of gers. She was cutting it so close to the sloping roofs that she could see her bewildered clansmen pointing at her and hear their exclamations of incredulity.

“Hi,” she yelled, waving stiffly, “just passing through—”

Then suddenly a wooden wind vane caught her right wing, mercilessly ripping through its sheer fabric. That marked the end of Ying’s little experiment. She smashed straight into the felt-lined roof of the ger before tumbling down the side and landing on the ground with a loud crash. The intricately carved wooden door of the circular tent swung open, revealing the perplexed faces of its occupants.

A small crowd gathered around her, clucking with disapproval.

“Look at you. Such a disgrace! How is it that the chieftain allows his daughter to run amok like a wild boar? To think you’re the oldest girl too. You’re supposed to be looking after your younger siblings in your mother’s stead, but instead you’re always creating trouble.” The voice, harsh and scratchy, belonged to a walking contradiction called Roya. Despite her jolly appearance, the owner of the village tavern was one of the most obnoxious and disagreeable personalities in the clan.

Ying fumbled to get herself off the ground, dusting away the flecks of dirt and snow that clung to her azure woolen robes and fur-lined boots. Picking up her broken wings, she smiled at her spectators as sweetly as a silver fox might.

“How kind of you to show concern for my a-ma’s parenting methods. I’ll be sure to convey the message,” she said, turning to walk away. As the second child in a line of six and the eldest girl, there were certain expectations that the villagers would force upon her shoulders—expectations she chose to willfully ignore.

“Insolent brat,” Roya muttered loudly. “It’s no wonder no decent young man will take her for a wife.”

Ying rolled her eyes. It was not the first time she’d heard things like that, whispered behind her back as if she could not hear them. She was infamous within the Aihui clan. Blessed by Abka Han with the beauty of a winter snowdrop, yet she received no love from the matchmakers. She was too odd—they said—and would not make a good wife. Were she not the daughter of the clan’s chieftain, she would have been expelled long ago.

The superficial opinions of her clansmen meant little to Ying. Marriage had never been on her list of priorities anyway. She wanted a different future: one day, she would join the ranks of the masters in the hallowed halls of the Engineers Guild, where her father—Aihui Shan-jin—had once been.

She weaved her way between the white tents to her father’s workshop at the western fringe of the village. It stood on its own, a lone sentry some distance away from the other dwellings. Some years back, an experiment gone awry had burned down the Aihui chieftain’s ger and two others beside it. After that, the clan folk unanimously voted to shift their leader’s den to where it wouldn’t cause collateral damage to anyone else.

“A-ma!” she called loudly as she approached. It would thrill him to hear of her success. Her beloved father had always been her biggest supporter. She pushed open the door with a flourish. “I did it. I managed to—”

Her words dropped as she stepped into her father’s workshop. The place was in shambles, as if a violent sea storm had raged through and torn it asunder. His tools, usually neatly hung on their wooden rack, were scattered beside the toppled table; the glass receptacles he used to store various herbs were shattered, their contents strewn haphazardly amid broken shards; and his treasured books and scrolls, once meticulously arranged by topic on the many shelves, had been thrown onto the floor in disarray.

And the person responsible for the catastrophe was still here.

A figure clad in black, his face masked, revealing only a pair of narrow, menacing eyes, was digging through her father’s belongings. Across the man’s left eye was a reddened scar, twisted and gnarled, remnants of an old wound healed poorly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ying shouted.

The intruder dropped the book he had been flipping through and flicked his wrist in her direction. A flash of silver caught the light.

A dart?

Instinctively, Ying whipped out the fan that she always kept hidden in her sleeve and held it up in front of her face, its metallic silver leaf unfolding smoothly. A sharp clink and a dent appeared, followed by a metal dart landing on the floor amid the clutter.

Flipping her fan horizontal, she tapped the rivet, and a flurry of small bamboo arrows shot out of the slim barrels built into the ribs.

The trespasser leapt up into the air, using the shelves as footholds to propel himself sideways. Most of Ying’s arrows missed their mark, but one drove itself into the man’s left thigh. His pupils darted back and forth, surveying his options: there was only one exit to the ger, a red latticed door faded with age, and Ying was standing in front of it.

Should have been more diligent with the upgrades, Ying thought as the man charged toward her. She had been meaning to improve the arrow-firing mechanism so it could hold more than one round, but procrastination and a slew of newer projects had rendered it forgotten. But she couldn’t think about that now. Slapping her fan shut, she jabbed it at the rogue’s eyes.

Other than a few basic strokes of self-defense, Ying had not much in the way of combat skills, and it showed. She barely touched the fabric of the intruder’s sleeve before he struck her on the right shoulder with a forceful blow, sending her flying against a shelf.

Gritting her teeth, Ying lunged after the man, who was already halfway out the door. Her fingers brushed his cloak, closing around something smooth and hard, like a pebble. But then she lost her balance, landing on the hard floor in a painful heap. The intruder disappeared into the dusk.

She slammed her fist against the ground in frustration. How could she have let him escape like that? But when she opened her clenched fist, an oval jade pendant lay on her palm. Black like obsidian, there was an intricate carving of a dragon etched on one side, surrounded by the waves of the clouds up in the heavens.

She hadn’t come away empty-handed after all.

“Ying,” a soft voice called out.

“A-ma?” Ying quickly clambered to her feet, looking around for her father.

The chieftain of the Aihui clan was lying on the ground, his body crushed under the weight of one of the toppled shelves. A puddle of garish red pooled beneath him, seeping from the wound through which a gleaming blade remained stabbed.

“A-ma,” Ying whispered, her voice trembling with fear as she stared at the blood. “What happened? We need to get you out of here.” She struggled to lift the fallen bookcase, but the weight of the wood was too much for her to bear. Despair and helplessness gripped her heart. “I’ll get help, I’ll—”

“Ying, don’t.” Her father mustered a sad smile, then pointed a finger across his workshop toward an octagonal lamp carved from sandalwood. It had been knocked onto the floor, partially obscured beneath large sheets of parchment. “Will you fetch that for me, please?” he asked shakily.

Ying nodded, quickly running over to pick up the lamp.

Her father had made it many years back as a gift for her mother. Every surface had been painstakingly carved to tell the story of how they had met, when Aihui Shan-jin was just a headstrong, self-assured young lad, and his wife-to-be a shy daughter of the village horse rancher. Since her mother’s death ten years ago, that lamp had sat on her father’s worktable, its subtle fragrance keeping him company while he toiled.

“Let me get help,” Ying begged.

The chieftain shook his head. “I haven’t got much time.” Reaching into the lamp, he lifted its wooden top and withdrew a leather-bound book and placed it carefully in Ying’s hand. Ying blinked, surprised that something had been hidden inside.

“Tell no one you have this and do not look inside, do you understand?” he said with urgency impressed upon every word. “When you are alone—burn it.”

“What is this?”

“Something that will bring about the downfall of our clan, and possibly the rest of the nine isles. I should never have agreed to be a part of this, but my mind—and heart—were not strong enough. This is the price of Abka Han’s displeasure. Do as I say, my most precious lamb, and promise me you will not hunt for the man who was here before. There are forces behind this that are far beyond our control. I would not rest in peace knowing that you are in danger.”

