"Natural phenomenons occur all the time. Be it a red moon or a strangely shaped cloud. It's humans who warp them to fit their beliefs and claim it to be the work of their Gods."

The Book of Controversies—Unknown Zmerkï author

CHAPTER TWENTY

That night, Biyu's bruised and hollowed face haunted me.

You've betrayed all of us, Biyu hissed. You've abandoned your own and joined the Imperials. After all they've done to you, I thought you despised them. I was wrong. Shame on you.

You have to understand, I tried to reason with him. I'm doing this to save us.

Liar. Blood pooled in his eyes and dripped, drawing two vertical red lines down his cheeks. Liar. Liar. Liar.

Biyu's face faded and was replaced by those I'd skinned.

Faces I had forgotten; Faces belonging to people whose names I'd never found out.

Facechanger, they whispered. Facechanger.

Leave me alone! I shouted.

Facechanger, the faces continued whispering. You have consumed the blood of a High Immortal. You're cursed. You're cursed. Oh my, you're cursed!

I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the disembodied voices.

Twice you shall be betrayed, twice your heart shall be broken. Oh, Facechanger, you've brought this upon yourself! You're neither mortal nor immortal, trapped between two worlds. You're cursed, you're cursed, you're cursed!

The chorus of the faces rose into a thundering crescendo.

Sarna, Qara's face said. Give us back our faces. They're not yours.

I gritted my teeth.

The faces are not yours. They're ours, our faces.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

When the sun broke the horizon and filled the sky with its warm golden rays, I got out of bed and threw icy water over my puffy face.

My innards shivered like an animal trapped in a blizzard. I shakily did my makeup. Miya had already chosen an outfit for me and left it hanging in the wardrobe. It was a gorgeous white dress with pearls as large as cherries sewn onto the bodice. But every part of me was repulsed. I was about to witness a public execution dressed like I was attending a banquet.

I still hadn't come up with a plan to rescue Biyu. There was no trying to Whisper the executioner into letting Biyu go. Even if I succeeded, he would be replaced with another, and another.

It was one thing to change someone's mind, but no amount of Whispering could change the written law.

Miya despaired over my swollen eyes and burning cheeks. She doused me in pearl powder and did my hair in an elaborate weave of silver pins and green rhinestones.

"You must not go into the public looking as if a cart ran you over!" she cried. "The crown prince will not be pleased!"

"Let him," I said. "My face is the last thing he should be worried about."

Miya gasped. "Do not badmouth the crown prince, my lady. He does not like it when people speak ill of him."

"I'm tired." I closed my eyes. I didn't want to deal with her right now. "You're excused."

"But I am not yet done with your hair, my lady," Miya said. "I—"

I leaped to my feet. "Out!"

Miya gaped at me, dumbfounded. I had never screamed at her. I had been careful to treat my slaves, for I knew what it felt like to live in the shadow of another.

She lowered her gaze, curtsied, and left.

I could have prevented this. If only I had sneaked a note to Biyu about my task, he wouldn't have attempted to take his own life. He would have hope. He loved me so much, and I used that love against him.

I swiped the china off the table. The sound of smashing porcelain was music to my ears, satisfying the angry beast within me. I threw another teacup at the wall, then another, until there was nothing else for me to smash. I kicked a stool, letting my fury control me. I stared at myself in the mirror.

Hatred at my naiveness rose and fell like an avalanche. I punched the mirror, shattering it. The jagged shards cut my fingers, splattering blood all over the dresser, cosmetics, and jewelry. I welcomed the pain, letting the blood continue to weep from the wounds.

Miya burst into the chamber.

"My lady!" she shrieked. "What are you doing?"

She grabbed a handkerchief off the dresser and wrapped my injured hand with it.

"Why did you do that? One second I'm gone, the next you've hurt yourself!"

"Leave me alone," I said.

"I cannot do that, my lady." Miya shook her head. "You're bleeding."

"What's going on?" Wulin stepped into his room, and his expression grew dark as his eyes fell on my bleeding hand.

"Wulin," I said. "I-"

Wulin whirled on Miya, who fell to her knees.

"All I asked from you was to take care of your new mistress. Can't you even do one thing right?"

"I'm sorry, your majesty!" Miya cried. "I deserve to die."

"Then, I shall grant you your wish," Wulin growled as he drew his sword.

The blade drew a clean line across Miya's chest. Blood spurted.

I screamed and caught her as she fell sideways, eyes bulging and clutching at her wound.

"You didn't have to kill her!" Tears ran down my cheeks. "It's not her fault!"

Wulin regarded me coldly. "I was just following the Imperial laws. Any slave who causes their superior harm must be executed."

I pressed my forehead against Miya's. She was struggling to breathe, and her attempts were weakening.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her ear. "The Imperials shall pay for what they did to you, what they did to us."

