A soft rustle pulls me from the fog of sleep. Xia must be moving about the house.
I blink, trying to clear the grit clinging to my vision as it adjusts to the pale shafts of morning light filtering through thin slats in the window. Each inhalation sends a sharp, fiery reminder through my side. The discomfort is a constant testament to my weakness, a state I loathe.
Confucius once said, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” I do not feel glorious. I feel powerless. What does it mean to rise again when I am reminded of my failure every time I move?
This time, the shuffling is closer. I turn to see Xia by the window. She’s arranging bundles of herbs on the narrow sill. Morning light spills across her profile, catching the curve of her cheekbone. Each placement is purposeful as if the arrangement itself were a ceremony.
Once she lays out the herbs, her attention shifts. She stares beyond the confines of the room. The muscles in her face tighten subtly. She surveys the street with the intensity of a hawk, scanning for the slightest hint of movement below. She stands there, unmoving—a quiet sentinel at the window. Lines of worry etch deeper into her brow as her focus sharpens on something I cannot see.
A sense of unease ripples through me.
I watch her a second longer, noting the tension coiled in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitch, readying herself for action.
I close my eyes.
Memories of Florence seep into my vision—the narrow alleys bathed in the glow of lanterns, the hushed murmur of conspiratorial voices, and the scent of wet stone. The mission had succeeded. I swiftly dispatched Alessandro de’ Medici. My journey after that was anything but simple.
Florence was a city of unexpected twists, each corner teeming with life, unpredictability, and danger. I had planned every step, mapping the labyrinthine streets. Yet, as I waded through the throngs, the city’s fabric seemed to conspire against me. A troupe of street performers had been my downfall—a momentary lapse as I watched their acrobatics.
A gang of criminals struck with their crude knives. They left me with shallow, jagged wounds for what? Pocket change. I staggered through the maze of alleys. Each step was a battle against blood loss, forcing me to find a spot to tend to my injuries. No one came to my aid; I had no choice but to heal myself.
The nights that followed were a haze of agony. I stayed in an abandoned storeroom on the outskirts of town, behind stacks of forgotten barrels. The air reeked of stale wine and mold, but at least it was peaceful.
I tore strips from my shirt to bind the wounds. My hands shook, blood slicking my fingers as I worked. Philip had taught me not to rely on anyone else.
My time in Florence was a lesson, showing me that independence was a strength required to be a Phylax. I needed to be in control of my pain, my recovery, and my survival. I embraced the solitude as a necessary burden.
Now, in this desolate corner of China, I find myself injured again. My wound here is perhaps a little more serious than those in Florence. I don’t know if I would have survived on my own. For good or ill, a stranger found me, dragging me into this shelter. Her motives are unclear. I loathe the taste of helplessness it brings.
I will have enough strength in the morning to slip out of town before sunrise. Florence taught me that I can overcome injury. Alone.
Xia is back in the room. She steps closer, kneeling beside me. She pulls back the blanket. Her fingers move with an efficiency that borders on surgical. Her touch is that of someone who has patched up worse injuries before. She knows how to keep steady under pressure.
“You’re healing better than I expected,” she says, her voice carrying a lyrical cadence. There’s an undertone I can’t quite place. It isn’t the dialect itself; it’s the measured way she speaks. Her words sound rehearsed. Or maybe it’s my nature to be suspicious.
I study her, searching for answers in the subtle shifts of her expression. She keeps her head down, focusing on the wound. Whatever it is, she’s more than she appears. Perhaps a healer with the experience of someone who’s seen more than her share of danger.
When Xia finishes tending to my wound, she retrieves a small writing desk. She follows it with a roll of parchment, an inkstone, and a thin brush. She sets them up methodically beside me.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
I dip the brush into the ink, watching the dark liquid pool at the tip. I’ve been learning to write Small Seal Script for two years, but the characters are complex. I do my best to form the correct words. Better. Thank you for helping me. I turn the parchment toward her.
She leans in to read, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Your Chinese is awful,” she says with amusement. “Where are you from?”
I stick to the story I’ve crafted for times like this. I’m from Eastern Scythia, exploring the world.
She nods slowly, accepting the vague explanation for now. Her gaze remains thoughtful, perhaps weighing whether to probe further. Finally, she does.
“What happened to you?”
I quickly concoct a story. Bandits ambushed the caravans I traveled with. We were outnumbered. I barely escaped with my life.
I study her reaction.
Xia moves to the window, where any trace of a smile fades. Tension forms across her forehead. “Is that why the Imperial Army is coming? Because bandits attacked your caravan?”
A chill runs through me. I have no answer for her other than to shrug. What army? I write, my strokes less steady.
Instead of replying immediately, she stares at me. Her glare is piercing, making me feel exposed. I’m relieved when she finally looks away. As she leaves the room, she calls over her shoulder, “Maybe I’m imagining it. Just in case, we should be ready to leave.”
I know she’s not imagining it. A knot tightens in my stomach. The Imperial Army—they must be searching for Qin’s assassin. I debate whether I can trust this woman. What if she’s setting a trap, hoping I’ll reveal my part in Qin’s death? If the guards come and I’m too weak to defend myself, will she turn me in? Or is she simply trying to protect herself by keeping me hidden?
The reality is I need to regain my strength before making my getaway. One more evening of rest, that’s all I need. In the meantime, I’ll use my oath as a shield between us.