Ying nodded, her eyes brimming with tears as she watched the life slowly seep away from her father’s warm brown eyes. “Tell E-niye I miss her,” she said, clutching on to her father’s callused hand.

“You are so much like her, my child. But I pray that you will not walk down the same path that we have…”

Aihui Shan-jin smiled, and then he closed his eyes for the eternal slumber.

A week later, Ying stood before her parents’ graves, at the edge of a soaring cliff that overlooked the rise and fall of the tides. Her long dark hair drifted with the wind, and the turquoise beads of her headdress rustled like the sound of rain.

She stared at the miniature ger that carefully marked out their final resting spot. An Antaran tradition, to ensure the dead would have a comfortable dwelling in the afterlife. Her father had crafted it himself when her mother passed on. Ying had been only eight then. Now the tiny tent had become his home too.

Sighing, Ying walked over to the cliff’s edge. The ocean seemed to go on forever. She couldn’t even see the tip of the nearest isle, Kamar.

“You still owe me so many stories,” she whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry her words to her father.

In his youth, her father had journeyed across the seas to the fabled capital city of Fei, with its skyscraping pagodas and shimmering tiled roofs, and been granted a place among its greatest engineers. But he never said anything about it. Instead, there was always a flash of sorrow that appeared in his eyes whenever anyone mentioned the capital, and Ying knew that there were shadows in her father’s memory that pained him to touch.

Now she had her own shadow to bear.

“These seas can never trap those who are meant to fly,” her father used to tell her. And so she did take to the skies, but he would no longer have the chance to see it.

Ying clambered onto a large boulder and took her folding fan from beneath her sleeve, running her fingers along the edge that had been accidentally stained with her father’s blood. It had already faded from red to rust brown.

The day she’d invented it, she’d run into her father’s workshop, excitedly waving her sketch for the fan in his face. It was her very first design, entirely out of her own imagination. She had showed it to her older brother, Wen, but he had only scoffed, treating it like a child’s drawing. She showed it to her younger sister, Nian, but she’d merely smiled and carried on twirling around the bonfire, too enchanted by the rhythm of the drums. But not her a-ma. When she showed it to him, he ruffled her hair affectionately and praised her for a job well done, then they hunkered down to create it together, heads bowed as they carefully whittled tunnels into the fan’s bamboo ribs so that the darts could fit within.

The villagers often criticized her father for indulging her eccentricity, but Ying would be eternally grateful for it. She didn’t expect them to understand her. Now the only people who did were no longer around.

Tucking away the fan, Ying pulled out two items from her leather pouch—the black jade pendant and the leather-bound book, the last thing her father had given her. She had meant to speak to Wen and Nian about these, but they had been so busy with funeral proceedings that she didn’t have the chance.

“Burn it,” her father had said. But why? What could it possibly contain that would be so damning to their clan? And what of those mysterious forces that he had warned her about?

Her fingertips traced the worn and frayed edges of the leather, telltale signs of the days and nights that her father had kept this book in close company. A smile tugged at her lips. All the books in her father’s workshop were in the same state—overly thumbed pages, faded ink, and the occasional drool stains from when he had fallen asleep while reading. “Knowledge is what keeps our people alive,” he had once said, “and it is what makes a person truly feel alive.”

Ying’s hand hovered hesitantly over the cover. Her father’s parting words echoed in her mind, warning her against what she was about to do.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. If he had wanted to destroy it, then perhaps he should have done it himself. It was too much to ask of her, not to even try investigating what exactly it was that had cost her father his life.

What harm could there be in reading a book?

She flipped open the cover gingerly, holding her breath. Her father’s neat handwriting appeared on the page. It looked like one of his regular record books, those that he conscientiously kept for every single idea, experiment, and wild flight of fancy that had ever crossed his mind.

Ying quickly skimmed through the pages, frowning as she read. Much of it was too complex for her to comprehend. And then she found something odd, sandwiched between pages—a carefully folded piece of parchment. It looked innocuous enough, but when she held it out in front of her eyes, digesting the neat, angular lines of her father’s elaborate sketches and the tiny labels and equations that explained each part, she finally realized the true weight of his last words.

This, she recognized.

Cannons and gunpowder.

Weapons.

Harbingers of death and destruction.

“ ‘Charcoal mixed with powder ground from shar rocks and a combination of the following dried herbs—’ ” she read. The ingredients for gunpowder. Yet it didn’t look like the standard formula she was familiar with. Her father had made modifications and added new elements, some of which she had never even heard of before.

“Why would you add this into gunpowder?” she murmured, her fingers resting upon the characters that spelled “ming-roen ore.”

The infamous ming-roen ore, or devil’s ore, was the stuff of legend across the nine isles, first discovered almost fifty years back by a group of prisoners serving their sentence at the Juwan mines. They had been digging for a source of kaen gas, the extremely valuable lift gas that helped keep the airships of the Cobra’s Order afloat. Instead, one poor soul hit upon a mysterious silver fluid oozing from the cracks in the underground caverns. He reached out to touch it, mesmerized by its otherworldly shimmer. Then his companions heard him scream—a tortured, anguished cry that echoed through the tunnels—and when they found him, grotesque, bleeding pustules completely covered his arm. If the foreman hadn’t had the good sense to chop off the man’s arm right there and then, death would have claimed his soul.

The highly corrosive liquid that was ming-roen ore had the potential to become a lethal weapon, but the problem was that it was rare, and its destructive nature made it difficult for any vessel to contain it for extended periods of time. The masters at the Engineers Guild had been trying to find a solution for years, to no avail.

Ying couldn’t understand. Devil’s ore could destroy anything within a matter of minutes, so it had no obvious uses. Why would her father mix it with gunpowder? Perhaps the other puzzling sketches and equations in this book held the key to this mystery.

Even though she could decipher little of what her father had drawn, Ying knew the implications of this work. The little novelties and gadgets that sat in his workshop paled in comparison to what this book contained. This was a book of weaponry—and even in their unfinished form, she could see the devastating potential that they had.

Weapons of war were keys to power.

Is this why you had to die? Because of someone else’s hunger for power?

A single teardrop slid down her cheek and landed on her father’s sketch, smudging the lines.

“No!”

She quickly rubbed at the spot, not wanting to leave the slightest blemish on what could have been her father’s final work. Then she noticed something strange peering through the small wet patch that had left the parchment translucent.

Ying flipped the sheet around. There was a message written on the other side, but it wasn’t in her father’s handwriting. Four lines in some unintelligible code and a few equations in small, even print with elegant curves.

Someone else had seen this. Someone else had been working with her father on all of this—but who? No one else on Huarin did any engineering except her.

Ying carefully folded the parchment once again and slipped it back between the journal pages. She then held up the jade pendant to study the intricate pattern that was carved into the smooth obsidian surface.

This was no ordinary jade. Hetian jade—comfortingly warm to the touch, unlike the cool nature of other jade types. There were no characters whittled into the stone, unlike the family pendants of the Antaran noble clans. Just an image of a dragon baring its razor-sharp fangs, talons raised to strike. A symbol of aggression and superiority—but it was a long way from home. The mythical dragon was a symbol of the Qirin royal family, the emblem representing the sovereign of the Great Jade Empire, the greatest enemy of the Antaran isles.