Miya's expression was blank. Then, she closed her eyes and died.

"We're late," Wulin said. "Get up before I drag you out myself."

Still kneeling on the ground, I reached for one of the larger pieces of broken porcelain scattered on the ground. The jagged edge cut into my already injured palm, drawing a fresh spurt of blood and pain, but I clutched it tighter and rose shakily to my feet.

My heart was a hammer against my chest, smashing mercilessly over and over again. Blood rushed in my ears, a low hum which overlapped the pounding of my heart and the angry cry breaking free from my throat. I launched myself at Wulin, the shard of porcelain aimed right at his chest.

I was a fool to trust an Imperial.

Wulin deftly caught my wrist and ripped out the shard from my hand. His other hand grabbed me by the dress and dragged me toward him, so close, his breath fluttered against my cheek.

"You dare raise a hand against your prince?" he said in a low, dangerous voice.

"You're no prince," I hissed.

Wulin gazed at me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Then, he released me and beckoned BaiFeng who was standing by the door. He nodded, left, and returned moments later with a bandage and a small vial of medicine.

I sat quietly as BaiFeng cleaned my wound and wrapped it up with a piece of clean cloth. The sizzling pain of the cut helped drown out the burning guilt.

I had almost believed him. I had almost let my guard down by trusting the words of an Imperial who claimed he wanted to abolish slavery. He was no different than the other Imperials. The lives of slaves were mere grains of sand and motes of dust in their eyes. Tiny. Insignificant. I was another pawn in his quest for the throne.

Wulin left first. BaiFeng then guided me out of the residential hall and toward the gilded carriage.

After I entered the carriage, BaiFeng dropped the carriage curtain, and I looked out of the window.

The soldiers were already marching toward the gates. Wulin stepped onto the stirrup and propelled himself onto his horse, grasped the reins, and urged it into a trot.

The carriage rolled out of the Jade Palace and toward the heart of the city.

I stared at the bloodied bandage around my hand. The blood looked so tempting—so red, and so raw.

I squeezed my hand. Pain jolted through my body and I bit down on my tongue, preventing myself from screaming.

My fingers tightened around the wound. Again. And again.

This was for the little boy who was wrongfully executed before the eyes of many.

This was for the woman who died in my place after I set her free from the slavers.

This was for Miya, who died because I punched a mirror.

This was for Biyu, who was going to die because I was a gullible coward.

I was the crown prince's ward, and I couldn't even protect my own. I knew I was here to save Zichuan Theater, but right now, I had done more harm than good. Wulin desired my help so he could be crown Emperor, and that meant another thing for me.

I would be Empress. I would hold in my hands the power to shape a whole dynasty and change laws. I could avenge every single slave who had perished at the hands of the Imperials, just like how I'd killed the man who had ruined me.

At the cost of Zichuan Theater.

Maybe this was why I was delaying. I was stalling at every possible opportunity, telling myself the time was not right, that I needed more solidarity with the prince before I killed him.

I craved the very power I detested. That scared me. From the moment of my escape, I was clear on my goals—roam the Empire with Zichuan Theater. Earn enough to buy a Visa for me and Biyu, and then leave for another nation where we would be free.

Those were simple aspirations, the dreams of a thirteen-year-old girl. Now, I was a different girl, and this girl wasn't at all sure of what she wanted or what was even true.

A loud neigh jerked me out of my thoughts, and I lifted the curtain. Next to me, another carriage rolled along. Unlike the traditional red and black design of my carriage, the other carriage was a dazzling white and gold, drawn by magnificent black steeds.

The curtain lifted, and Princess Shila stared at me.

Terrible things never came in turns. They came in a vicious swarm of bellicose hatred, shrieking in their high-pitched voices as they dragged us down into deep, dark pits. I couldn't afford to pretend to be a noble lady from the Tenth Province now, not like this. If I lost control of my emotions, I'd lose my edge I currently have over the situation.

The carriage came to a halt. I lifted the curtain and stepped out, just as the full scorch of the afternoon sun beat down on me. An umbrella appeared out of nowhere, and a slave held it over my head.

Wulin slid off his horse and offered me his arm.

"Come, my beloved."

"Why is this yezökşe here?" Shila approached us, a storm in her demonic green eyes. "My dear prince, I beseech you, leave all your fancies at home."

Although I didn't speak Zmerkï, I'd heard the word yezökşe too many times. These words fell from the lips of the Pavilion's visitors like rain the spawn of newts. I inhaled deeply. For now, I must act like Wulin's escort, no matter how much I wished him dead.

"Princess Shila." I smiled. "I've heard so many things about you."

