The Cadric envoy stepped inside. Tipping a brimmed black hat, she glanced around the cramped room as Yvir closed the door.

Past his thumping heart, Liao forced himself to breathe evenly.

“So this is what true citizens of the Dynasty call home,” said the woman in Cadish.

“Watch your tongue,” Yvir’s mother said in Qeitai. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you don’t belong in this land—this continent.”

“Knowing your daughter’s heritage, it seems we’ve all had our lapse in judgment,” the woman scoffed. “You should also know this: I’m the one person who can take you away from this city.”

“Enough,” Yvir said. “Can you do what you promise?”

The Cadrian eyed Liao. “The question is whether he can make the journey.”

“He’s been poisoned,” Renshu stated. “I’ve given him an antidote that should give him time. But to cure him, we must go to the Shadai temple. He won’t live past another week without their care.”

Liao cursed at the weight of the monk’s words. He’d been a fool to trust the jinnto, and now he was dying for their treachery. What other way could it end than this?

“We must leave, then,” the woman said. “I’ve secured passage to the harbor. My ship should take you close to the Daosung mountains in a few days’ journey.”

“My mother leaves with us,” Yvir said.

“Not possible.”

Yvir grabbed the envoy’s collar. “You will take us!” The woman twisted her hands away, slamming her face against the wall.

Renshu rose suddenly.

The Cadrian said in a rush, “I can only get my guards through. They’ll be looking for anything amiss, and a Qeitan smuggled aboard a Cadric ship would be one of them. I won’t be going with you. I’ll make sure your mother is safe.”

“That’s not a promise you can keep,” Yvir snarled, squirming under the woman’s hold. She released her.

Yvir’s mother stepped between them, placing a hand on her daughter’s face. “You must go, Yvir. Please. Listen to this woman. You must leave the city.”

Yvir pulled her mother’s hand down from her face. “No. I won’t leave you. I’m staying here.”

“Whatever your decision is,” the envoy said, “I’m leaving now. So you best make it quick, or I’ll leave you all.”

The woman moved for the door, but Renshu stood in her way.

“We will come with you,” he said.

The Cadrian nodded. The monk moved aside. Liao stood and followed them out of the ramshackle building. Yvir closed the door behind them.

The moon was muddied by black clouds. Darkness smothered the streets; paper lanterns hanging overhead unlit, only the wind whispering in the quiet.

They followed the woman’s brisk stride, their boots scuffling over the cobblestones.

Liao’s strength was returning, enough for him to walk at least. The antidote Renshu had given him seemed to be working, dulling his pain.

Continuing in silence, they paused when the Cadric woman halted. A patrol of the people’s army marched past, holding torches, unable to see them past the shadows. They skirted through the alleys, avoiding the streets and any fires that could reveal them.

Liao wondered who the soldiers were: farmers; zealots; men who were tired of serving the land instead of taking the land? Commonborn believing in a just purpose; was that why they called themselves the People’s Army?

He remembered the very few and far between words his father had ever spoken to him: Those with the sword, take with the sword. It isn’t the sword’s purpose to take a life, it is merely an instrument to reveal man’s true nature. Now hold the sword, son, and strike the one who’s wronged you.

Liao flinched in the darkness. Renshu pulled him as they ran past a narrow alley, more of a slanted space between two shanties.

In his half-weakened daze, Liao thought of the boy his father had pitted him against in sparring all those years ago. He’d been fourteen. Or was it thirteen? With a wooden sword, the older boy had beaten him relentlessly, an eager gleam to his dark eyes. For days, months, Liao had gathered welts, bruises, and cuts across his body. The dampened pain he felt now somehow made him remember the suffering of that time.

The Emperor, his father, watched, until he turned away one day in boredom; a grimace of disgust. Something in Liao had snapped that day. He needed his father’s approval, the acceptance that he was his son. He’d beaten the boy somehow, standing over him as he whimpered for mercy. Then his father stood with him, and said the words: Strike the one who’s wronged you. And so Liao had raised his sword.

He blinked. They were at the harbor, the land curving outwards to a vast bay of water. Shadows rose and spiked out from the dark horizon: the Imperial Fleet, moored to the many planked docks. Waves lapped and rustled past the wooden posts, soaked moonlight ribboning in the puckered blackness.

They followed the Cadric woman, who strode towards a line of guards with an authority that outmatched their accusing stares.

“Noone can enter the harbor, Cadrian,” one of the soldiers said.

The envoy glanced around the men with seeming disinterest. “Where is your captain? Or should I tell Chancellor Quan-Lu that you’ve rebuked his decree?”

The soldier paused. “Wait here. I’ll fetch the captain.”

He trotted into a nearby building, which Liao guessed was the housing for the sea watch. A mustached man returned with him, tired lines below his squinting eyes.

“Yes?” he said.

The woman took out a sealed scroll, handing it to the captain.

The man didn’t even open it, waving them on. “Next time you waste my time, Niang, I’ll have you flogged.” He turned away from the soldier that summoned him, trudging back to the building.

The Cadrian smirked. “May we pass?”

The guard stepped aside, his hateful eyes following the Cadric woman.

They moved towards a hulking ship, the outline of a bronzed eagle’s head pointed out from its mast. The woman walked across the bridging plank to its deck.

A man waited for them, holding a black iron lantern with a dwindling candle. Middle aged lines creased his tanned face, and his gray eyes glanced at Liao and Renshu with a leering curiosity. He tipped his wide brimmed hat to the Cadric envoy.

“Sariah, never thought you’d make it aboard.”

Sariah smiled. “Not getting out just yet, captain. You know what to do.” She gestured to Liao and Renshu. “Treat these men as our own. Bring them to what they seek.”

The Cadrian turned back to the walkway, but Renshu caught her arm.

“Why help us?” he questioned. “What does your Empire have to gain from this?”

Liao glanced between the captain and the woman. The man looked ready to pounce on Renshu, the cords of his neck rigid against his skin, a hand on the pommel of his sword. Sariah raised her free hand, and the captain stood still.

“I’m helping you because my King wishes to help you,” she said. “I answer to the Monarchy, not your Dynasty. This ship will take you to where you want to go. After that, it’s up to you on whatever you do. Incite a civil war, or hide from the viceroys for the rest of your lives. Or you can hold on to my arm for a little while longer, and see where that gets you.”

Renshu let go of her arm, rumbling, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t have to,” Sariah said. “It’s enough you know that Cadria doesn’t wish the Qeitan Dynasty to fall.” She walked past them. “Good luck, and try not to die.”

Liao would have laughed at the hopeless absurdity of it all. Instead, he dashed for the railing, pulled out his helmet, and vomited.