A fraught relationship had always existed between the nine isles and their far wealthier neighbor. Blessed with fertile grasslands and mild weather, the Qirins of the Great Jade Empire were able to live far more comfortably than the Antarans, who often struggled with poor harvests and scant resources. In exchange for the import of various necessities, the Antarans found themselves at the mercy of Qirin hands. Were it not for the vast stretch of treacherous ocean lying between the isles and the closest Qirin border city of Fu-li, perhaps they would have been conquered by the Empire a long time ago.

But it was preposterous!

Even if her father’s work was immensely valuable, how could the Empire have learned about it when they were so far away? The only outsiders who traveled to Huarin were trade merchants from the other isles, and even then, it was mostly limited to their closest neighbors, Kamar and Noyanju.

If Fei was a distant dream, then the Empire was a place that she couldn’t even begin to fathom. She had read hazy passages in books that alluded to its riches and decadence, but that was all it was—a fantasy as surreal as the heavens.

Ying continued staring at the pendant, as if the dragon would speak and answer all her doubts if she persevered for long enough. The creature remained silent. Her shoulders sagged in despair. She knew too little to be able to unravel this mystery. Would she have to leave everything here with her final goodbye and never be able to avenge her father’s death?

Then she remembered the dying embers in his eyes, the dagger mercilessly stabbed into his chest. Her father’s life had been snuffed out so callously, all for the sake of an incomplete manual and a glimpse of its potential.

She got back onto her feet, her gaze hardening with determination as she regarded the snow-dusted plains of Huarin, the white domes of her tiny village, and the mysterious shimmer of the sea beyond.

These seas can never trap those who are meant to fly.

That was what her father had taught her, and that mantra had long taken root inside her heart.

***

Ying rode atop her horse, a fierce white mare she had named Ayanga—lightning—and galloped down the winding path that led her back to her village. She didn’t stop until she reached her family ger, the biggest in the village, as befitting the status of clan chieftain.

Aihui Wen, her older brother, sat in conversation with a few of their clansmen, issuing instructions about his upcoming chieftain anointment ceremony. He had gathered his braids at the back of his head today, fastened neatly with a bronze circlet, instead of letting them hang loosely like he preferred. Swathed in fleece-lined gray pelt, the somber tones cut a solemn figure, making him look far more mature than his twenty-four years.

Like A-ma, she thought. Her brother had always borne the greatest resemblance to their father, with their squarish jawlines and dense brows, even though their personalities were miles apart.

A flash of displeasure appeared in Wen’s deep-set eyes when Ying burst in. He quickly dismissed the men.

“How many times do I need to remind you of the proper decorum expected of a young lady?” Wen reprimanded. “After you become someone’s wife, you will need to change that careless and impulsive attitude of yours. Your new family will not indulge you the way we have.”

“A-ge, I’m not here to listen to that,” she said, marching up to him. She took out the jade pendant, slamming it down on the table. “Look at this carving. The dragon is the symbol of the Empire, isn’t that right?”

Wen picked up the pendant and studied the carvings in the stone. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“I took it from the man who murdered A-ma.”

Her brother’s dark pupils constricted, his long fingers curling themselves around the pendant until it was obscured completely in his palm.

“Why didn’t you show me this earlier?”

“It’s the Empire, isn’t it? They were the ones who killed him!” Ying cried. “We have to do something.”

“Do what?” Wen replied, his tone harsh and curt. The muscles of his jaw tensed visibly beneath his tan skin. “You can’t conclude that based on this pendant alone.” He tossed the black jade back down onto the table as if it were a worthless piece of rock.

“We can’t just let A-ma die without doing anything! Whoever was behind it needs to pay. We deserve justice.” Her pitch rose with every word, along with the burgeoning anger inside her. Anger at the culprit. Anger at herself—for not having done enough.

Her brother’s expression darkened, and he got up from his chair, towering almost two heads above her. When they were younger, their father used to call Wen his “little ox,” much to his chagrin. He had taken offense to both parts of the nickname—he was hardly little, neither did he like being compared to cattle.

“We sent out a search party on the day of the incident. They found no sign of the man. Whoever it was, he’s probably already left Huarin, and we don’t have the means to search further. Maybe he was only an opportunistic thief, or one of those refugee seafarers seeking shelter from pirates. This pendant means nothing. What’s done is done. A-ma and E-niye would want us to move on with our lives as soon as we can.”

“No they wouldn’t. Not in this way,” Ying hissed. If their parents had wanted them to “move on” and live carefree, ordinary lives, then they shouldn’t have left the way they did, when they did.

“There’s nothing more that I can do,” Wen answered, averting his gaze. He picked up the jade pendant again and walked over to one of the wooden cupboards that sat next to the family altar, fresh incense sticks burning before their father’s newly installed tablet. He locked the stone inside, then waved his hand to dismiss her, turning his attention back toward the numerous parchments laid out on the table. “Go back to your ger, Ying. The chieftain of the Ula clan is coming to our village for a diplomatic visit next week, and there is much to be done. I don’t want to hear any more of this absurdity. Don’t make A-ma and E-niye worry about you up in the heavens.”

Fists clenched tightly by her sides, Ying took another glance at the cupboard where Wen had locked the jade pendant, then she turned and stormed out of the tent.

***

Later that night, Ying tossed and turned in her bed. Her fur blanket, usually warm and snug, felt uncomfortably prickly against her skin. She threw it off altogether, and it landed on the floor in a heap.

“Is something bothering you, A-jie?” Her younger sister’s gentle voice came drifting from the other side of their shared ger.

Ying sat up, turning to look at Nian in the darkness. She could only see a hazy silhouette. “Nian, have you wondered about A-ma’s death?” she asked.

“What about it?” Nian replied, a tinge of melancholy lacing her words.

“Don’t you want to find out who was behind it? To take revenge for what he did to A-ma, to our family?” The agitation inside her burst forth once again as she recalled her futile conversation with Wen. Talking to him was like ramming against the side of a cliff.

There was a brief pause, then the shadow moved, accompanied by the creaking of the wooden bed frame. The hearth that sat in the middle of their ger was lit, casting a warm glow across the interior. Nian poured some goat’s milk into a small bronze pot and hung it from the trestle above the fire, then she sat and drew her knees up against her chest.

“Of course I do,” the younger girl answered quietly. “But A-ge already tried his best, didn’t he? They couldn’t find the culprit anywhere. He’s long escaped.” Her brows knitted tightly together, tiny creases appearing in the space between them, and in that moment Ying could see her father’s shadow in her sister’s face.

Even though they were sisters by blood, there was little resemblance between them. While Ying had inherited the delicate beauty of their mother, Nian had the harsher, more angular features of their father—like Wen. Personality-wise, they were also as different as the sun and the moon. The colorful tapestries hanging from the walls of their ger? That was all Nian, whose deft fingers wove the most beautiful embroideries and produced melodies on the sihu that even the heavens would weep for.

Sometimes Ying wished she shared her sister’s calm and docile nature so she could fit in better, but mostly she preferred being the “reckless mare” that the villagers labeled her. Just because she was a girl didn’t mean that she had to accept the limits and restraints that everyone insisted on shackling upon her.