The hours pass slowly. Xia helps me sit up to sip at a bowl of thin broth she prepared. It’s tasteless, barely more than warm water with a hint of some root or herb. I force it down, knowing I need the sustenance.
She keeps her words to a minimum, asking basic questions like whether I need more food or if the pain is manageable. I respond with the appropriate gestures. Throughout the day, she frequently peeks out the window. Periodically, she stashes bundles of herbs and other supplies into a sack.
Outside, the light shifts as the sun arcs through the sky. Morning gives way to the hazy brightness of midday, followed by the slow descent into late afternoon. Shadows stretch across the room, their edges softened by the dimming light filtering through the window. The sounds of the town beyond our walls change, too. The early clamor of voices fades into a subdued whisper. An underlying tension hangs in the air, as though the town is holding its breath.
Xia moves to the window again, her face partially obscured by a drape. She stays there for an extended interval, frozen, listening. I strain to pick up what she hears. I might have detected something carried on the wind, but it is too indistinct to understand. Whatever it is, my muscles tighten in response.
“Soon, you must trust me,” she says softly. The seriousness etched across her visage seems to age her.
I reach for the parchment and write, Why would I do that?
Frustration crosses her features. “Really? After I saved you? You don’t trust me?”
I write, You seem to know too much. How do you know the Imperial Army is on its way?
She searches the room for answers. Her voice drops to barely more than a whisper when she starts. “I’ve had to hide from these soldiers before,” her voice wavers. “When Qin unified China, he went region by region, tearing down anyone who stood in his way. My parents were administrators in the Chu Kingdom. Our army was particularly tough. When Qin finally overcame our resistance, he was unjust to our people. The Emperor condemned my entire family to the Great Wall—forced to work until they died.”
She pauses, growing distant while recalling memories. “Do you know how many dead slaves are in that wall?” she asks, her tone sharpening with a mix of sorrow and anger. “Probably a million. Maybe more. My parents are in there somewhere.”
Her hands clench into tight balls as she looks down. “I was only a child. My mother hid me before they came. She ensured they wouldn’t find me, even if it cost her everything. I’ve been alone since I was seven. Still, they continued to come after me.” Her voice cracks, a tear slipping down her cheek. She doesn’t move to wipe it away.
“I can sense when that army is coming,” she whispers. “I am certain they are near.”
She glares at the door, her back stiffening. I almost expect soldiers to burst through now. “At one point, they finally caught me. They beat me, humiliated me, did worse. That’s how I ended up with this scar,” she points to the spot under her eye. “Somehow, I managed to escape. I told myself I would never let that happen again.”
Perhaps I am safer here than I expected. Something tells me that this woman is always prepared for the worst.
I watch, struck by the rawness of her confession. Xia’s story stirs something within me—a painful echo of my past with the Renegades. As the rulers who should have protected Xia harmed her, my community betrayed me. At least I had Philip to help me. Xia had no one. Her pain mirrors my own.
No, I must brush the feeling aside. Why am I making this connection? I don’t need to relate to her story. In the morning, I’ll leave her behind. That will be the end of it.
“I cannot stand those bastards and what they do to people, which is why I will help you.” she turns back. “Anyway, you need to rest.”
She doesn’t wait for me to agree; instead, she busies herself by cleaning up. Her movements seem more of a distraction, a way to keep occupied.
The room dims as dusk approaches. In the fading light, the walls take on a bluish hue. Chatter from outside hushes to an eerie stillness. As I relax on the mat, a rhythmic thudding carries through the air. At first, the sound blends into the hum of life beyond these walls. Slowly, it becomes more defined until it is a drumbeat through the earth.
Xia is on her feet, rushing to the window. She peeks through the narrow gap, tensing as she scans the horizon. “No,” she whispers, almost to herself. “No, no, no.”
I force myself to stand. Sharp pain shoots through my ribs. For the first time since we met, I see fear in her.
“We need to leave,” she says, urgency tightening her voice. “There are many of them.”
The room spins with my first steps, my body protesting every movement. It is a struggle, but I will manage. I must because the sound of boots grows louder, now accompanied by the clinking of weapons.
Xia rushes to my side, grabbing my arm to steady me. “We don’t have much time,” she mutters, her eyes darting around the room. She grabs the bag she’s been packing throughout the day. “Can you walk?”
I have my doubts at first. The next few steps are marginally steadier. I glance toward the window. Whoever they are, I’m not ready to meet them.
Xia hands me a cloak. “Put this on. You need to cover up if you are going to blend in.”
I wince while pulling the rough fabric around my shoulders. The marching is now accompanied by the bark of commands. We both freeze, listening.
“They’re right outside,” Xia whispers. “We need to hurry.” She grabs my arm, pulling me toward the back of the room. I stumble forward, clutching at her shoulder for support.
As we reach the back exit, the air fills with shouts. My instinct is to fight, but that would be a losing battle today. Xia doesn’t hesitate. She pulls me along with an iron-tight grip.
“Come on,” she hisses, leading us toward the gloom.
The world outside is a cacophony of danger. A storm is rushing towards us. I peer back inside the house at the bed where I was lying, contemplating that I might not survive this.
Again, Xia yanks me forward. We plunge into the unknown, the approaching army echoing in our ears.