Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [260]
How long it lasted, I couldn't say.
Long enough to satisfy the dragon. His chest swelled above us as he drew a deep breath, stretched out his neck, and blew through his nostrils, blowing the clouds away. They dispersed obediently.
The skies cleared and the sun returned.
The dragon flew in a lowering spiral, signaling his intent to land. Below us there was shouting as men ran to clear a space on the battlefield, retreating to their respective sides, taking the dead and wounded with them.
A gilded figure rode beneath the Imperial standard, giving orders. Although he rode a different horse, it was clearly the Emperor. "There," Snow Tiger breathed with relief. "My father."
"I will take you to him," the dragon rumbled aloud.
For such a vast creature, the gentleness he was capable of was a marvel. I never would have guessed it when his spirit was trapped within the princess; but then, mortal flesh was never meant to contain such force, a force as wild and huge as mountains and thunderstorms.
Gently, gently, he sank to the rain-soaked battlefield, landing on three clawed legs, the fourth claw upturned, but still closed. His shimmering silver-white head turned once in the direction of Jiang's army, enormous jaws parting to loose a warning roar. Soldiers scrambled backward in further retreat, laying down what arms they yet held.
The dragon's head swung toward the Emperor, dipping briefly in acknowledgment. "Son of Heaven."
Emperor Zhu bowed deeply in the saddle. At close range, his gilded armor was scratched and dented, splashed with drying blood. There were deep lines etching his face, and his voice trembled with hope and fear and exhaustion. "Most Revered and Celestial One, we are honored by your presence."
The dragon's long, elegant jowls curved in a smile. "And I am honored to restore your Noble Daughter."
He unfurled his claw.
Snow Tiger stepped down from his palm. She was soaked and bedraggled, clad in worn, blood-stained robes of dubious quality, a sword cut marring the delicate perfection of her face. But her carriage was proud and upright, and her eyes were open and shining, able to look upon the world without fear for the first time in long, long months, and in that instant she was without a doubt the most regal thing I had ever seen.
The Emperor made a wordless sound, his voice catching in his throat.
I don't know who began the cheer. It seemed to arise spontaneously from a thousand throats at once—ten thousand throats, a hundred thousand.
It went on and on, rolling like thunder. And I realized it was not only the soldiers of the Imperial army who were cheering. Lord Jiang's men were roaring, too, shouting and laughing and crying, glorying in their own defeat.
I glanced at Bao and Dai.
They were battered and weary and rapt, tears making streaks on their dirty faces. I laughed, unable to help it, my own voice breaking. "Hopeless romantics!"
"You're crying, too," Bao observed.
"Aye." I touched my eyelashes, and my fingertips came away wet with tears. I had come so very, very far from home. And for the first time since the Maghuin Dhonn Herself had turned Her face away from me with love and sorrow and regret, for the first time since I had glimpsed the ocean beyond the stone doorway and sensed the long and difficult destiny awaiting me, it seemed to me that despite whatever mistakes I had made along the way, the journey had been worthwhile.
"So I am."
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
In the aftermath of battle, things were less simple. Thousands of men were dead, thousands more were wounded. We found Master Lo Feng toiling in the physicians' tents behind the Imperial battle lines, bone-weary and haggard. Tired as he was, Bao set himself to aiding Master Lo, transforming himself from a warrior to a physician's apprentice in the blink of an eye, fetching herbs and liniments and decoctions, holding down injured soldiers who needed