“And you believe him?” Ying scoffed.

She knew what was going through their brother’s mind. What mattered most to him was not seeking justice for their father’s wrongful death—what mattered was his impending ascension to the position of clan chieftain. She despised him for that.

“Why shouldn’t I? A-ge is as saddened by A-ma’s death as we are.”

“I don’t doubt his sadness, what I doubt is his resolve. He will mourn, but he will not go out of his way to demand justice, especially not if it compromises his anointment as clan chief.” Ying swung herself out of bed and sat down on the floor beside her sister. Her gaze hardened as she stared at the flickering flames, as if she could see the assassin reflected in the embers.

“What would you have him do? The trail has gone cold.”

“No it hasn’t. I have a clue, one that could potentially lead us to the culprit. Shouldn’t we pursue it?” Ying’s fingers balled up into fists, the regret and guilt from allowing the assassin to slip between her fingers once again invading her mind. “Shouldn’t we try to unearth this bastard and see to it that he gets his retribution? We can’t just let A-ma die for nothing!”

“What clue?” Nian asked.

Ying quickly explained about the pendant.

“A…dragon?”

Ying nodded. “A symbol of the Qirin empire,” she added. “The trail hasn’t gone cold, Nian. Wen just refuses to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want any unnecessary trouble. He’s a coward!”

“Shh!” Nian whispered, pressing a finger over her lips. “You know that A-ge won’t like to hear things like that.”

Ying honestly couldn’t care less if he heard her. Her father’s journal was pressed against her skin, hidden beneath her sleeping robes. She was grateful that she hadn’t revealed it to Wen earlier in the day. The last thing she wanted was for him to confiscate this as well.

Nian poured the warmed milk into two earthenware cups, handing one to Ying. “Even if we know that the person came from the Great Jade Empire, what could we do?” she asked with a soft sigh. “This is Huarin, A-jie. We haven’t even seen the shores of Fei.”

“I know, I know,” Ying replied irritably. As usual, Nian was the voice of reason, but Ying’s mind automatically rejected the path most reasonable. “But I can’t sit here and continue living my life knowing that I did nothing. If not the Empire, then what about Fei? A-ma was at the Engineers Guild for years. I might be able to find something there.”

Her thoughts drifted to the cryptic message and equations that had been left by someone else’s hand—someone who could very well be hiding within the guild. If only she could locate that person, she might get a step closer to the truth.

“You’re thinking of going to Fei? Alone?” Nian stared at her older sister, aghast. “That’s impossible! A-ge would never let you.”

“He can’t stop me if he doesn’t know.”

Nian sat her cup down. She intertwined her fingers and began chewing on the nails of her thumbs, like she always did when she was nervous. “But it’s not safe. The first beile has just been exiled—the High Command is unstable. Who knows what will happen when you’re there? What if there’s a coup?”

“Nian, you’re being paranoid. The High Commander’s still in power. Nothing will happen.”

Ying sucked in a breath and held it there, then she slowly released it. Even as she tried to brush aside Nian’s fears, she could not do it so easily for herself.

But if Wen won’t help me seek out the culprit, then I’ll have to do it myself.

When she had gathered enough evidence, her brother would have no excuse to not take action.

“Are you sure you’re not just doing this because you want an excuse to enroll in the guild?” her sister asked, giving her a pointed stare.

It was an open secret that Ying yearned to join the prestigious Engineers Guild the way her father once had. She harped about trying for the guild’s apprenticeship trial every year, and each time their father would stiffly remind her why it was impossible. The guild only accepted male apprentices, and she did not meet that criteria. Wen would then snidely add, “Even if they did, you would never pass the trial.”

Ying pursed her lips. The thought had crossed her mind, but she didn’t need reminding that she could never enter those halls. Some traditions, no matter how archaic and illogical, were here to stay.

“The trial has probably already begun anyway,” she grumbled. “I’ll just go to Fei and find some of A-ma’s old acquaintances from the guild. Someone must know something, some reason why he might have been killed.” Her voice strained as she recalled the memory of the dying light in their father’s eyes. The pain of it cut like a knife. “What if he offended a powerful emissary from the Empire during his time in Fei? Or some Qirin mercenary got wind of A-ma’s engineering discoveries and wanted to sell them for profit? Do you think that’s why he left so suddenly and never wants to talk about his time there?” She knew that she sounded nonsensical, that she made impossible leaps of logic, but it was difficult to rein in her emotions.

“If any of that were true, should you really be wandering into Fei looking for whoever it is?” Worry clouded Nian’s eyes, her slender fingers clutching tightly to her cup. “You’ve never been there before, A-jie, and there won’t be anyone to protect you if you get into harm’s way.”

Ying tried to smile, to comfort her sister and lighten the mood, but she barely managed a twitch of her lips. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be as discreet as I can, and I’ll disguise myself as a boy—a traveling merchant, like how I used to when I accompanied A-ma on trips to Kamar. I know I’m not much good with throwing punches or wielding swords, but I have my fan, don’t I? I’m not completely defenseless.”

Nian opened her mouth to say something, then she shut it again, a look of resignation appearing in her hazel eyes. “When are you leaving?” she asked.

Ying blinked in surprise. “You’re not going to try and stop me?”

Her younger sister shook her head. “We both know that it’s already a foregone conclusion, right?” she said. Ying was notorious for being stubborn.

Ying smiled sadly, leaning to rest her head on her sister’s shoulder. The warmth was comforting, reminding her that she was not alone in all this. She raised her cup to her lips and drank. The milk tasted exactly like the kind their mother would prepare for them when they couldn’t get to sleep at night. If only their mother were still here to pat her back and tell her that this was all a nightmare that would fade away once morning came.

“The Ula clan is coming next week. Wen will be too busy trying to impress the Ula chieftain to care about anything else,” Ying said. “I’ll leave then, when everyone’s distracted. If Wen asks, pretend you know nothing. He’ll assume I’ve gone gallivanting to Kamar because I’m throwing a tantrum.”

“Do you need me to help with anything?” Nian offered, her large eyes staring earnestly at her older sister.

Ying was about to say no, but then she caught her tongue. “Wen confiscated the jade pendant that I snatched from the assassin. He locked it in the cupboard beside the altar. Could you help me get the key?”

Nian helped with the washing of their family’s clothes, which meant she had regular access to Wen’s ger and belongings.

Without hesitation, her sister nodded. “Promise me you won’t put yourself in any danger,” she warned. “The moment you discover anything, send word home so that we can help, all right? I’ll help you convince Wen, I promise.”

Ying reached over to ruffle Nian’s hair. “Who’s the older sibling here?” she quipped.

“Haven’t we already established that Abka Han made a mistake when blessing our family’s birth order?” Nian joked. “When you’re away, don’t worry about things over here. I’ll look after the younger ones—although I’m sure Min will be asking for you nonstop. You know how much he adores you. Wen keeps trying to teach him martial arts, but all he wants to do is leap off cliffs like his reckless big sister. I’m not sure this clan can survive a second Aihui Ying, to be honest.”

The sisters laughed, just like they had done on many a cold, wintry night growing up, neither of them knowing when they would be able to do so again.