"Good things, I'm certain." Shila too, was smiling her own sharp smile. She was dressed in a beautiful silver dress of a foreign fashion. The dress blossomed out at the hem, sewn with frills and laced with little sequins. I'd never seen anything like it. But matched with a deathly stare and glimmering green eyes, the princess exuded an exquisite and intimidating aura. "I'm the only daughter of the Zmerkï royal family, while you are the daughter of an unheard nobleman. Of course, you've heard of me."

Wulin leaned in, closing his fingers slowly and deliberately around mine. I flinched internally as his warm skin came in contact.

"Princess Shila, I did not expect you to be here," he said.

"It's my duty as the ward of Erden to ensure my crown prince is accompanied by those who wish him well."

"Your thoughtfulness is very much appreciated," Wulin replied. "But who I keep as company is my own concern."

A guard cleared his throat next to us and knelt. "Your majesties, my lady, please be seated. The prisoner will be arriving soon."

If a human smile could be swords, Shila's was the sharpest blade to be ever forged.

"I'll see you soon, my prince."

She curtsied and left.

From the wooden platform where Wulin and I sat, I saw everything—the man clad in black next to the execution block to the glinting axe in his hands, and then to the bloodied block and at the basket where flies buzzed around the several rotting heads still inside from previous executions.

Till this very day, the metallic stink of the boy's blood still perforated the air.

I didn't even know his name.

It took every ounce of energy in my body to stop me from leaning over the wooden rails and emptying my stomach onto the people below.

Wulin held my hand. "It's going to be alright. The execution will be over in an instant."

An instant for him was an eternity for me. A myriad of emotions bubbled within me—fear, anxiety, anger, loss, hope—so much so I was unable to look Wulin in the eye. The commoners present was making a racket. Many were shouting and waving vegetables in the air. At the same time, many were watching me, pointing and whispering among themselves.

Wulin continued to smile and pretended he did not hear the whispers. But I heard them all. They were as clear as the morning skies on the month of Eight.

Who is she?

I heard she's the crown prince's plaything.

She must be someone important, or else she wouldn't be here.

She's so beautiful. Do you think she's a princess?

So many guesses, and all of them wrong.

"The bastard is here!" someone screamed.

A metal cage dragged by donkeys rolled toward the execution platform. Weighed down by chains and with his fingers wrapped tightly around the bars was Biyu. He looked even more bruised and bloody under the brilliant afternoon sun. My heart skipped a beat, and I bit back a sob.

Everyone started booing and pelted the cage with their rotten vegetables and fruits.

"Traitor!" someone shouted.

"Off with his head!"

"Die! Die! Die!"

The united chants rose into frenzied roars thirsty for blood.

I wanted to fly off the platform and shatter his chains, then whisk him to a place where no one else could harm him. Although Biyu was older than I was, Mr. Long trusted I'd protect him from the outside world. Born and raised on a farm, Biyu was a docile child who helped collect chicken eggs, cleaned coops, milked cows, and sang next to his family's crops. After a plague hit his family's fields, his father cut off Biyu's treasure with a quick swipe of an old razor and sent him to the Jade Palace with hopes of getting paid. Yet, he retained the kindness and resilience of his childhood, even through the years of servitude at the Pavilion.

That docile child had now turned into a broken boy lying at the bottom of a rusty, filthy cage, awaiting a most gruesome death.

You take care of each other now, Mr. Long had said. We're family. Family protects each other, understand?

I'd failed as a friend and as a sister.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!""

I thought the chanting couldn't get any louder, but I was wrong. It was as if someone had released a torrent of deranged animals after years-long of captivity. These commoners had lived in their bubble of safety and superficial lives for so long, they yearned with zealous aggression for chaos.

Two guards unlocked the cage, dragged Biyu out, and tossed him onto the platform. He tumbled and hit his face on the wood, but he didn't bother to get back up.

The executioner lumbered forward, grabbed a fistful of Biyu's hair, and yanked him toward the execution block.

Exactly how the little boy met his end.

The executioner jerked Biyu's head back for all to see. "This man here is accused of attempted assassination of the crown prince and escaping the dungeons. Under the law of Erden, all treasonous men must die."

"This is boring," Shila drawled from a lower platform. "Back in my nation, we execute traitors by throwing them into boiling oil. Death by beheading is too easy."

Think of something, think of something, think of something!

The executioner pushed Biyu's head onto the block and stepped back. He looked at Wulin for permission. Wulin nodded.

The executioner flexed his muscles, gripped the axe, and raised it over his head.

Biyu closed his eyes. Under the glare of the sun, the blade of the axe was a burning whiteness.

The axe rose.

"STOP!"

I leaped to my feet.

"Stop this madness!"

The executioner froze mid-swing.

"Qara," Wulin drew out the words slowly. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What did you say his crime was?" I demanded. I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but if I didn't do anything, Biyu would die.

"My lady," the executioner said. "This man here is a traitor."

"What is his crime?"

