Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [273]
I didn't know.
None of it seemed to fit so long as one infuriating peasant-boy was wandering around Ch'in with half my diadh-anam inside him. And while I didn't know what time meant to a dragon, I had a feeling it was going to be a very long time before I was able to figure out what home meant to me.
"Try not to think about it." Reading my silence, the princess gave me a quick glance. "We have a long journey to Shuntian, and there will be much for you to do along the way."
"I know." I had agreed to serve as the Imperial swallower-of-memories for as long as was necessary. "It's all right. Bao's travelling in the same direction, more or less."
"Do you know where he's bound?"
I shook my head. "I don't think he knows himself, my lady. Away from me. That's all that matters."
"He'll be back," Ten Tigers Dai said unexpectedly. He flushed under my gaze. "He will, I am sure of it."
I hoped he was right. "We'll see."
On the morrow, we departed. Everything was so very different on this journey, it seemed strange and unreal to me. I had crossed war-torn Ch'in in disguise with a quartet of stick-fighters, a sage, and a dragon-possessed princess. Now I was part of the Imperial entourage travelling in peacetime.
Kang was gone, recovering at the monastery. Tortoise was gone, torn apart by the Divine Thunder. Master Lo was gone, sacrificing himself that his magpie might live. Bao… Bao was gone, wandering somewhere ahead of us, his lead growing thanks to our slow progress. The dragon was gone, left behind to happily dream of clouds and rain atop his beloved White Jade Mountain.
That was good, at least.
I reminded myself of it every time I felt alone and lost. Much that was different was good. In the eyes of the world, Snow Tiger had fled Shuntian as a demon-haunted abomination, feared and reviled. Now she was a heroine. The tales stretched before us, tales of how she had fought to protect the commonfolk, slaying an entire company of Lord Jiang's men. Tales of how she had descended from the sky in a dragon's claw and put an end to a war.
The people loved her for it. Everywhere we went, we were cheered, and the princess more than anyone. Time and again, I saw the Emperor's face soften, beaming with a father's pride. No one doubted anymore that he had lost the Mandate of Heaven, and no one questioned his choice of heir.
They did not know how dark the memories she carried were, nor how much she still ached at the dragon's absence. I knew. More than ever, I sympathized with her sense of loss. And all the cheers in the world could not erase the memory of blood-soaked horror. Still, they helped, and I was glad to see it. I was glad to see her unbend her dignity to smile in genuine gladness and gratitude, glad to see the healing sword-cut on her face fade from an angry red to a faint pink as we travelled.
Like her memories, it would never be gone altogether, but it was better. And she was learning to live with it.
Everywhere that there was rumor of Lord Jiang or Black Sleeve's followers laboring on the weapons of the Divine Thunder, we made camp and took quarters. Again and again, the offer went out: In return for offering their memories freely, men would be rewarded with Imperial favor and money.
Once again, I kept no count of the memories I swallowed. We visited smithies and workshops. Most of the time, the alchemists, engineers, and laborers who had built the weapons came forward of their own accord. They brought intricate sketches of the weapons, formulas for fire-powder recorded on paper. Those we burned.
I breathed in their memories and swallowed them. Memories of complicated formulas of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter, memories of acrid bronze fumes, memories of complicated spiral grooves.
They did not all come forward willingly. Some were betrayed by folk eager to bask in Heaven's favor. Those were dragged from their hiding places and offered a choice between surrender and execution.