***

The Ula contingent arrived at the Huarin harbor on a cloudless day with great pomp, sailing in on a sizable vessel with four majestic battened sails and steam-powered propellers that kicked up huge waves of sea-foam, hulking above the smaller merchant ships like a proud peacock. At dusk, wood fires were lit, and the musicians began to drum, signaling the start of the banquet to welcome their honored guests. The plains bordering the village quickly transformed into a scene of revelry as dancers circled the fires with their swirling skirts and tinkling bells, while raucous voices echoed in the air as the villagers feasted on food and drink.

As everyone in the village had abandoned their gers for the plains, no one saw the lithe figure darting through the darkness toward the chieftain’s tent.

Ying had traded her usual robes for a set of boy’s clothes that she used to wear on trips out of Huarin with her father, so that she would appear less conspicuous among a crowd of men. Her hair was tied back in numerous plain braids, the way Wen liked to do his, without the colorful beaded headdresses that girls typically wore, and she had done away with any rouge on her cheeks and lips.

There was a cargo ship leaving Huarin tonight, and these ships usually accepted a few passengers for a fee. The disguise would hopefully allow her to make the journey from Huarin to Fei with as little unwanted attention as possible, since lone female travelers were significantly rarer across the Antaran isles.

A bundle was tied securely around her back, packed with a few sets of clothes and silver taels that she had been stashing away for a moment like this. Her fan was slipped comfortably up one sleeve and her father’s book wrapped tightly beneath her clothes, pressed against her pounding heart. In her hand was a set of bronze keys, stolen by Nian from their brother earlier this morning.

When she was certain that there was no one in the vicinity, Ying slipped into Wen’s ger, quickly making her way to the cupboard. She tried a few keys in the heavy padlock before the fourth one made a click. The black jade pendant was just where she had seen him leave it. Ying scoffed. As expected, Wen had not spared a further thought about it after their conversation.

But there was something else besides it that caught her eye. The pendant sat upon an ivory envelope, like a dense paperweight suppressing the secrets beneath.

Ying slipped the pendant between the cross-folds of her robes and then picked up the envelope. There was no recipient named, only a blank box.

Curious.

Ying’s eyes darted around. When she was convinced that the surroundings were still, she opened the envelope and gingerly withdrew the letter. Confident yet nonchalant brushstrokes flew across the rice paper.

Do not probe further into the circumstances surrounding Aihui Shan-jin’s death, else the Aihui clan will not be able to sail out of this storm intact. You do not want the blood of your fellow clansmen on your hands.

Just a few simple characters, yet they were worth their weight in lead.

So this is why Wen refuses to investigate. He’s afraid.

Ying’s fingers trembled, clutching tightly on to one corner of the flimsy sheet. She read the lines over and over, before her gaze finally settled upon the seal stamped at the bottom-left corner. There was no indication of the sender beyond that squarish, blood-red imprint, reminiscent of a family seal belonging to one of the noble clans. She lifted it up, squinting at the venation crawling within the seal’s boundaries. It looked like a stylized depiction of some sort of animal, with a singular character, “sha,” fitted within its gaping jaw. Beneath was a tiny, almost illegible line of text: These seas can never trap those who are meant to fly.

Her throat went dry. There was no way she would have failed to recognize it, because she used this exact same phrase to practice her own calligraphy.

It was the motto of the Engineers Guild. The motto that her own father had lived by.

Someone with links to the guild, warning—threatening—her brother against seeking justice for their father’s murder, and then signing off with the mantra that her father had treasured so dearly. The irony.

Anger and resentment ran cold in Ying’s veins, solidifying her determination. She would find the one responsible for her family’s tragedy. She shoved the letter back into the envelope and slipped it beneath her robes, together with the jade pendant. There was a ship waiting for her, a ship that was bound for the capital of Fei—and the Engineers Guild.

Ying stepped in through the open doorway of the Maiden’s Well, one of the larger taverns on the isle of Muci, as a torrent of rainwater rolled down her oiled cloak to form a large puddle on the wooden floor. She had been out in the pouring rain trying to solicit shelter from the heartless Muci residents, only to finally have one of them direct her to this tavern instead.

If the signs from the heavens were anything to go by, then perhaps Ying should have decided to turn around and sail back to Huarin, but she wasn’t intending to. She had never been the superstitious sort. Besides, she was already so close. Muci was the final stop before she arrived at the capital.

The interior of the tavern, warm and toasty, was a stark contrast to the bleak situation outside. Ying looked gratefully toward the roaring hearth in the center of the main hall and quickly surveyed the many tables filled with jolly patrons, some more drunk than others. Unlike Roya’s tavern back on Huarin, which was merely a larger-sized ger, this one was a more permanent construction that echoed the architecture of Fei, rectangular in shape with a tiled roof held up by sturdy, cylindrical pillars.

As the isle closest to the capital, Muci reflected Fei’s influences much more than the other isles. It also received the largest volume of trade flowing to and from its shores, accounting for the wealth and snootiness of its populace.

Ying stood by the entrance for a long while, awed by the colorful sights and sounds. Music was playing from a mechanical ensemble sitting at the far end of the hall, the steam-powered fingers of the wooden musicians strumming the strings of the zither and pipa to a somewhat stiff but nonetheless pleasing rhythm.

“Are you here for a drink?” a curt, high-pitched voice interrupted, slicing through the tavern’s noise like a sleek blade. It belonged to a portly matron, hands stuck on her hips and head tilted sideways as she studied Ying like one would a cricket. “If you are, then get in, if not, then get out. You’re blocking my entrance.”

“Yes, I am,” Ying answered, shifting inward a couple of steps. “I’m sorry. I’m from out of town.”

“Figures.” The matron pointed to an empty seat at a table that was already occupied by two men. “That’s the only one left, take it or leave it. Order chits are on the table. When you’re ready, just send it to the kitchen.” She waved at the intricate network of wooden tracks that crisscrossed overhead, sending small bamboo tubes carrying orders from patrons zipping toward the kitchen.

Ying slipped the hood off her head and hung her cloak on one of the many hooks by the entrance. She squeezed her way through the crowded space, siddling into the empty seat she had been assigned. The men at the table didn’t bat an eyelid when she sat down, which meant that her disguise was still holding. Her disheveled appearance probably helped. Besides, it was not uncommon for boys to have softer features, since not all of them had to go through long hours of martial arts training or farmwork that would harden the lines on their faces and turn their skin a rougher, sun-kissed shade of brown.

She scribbled an order for warm fermented milk and a bowl of steamed mutton dumplings before stuffing her chit into a bamboo tube and placing it gingerly on the rails above. She stared in amazement as the tube was shuttled precisely along a predetermined path by a series of rotating gears and cogs, until it finally disappeared through a small window leading to the kitchen.

The dreamer inside her stirred into being. If such inventions were employed in a tavern on Muci, then the reality in the capital could only be better. Beyond the interior of her father’s workshop, the use of any such technology on Huarin and the other outer isles was few and far between. It was an extravagance that most could not afford, and engineering talent was selfishly hoarded by the capital city, so there were hardly any engineers stationed on the peripheral isles who were able to maintain such intricate technological systems.