"Attempted assassination of the crown prince and escaping the dungeons." The executioner stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. "The crown prince has given the order."

"Beloved people of Erden." I walked toward the edge of the platform and stared down at the hundreds of commoners. "I am Qara of the Tenth Province. I believe you've heard of my homeland. It's a beautiful place of emerald green and cherry pink. We are not an empire, but are under the protection of His Glorious Majesty, the Emperor of Erden."

Murmurs rippled among the crowd.

The faces of those who had died so I could be here surfaced from my memories. It was all the encouragement to continue my speech.

"Where I come from, there are no executions without proof. This man here is accused of attempted assassination without further investigation. The word attempt itself suggests that it may not be true. We claim to be civilized people, but yet we are taking the lives of those we have yet to prove guilty."

"He tried to kill our crown prince!" a woman screamed. "He deserves to die!"

"What proof do you have?" I threw back. "Were you present when the assassination took place?"

The woman faltered. "That still doesn't mean he isn't a traitor."

I turned to Wulin. "My beloved prince. Tell me, did you see this man try to stab you?"

"No," he said quietly.

"Then, why is he accused?"

"Because he was there when someone else stabbed the prince!" Shila said. "Are you seriously that stupid?"

"You would blame an entire room of people as murderers, but this man wasn't the only one present during the crown prince's nameday. There were guards, soldiers, even the nobility. Yet, we accuse this man and his entire crew of assassination. Isn't that a little absurd?"

"Are you claiming betrayal of my kin?" Wulin asked.

"No," I said. "But to accuse someone based on flimsy evidence is not what a ruler should do."

"You seem to speak of that afternoon with detail," Shila said. "Were you there when the assassination took place?"

"Were you?" I threw back the question at Shila.

Shila looked as if I had slapped her. "No," she growled.

"Innocent unless proven," I said. "His trial is in a month. Let the Imperial Judges investigate thoroughly. I believe the High Immortals too, desire justice."

"He still tried to escape from the dungeons, doesn't that make him suspicious?" Shila pressed on. "He knew death was inevitable. He tried to run but failed."

"Princess Shila, have you ever been down the dungeons?" I said. "If I was the one incarcerated, I would too try to escape. The dungeons are not even fit for animals to live in, let alone a human being."

"You may make a valid point about his innocence," Wulin finally broke up the argument. "But there is no denying he still tried to escape. Such actions have consequences."

"Why can't you just let me die in peace?" Biyu moaned.

I ignored him. "You're right, my prince. Such actions have consequences. Beat him. Deny him food. But don't kill him unless we have solid proof. The Tenth Province is a liberal state, and all I want is justice for the people, my people."

I threw out my arms and addressed the crowd. "What will you do if your father, mother, brother, or sister is executed for no reason except words from another? Will you stand for them or let them die wronged?"

Standing behind the executioner was the little boy who died months ago. It could be a figment of my imagination, or it could be his ghost. He was looking at me with the biggest smile on his young face. The chains which held him captive were gone. He was dressed in a simple white tunic and black pants. He looked happy; carefree.

The little boy nodded, then faded.

The crowd had come to a complete standstill, all of them staring at me with stunned looks of pure awe.

Many of these people had lost people to the Imperials. A father, a mother, a sister, or a brother. Their raw anger led them to lash out at the violence fed to them by the Imperials, their pain pushing them to cry for the pain of others.

Until now, no one had ever spoken on behalf of the people. They were sheep, and I was the shepherd.

"Give the prisoner twenty lashes," Wulin ordered. "Then, throw him back into the dungeons and see that he doesn't escape again.

The relief was staggering, but I pretended to be unaffected by retaining the rigid smile on my face.

The executioner removed a rope whip from his belt and cracked it.

"Tie him up," he ordered.

Two guards rushed forward and bound Biyu's hands to a wooden pillar, just as the executioner raised the whip and brought it down.

The crack of the whip sent crows into the skies with mad flutters of their wings. With every lash of the whip, my heart broke a little more. Biyu grounded his teeth, sweat running down his face as he tried to hold back his screams. But eventually, he lost, and he howled and writhed like a little child caught in between his father's cane.

Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven lashes.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't let you die. You're strong, Biyu. You can pull through this.

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

Biyu slumped onto the ground, unconscious.

I couldn't watch it anymore. I got off the platform and went back into my carriage.

"Take me back, please," I whispered to the driver.

"Yes, my lady." The carriage driver's tone was hopeful, awed even. He bowed down low as took my seat and drew the curtains shut.

As the carriage rocked into motion, I leaned my head against the rattling walls and closed my eyes.

I must endure, although every step I took and every word I uttered tore a bit of my soul away. I must keep up the pretense. Then, when all was done, I would be gone. The only thing left of me in the Jade Palace would be the whispers of a ghost from the Tenth Province and the faint fragrance of cherry blossoms.