“I told you we should have done a prayer ritual before we left Kamar,” one of the men at her table said to his companion, his thin mustache twitching in displeasure. “This rainy weather is going to set us back by at least a couple of days. Our produce will be rotten by the time we reach Fei!”

“We can try to ply it here. The prices won’t be as good, but at least we won’t make a loss.”

“That’s assuming we can find someone to off-load it on. And you’re right about the prices. I was hoping to sell our stock to the Engineers Guild. They’ll be wanting to increase their supplies, what with the influx of trial candidates and all. They would’ve given us such a good price!”

The Engineers Guild?

Ying peered across the table, ears perking up.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted, “but did you say the Engineers Guild? The one in Fei?”

The two men turned, only just realizing that there was a third wheel at their table. The mustached fellow frowned. “Of course the one in Fei. Is there any other?” he replied.

“What about the trial candidates? Isn’t the guild’s annual apprenticeship trial already over?” Ying probed.

The man let out a loud harrumph, then he said, “Have you been living under a rock? The trial hasn’t even begun! It’s only starting in two weeks.”

“Really?” Ying’s eyes lit up. News from the capital came to Huarin across a broken chain of gossipy mouths, so it wasn’t always accurate.

“Were you not listening to what I was saying?” the man snapped, shaking his head. “If you’re thinking of competing, then I suggest you forget about it. They close registrations tomorrow. You wouldn’t make it even if you hop on the fastest boat from here.” He clucked his tongue impatiently, then turned away to continue his conversation with his companion.

Ying became an invisible figure in the noisy tavern once more, but her mind was too preoccupied to care.

The apprenticeship trial.

The only way that someone from the outside could be granted entry into the Engineers Guild. She had dreamed of this so many times, of joining the prestigious ranks of the engineers and becoming a guild master just like her father had been. A ludicrous thought popped into her mind. Maybe, just maybe, if she had been successful in disguising herself as a boy thus far, she might be able to squirrel her way into the guild trial as well?

The light in her eyes dimmed when she recalled what the man had said. Registrations for the trial would be closed by the time she arrived in Fei. That door was shut to her—as it had always been.

Perhaps this was Abka Han’s way of telling her to accept her lot in life, instead of constantly dreaming of what wasn’t meant to be hers.

Just then, her order arrived, piping hot and comforting for a dreary evening, but the rich, spiced flavors were not enough to distract Ying from the thoughts circling inside her head. She chewed absentmindedly, eyes flitting around the tavern hall.

Then she saw him.

A man stepped in, shaking droplets of rainwater off his dark hair and somber black robes. He had a rectangular face, with thick, heavy brows and a nose that tilted slightly left. He could have been any other patron, now being directed toward a newly vacated table by the tavern owner, were it not for a singular scar running across his left eye.

Beside him walked a creature whose menacing head almost came up to the man’s shoulder. A nine-tailed fox with rust-brown fur, its bronze mechanical tails fanning out proudly behind it. Only one of its eyes remained, the other having been replaced with a shiny metal socket that likely had its own insidious function.

A chimera.

Chimeras were curious engineering projects, often viewed with apprehension and distaste—fusions of beast and machine to form hybrids that were neither. They were extremely difficult to engineer and extremely expensive to maintain.

But what caught Ying’s attention was the scar on the man’s face. A scar that she would never be able to forget as long as she lived.

A strangled cry escaped from her lips. Her chopsticks fell from her fingers and onto the table.

It can’t be. She turned to hide her face behind her left hand. What would he be doing on Muci? Maybe it’s just a coincidence and it’s not him—?

In her mind, the assassin who had murdered her father was a man of the shadows, someone who had stolen across the seas from the lands of the Empire. He wasn’t supposed to be walking around a tavern in plain sight like an ordinary Antaran citizen.

She widened the cracks between her fingers to take another look.

Their eyes met.

Ying’s elbow slipped on the table surface, crashing into her bowl of dumplings and sending its contents spilling all over the table. The two men she was sitting with yelped and leapt out of their seats, as the sudden commotion drew everyone’s attention toward them.

She made a beeline for the door.

The tavern owner squeezed her way over to Ying and grabbed her by the arm. “Hey, you haven’t paid yet!”

“I’m sorry.” Ying fumbled for her pouch and took out a few bronze coins, pressing them into the matron’s fleshy palm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the scarred man stand from his seat. Did he know it was her? Or was it just the noise that drew his attention? Ying angled her face away and tried to relax. She had to get out before things got worse.

All the while the fox was staring at her, studying her suspiciously with its one real eye.

“Don’t think you can get away with a free meal. No one tries to—” The matron looked up from counting her coins, but there was no longer anyone standing beside her, just the tavern doors swinging on their hinges.

The rain pelted down relentlessly from the murky skies, soaking through Ying’s wool robes. In her haste, she had left her oiled cloak back at the tavern, but it was a small sacrifice. If she wanted to seek revenge, she needed to stay alive, and that meant not confronting her father’s killer until she had a proper plan, until she had time to figure out why things had happened and whether there were larger forces behind all this.

Hugging her bundle of belongings close to her, she wound her way down the unfamiliar streets of Muci. The cobbled streets reminded her of how far she was from home. There were no streets on Huarin, only grassy pathways running between the patchwork of white tents.

I’ll be fine. He can’t have recognized me like this. He wouldn’t have.

She was dressed like any other male traveler, without any of the beads and other adornments she had been wearing in their last encounter, and the rain had given her a damp curtain of hair that obscured half her face. He couldn’t know it was her.

But still the fear coursed through her veins, making her heart beat erratically inside her chest. Ying turned her head to check that she wasn’t being followed—and her blood ran cold.

There through the hazy curtain of rain stood a dark silhouette, its unmistakable set of tails glinting as they reflected fragments of light coming from the flickering street lanterns.

The chimera!

Did that mean his master was not far behind?

Ying slowly turned away, trying her best to hide the tremble in her step as she carried on walking. Behind her, the clipped sounds of the creature’s mechanical feet against the stone grew louder as the gap between them closed.

She broke into a run. It might be foolish, but it had to be better than waiting for the creature to catch up with her.

The fox let out a high-pitched howl, giving chase.

Ying made a sharp turn down a long, narrow alley, pushing aside rattan baskets and bamboo poles to slow down her pursuer. She leapt over clay jars and slipped under washing lines, praying that the practice she had in running away from Roya and other irate villagers as a delinquent child would come into use now.

But how could she outrun a creature—a machine—that was not truly flesh and blood?

Just as she turned a corner, the fox leapt into the air, front paws landing heavily upon Ying’s back. She crashed face-first to the ground. Pain shot through her body as the chimera’s metal claws dug into her flesh.

She struggled to free herself, turn over, but it was impossible to do anything with the weight of the beast bearing down on her. Lifting her head from the rainwater and grime, she saw the hulking shadow of a man approaching. Its master had caught up with them.

Ying said a silent prayer to Abka Han and to her parents up in the heavens, for them to protect her and not let this foreign town be her final resting place, so soon in her journey. But the faith in her own chances of survival was quickly fading. Nian had been right—she had underestimated the dangers that she would face, and her quest was to end before she even stepped foot on Fei.

She clenched her fists in defiance, tasting the bitter, metallic sensation of blood against her lips as she waited for the inevitable—but then—

Thump!

The pressure pushing down on her suddenly lifted. The fox’s body went flying into the air, kicked away from her. It landed hard against a wagon parked by the side. The creature yowled in anguish. Picking itself up, it ran back to its master, whimpering pitifully. The assassin took another glance at Ying on the ground, then up at her unseen rescuer.

Ying’s gaze remained fixed upon the assassin, bracing herself for another attack. But it didn’t come. Instead, the man simply retreated into the curtain of rain with his injured companion, disappearing from view.

“Are you all right?” a mellow voice called out to her, and suddenly the raindrops vanished.

She looked up at the yellowed paper umbrella that was sheltering her from above.

A young man peered down at her, the cold and distant look in his gray eyes drawing a stark contrast to the words of concern. His dark, braided hair was pulled to the back of his head with a silver circlet, highlighting his well-defined, angular cheekbones and two gold cuffs hooked to his earlobes. A black fur cloak hung off his shoulders, pinned in place with a silver brooch. It looked like bear, and bear fur cost an arm and a leg in the nine isles.

He was the one who had kicked the chimera away. Kicked a beast that was half solid metal—and sent it flying.

Perhaps that had made the assassin feel threatened enough to back off.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Ying replied, looking around anxiously to verify her assailant had truly gone.

The streets were empty. There was no one there—as if it had all been a hallucination. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“This…” The young man bent down and picked up a small jade pendant carved with the characters “Aihui” from the ground.

Her anxiety spiked again. “That’s mine!” Ying exclaimed, hastily grabbing her clan pendant back from him and clambering back to her feet. It must have slipped off her broad belt when the chimera had pounced on her. She stole suspicious glances at her rescuer, wary that this stranger could also be dangerous.

“Did you offend someone?”

“Excuse me?”

“The chimera. It might have bitten off your head if I had showed up a second later,” the man said. He studied her from head to toe, as if to assess what value she might have, to warrant such an attack. He did not seem impressed with what he saw. “A chimera of that size and quality can only be owned by nobility. I don’t suppose you stole from a traveling noble, did you?”

“Of course not!” Ying retorted, her face twisting with annoyance. How could he think her a thief? Then she saw the dirt stains covering her robes, and her indignance deflated somewhat. She didn’t even have to worry about her disguise, because no one would be able to tell what manner of human lay beneath the grime. Even Nian might not recognize her in this pathetic state. “Thank you, again, for saving my life. I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she mumbled, giving the man a respectful bow before turning to leave. Best get out of here as soon as she could, instead of continuing to embarrass herself.

“Wait.”

She stopped, wondering what else he had to say. If he wanted her to pay him in coin, then she would be in trouble. She didn’t have that much in traveling expenses that could afford to be whittled away.

“Do you want to get that looked at? If you leave it unattended, it could fester quite quickly,” the man said, gesturing toward her back.

Ying threw a quick glance over her right shoulder, only then remembering the bloody scratch marks left behind by the fox’s sharp claws. Fear did wonders for numbing pain.

“I have a physician with me on my ship. If you don’t mind, he could help treat the wounds.”

She hesitated, eyeing him apprehensively. Why would a stranger be so kind? Did he have a hidden agenda? She quickly shoved the thought aside. The encounter with the assassin had left her on edge.

Buying medicine in Muci would cost her far more than she was willing to spare, but leaving her injuries untreated could derail her quest. If someone was offering help, then it was to her advantage to accept—with precautions, of course.

“I know how to treat my own injuries,” she said, “but I could use some help getting the necessary herbs. I’m not native to Muci, so I’m not sure where the herbalists are located.”

She couldn’t risk exposing her identity by having a physician examine her, but if she could get the medicinal herbs for free, then why not? Judging from this fellow’s getup, he could certainly afford to give her some.

“Of course.” The man pointed toward the north. “My ship’s parked that way. It’s not far from here.” He turned and headed down the street, and Ying hurriedly followed along.

As she walked, her eyes kept darting to and fro, praying that the assassin and his dreadful chimera wouldn’t be lurking around the next bend. She didn’t know what new dangers might be waiting ahead, but right now, it was reassuring to know that she had a companion. Whether or not this companion could be trusted was a question for another time.

Ying’s jaw nearly fell to the ground when she saw her rescuer’s “ship.”

This wasn’t any ordinary ship—it was an airship.

She had only ever seen airships from afar, black orbs floating high up amid the clouds, their engines whirring noisily. They had drifted past the cliffs of Huarin every now and then, oblivious to her village’s existence as they went about their important business. Airships were a luxury that only Fei and the wealthier Antaran clans could afford, along with the intricate chimeras like the one that she had almost been mauled to death by.

Ying stared in awe at the ship’s black hull looming before her. Deckhands were busy rushing about, shouting out instructions to one another as they filled the airbags with kaen gas to prepare for the journey ahead. The massive envelope inflated until it was suspended entirely above the ship’s body, straining to be free of the ropes that kept it tied down to the ground.

The rain had stopped, and the clouds parted to allow the sun’s rays through. The silver insignia of the cobra on the black silk surface of the ballonet gleamed, reflecting the light as the wind made its surface ripple. A wooden figurehead extended from the prow of the ship—the image of the same spitting black cobra arching its back in a graceful curve.

“The Cobra’s Order,” Ying whispered. The military arm of the Antaran High Command. “You’re a bannerman?” she turned to the young man and asked.

Her companion opened his mouth to answer, but a shout interrupted him.

“Sir, there you are!” a skinny attendant with a long plait trailing from the back of his head cried, running over to them. “Where have you been? We were so worried! You should have let me come with you.”

“What could possibly happen to me? Although I did have a rather curiousencounter,” the man replied, glancing sideways at Ying. “Nergui, where’s the physician? Bring him over and let him take a look at my”—he paused, as if considering the right word to use—“friend over here. He has some scratches on his back that need tending to.”

“Friend?” the attendant called Nergui spluttered, shooting Ying an imperious look that made her feel like she was a mere ant. “But if we delay departure any further, we won’t be able to get the shipment to Fei before the next full moon!”

“Fei?” Ying’s ear perked up. “Are you going to Fei?”

The young man nodded, the corners of his eyes twitching imperceptibly. “Is something the matter?” he asked.

“I’m headed to Fei too, but they told me that the ships wouldn’t be able to sail for a few days because of the storm,” Ying explained. “If you’re leaving today, could I hitch a ride with you? I can pay for passage, I promise.” She dug in her bundle and pulled out a string of coins. “Here’s twenty copper coins. That should be enough—”

A commotion near the ship’s stern distracted Ying, and she turned to see several panicked deckhands rushing toward the cargo hold.

The young man started marching toward the site of the chaos, and Ying quickly jogged along with his crabby attendant. They walked up the gangway and into the hold, which was already crowded with jostling men.

When the shiphands saw the young man approach, they immediately parted to the sides, leaving a clear path.

A man was squirming on the floorboards, his face flushed red with agony as he clutched his right forearm. To Ying’s horror, huge bleeding pustules lined his hand. The festering wound seemed to be spreading up his arm, as if something was eating away at his skin. Beside him stood a bamboo barrel wrapped in a thick layer of cow’s hide, with a trickle of silver fluid leaking from a small hole in its side. A large oil-lined sheet of leather had been laid beneath the barrel.

Her rescuer walked over to the writhing man, and a brief frown appeared between his dark brows, then he reached for his waist.

A wink of silver reflected sunlight into Ying’s eyes, blinding her momentarily. There was a loud scream, and when her vision cleared, she stared aghast at the pus-ridden hand that lay on the ground—detached from its owner. A thin sliver of blood slid down the blade that the bannerman was holding in his hand.

He gestured for two men to come forward. They lifted their injured comrade, hauling him away. A trail of blood remained in his wake. The bannerman wiped the surface of his sword with a cloth, then slid it back into its scabbard without so much as a twitch of a muscle on his cleanly sculpted face.

Ying continued to stare at the detached hand, appalled.

“Beile-ye,” the other men bowed and greeted in unison.

Beile-ye?

Ying turned to her companion in shock, momentarily forgetting about the severed limb. She didn’t know whether she had struck a gold mine or a hornet’s nest, to have had her life saved and to scrounge a ride to the capital off the back of one of the High Commander’s sons.

The young man waved his hand to dispense with the formalities. “What happened?” he asked, his voice so calm that it made Ying doubt whether or not she had indeed witnessed him slicing off a man’s arm.

“This is terrible!” Nergui shrieked, flailing his arms about the leaking barrel. “The High Commander will not be pleased at all. Who did this?” He looked around at the gathered crowd, searching their faces for any signs of guilt. “Was it that bumbling fool? Should have just let him die for his crime.”

The callousness of his words struck Ying like a sledgehammer. A person’s life mattered less than a barrel of—

She glanced down at the leaking silver liquid that was slowly puddling on the tan leather. The hole it was dripping from seemed to have grown a little bigger already.

The fabled ming-roen ore.

The innocuous shimmer drew her closer, like the devil whispering to the foolish passerby. The descriptions in her father’s journal appeared in her mind, the ideas he’d outlined for containing and transporting the capricious resource. She walked toward the barrel and peered down at its gaping mouth, gazing down at the silver pool inside.

They had lined the inside of the barrel with a layer of well-oiled leather—one of the materials that was more resistant to the ore’s corrosive properties. The same could not be said of bamboo, which the barrel’s frame was made of. Without the hole, the leather would have kept the liquid ore from directly contacting the bamboo frame, but the cavity in its side had ruined that careful construction. It wouldn’t be long before that slow trickle grew into a rushing stream.

“Have we got any spare barrels?” Nergui demanded.

“No, sir,” one of the men replied. “We’ve used the very last one.”

“It’s fine,” the beile said, his voice remaining a calm monotone. “Get the men to bury the entire barrel. Make sure it’s deep enough so no one digs it up by accident.”

Ying took a quick look around the cargo hold.

“Wait,” she called out.

Everyone turned to look at her, regarding this scrawny newcomer with suspicion.

“I might be able to salvage it,” she said.

Nergui snorted. “Even the masters at the Engineers Guild wouldn’t have a solution to this. What could a beggar boy like you know? Once a barrel is compromised, it’s worthless. If we don’t get it off the ship, then it’ll burn a hole right through the hull! We don’t have time to deal with another half-wit who wants to die from bleeding pustules.”

Ying ignored him and ran over to a toolbox that she had spotted nearby, fishing out a wooden bolt. Grabbing a handful of straw that was used as packing material in some of the cargo crates, she wound it around the cylindrical bolt. Next, she ripped off a strip of cotton fabric from her sleeve and made that the outermost layer. She held out the little stump at eye level, assessing the cross section carefully.

In a few minutes, when the ore had burned through a little more of the barrel, it would probably fit.

“Is there any horse oil or lard around here?” she asked.

The men turned toward the beile for instructions, and he gave a slight nod. Someone immediately scurried off and returned moments later with a bottle of lard oil from the ship’s kitchen.

Ying grabbed the bottle from the man and carefully poured a healthy amount of oil over the stub. Squatting in front of the barrel, she waited until the hole looked about the right size.

The plug went in.

Everyone stared at the barrel with bated breath. Almost all of them were expecting the makeshift bung to dissolve and the silver liquid to ooze out again—but it didn’t happen.

“How did you do that?” the beile asked.

Ying startled, not having realized that he had walked alongside and was now kneeling beside her.

“The oil plays a big part in slowing down the corrosion process—that’s why the leather lining in the barrel works,” she explained. “Wood is porous, so it helps to absorb a larger volume of oil that can hopefully keep the ore away from the bamboo for a longer time. It’s not a permanent solution, though—you’ll have to replace that after a few hours.”

“A lucky guess,” Nergui muttered. Still, he immediately gave instructions to prepare a few bungs on standby using the method that Ying had devised.

The faulty barrel remained in the cargo hold along with the rest of the shipment, and everyone returned to the preparations for takeoff as if the interlude had never happened. The beile turned and headed back out, and Ying followed behind.

“Nergui, arrange for a cabin on board for him,” the beile said.

“Excuse me? But, Beile-ye—”

“You’re giving me a ride to Fei?” Ying interrupted.

“Take it as payment for helping me to solve the problem with the leaking barrel. Devil’s ore does not come cheap, so you’ve more than earned your fare.”

A tiny squeal escaped her lips, but she quickly clamped her hands over her mouth, hoping that no one detected anything amiss about that high-pitched exclamation. Still, she couldn’t control the broad smile spreading across her face.

They made their way toward the main gangway of the ship, leading up to the passenger cabins. Before she stepped onto the sturdy plank, Ying paused.

“Quit gawking and hurry up. We’re losing time,” Nergui snarled, giving her a rough nudge from behind before he pushed past her and scampered up the gangway.

The silver cobra loomed menacingly from above, reminding Ying that she was about to board a ship belonging to one of the Eight Banners. The engines of the airship roared to life as the crew cranked the giant propellers attached to the ship’s stern.

She ran up the plank, but right when she was about to step into the ship’s interior, her foot slipped on a wet patch. She braced herself for another fall, but before she knew it an arm circled her waist, steadying her, and her gaze met a pair of still gray pools, the shade of the sky before a storm.

“Are you all right?”

Ying nodded, eyes widening in panic. She instinctively wriggled out of his grasp and took two steps back.

The beile arched an eyebrow. “I would like to have a word with you. Come to my cabin once you’ve changed out of those wet clothes,” he said. “The physician…I’ll have him bring some fresh bandages to your cabin. You can tell him what medicinal herbs you require later.”

“Yes, Beile-ye.”

A tiny tremble ran up her spine. What could he possibly want to speak to her about? Had she done something wrong? Something that raised suspicion?

She recalled the sensation of his arm around her and silently cursed herself for being so careless. She had bound her chest tightly, not that she was especially well-endowed to begin with, but an observant person might still have sensed the distinct curve of her waist beneath her baggy robes. It was already risky enough for her to be on board an airship of the Cobra’s Order—the last thing she needed was for her identity to be exposed.

She heard the rattling of metal chains from behind her, and the door to the ship’s hold shut with a loud slam, sealing them in. The gas lamps fixed to the sides of the narrow corridor flickered, casting ominous shadows across the walls.

No turning back now, Ying.

The only way left for her was forward.