JingYi’s fingers curled into her palms. Her nails dug into her flesh, but she barely felt the pain. “I may not be able to punish you for what you did to my mother.” Her voice stayed low, steady. “For the lies. For the years you stole from us both. For the woman and mother she might’ve been.” She held the Dowager’s gaze. “But I believe, one day, someone with more power than both of us combined will give you what you deserve.”
Something flickered behind the Dowager’s eyes. Not guilt—that would require a conscience. Not fear—that woman fearednothing. Recognition, perhaps, an understanding that what rose up must one day come down. The first crack in ice that had never thawed.
JingYi didn’t wait for a response. “You asked for my medical opinion. I’ve given it. If you require treatment, I will provide it—as I would for any patient. But I am not a chess piece in your war games, Your Highness.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Respectfully, I take my leave.”
She was almost at the door, but the Dowager’s voice reached her first.
“Be careful, Xûen JingYi. The palace has a way of making sure those who forget their place are reminded.” Eyebrows arching, lips twisting, the Dowager added, “Eventually.”
JingYi offered no reply and left.
CHAPTER 67
JINGYI
Days went by, then weeks. Three months passed since she left Tremore, two since she arrived in Xûen-Sarai. The last plum blossoms fell, and spring took hold. The light snow melted from the garden stones, and sunlight now filtered soft and warm through the paper windows of her chambers.
She structured her days around a self-determined purpose. She wrote letters, many of them to Yrenna—carefully worded missives full of questions about Parandor and Lornhelm. How fared the people? Had spring come to the mountains? Yrenna’s replies came with warmth, filled with news of the keep and its folk, but they both carefully avoided the one topic hovering between every line. Alexander’s name never appeared, yet JingYi’s heart still claimed Yrenna as her own sister, marriage or no marriage, and she suspected Yrenna felt the same.
She also wrote to the home physicians of the Omegas who had been freed, sending detailed inquiries about their progress, reminders about dosage adjustments, words of encouragement for their continued care. A quiet promise fulfilled: She had not abandoned them.
The medical correspondences gently angled her to return to the practice she cherished: medicine. She made it known—through Wu Ma and Feng—that her Magnolia Palace’s drawing room was open to anyone in need of healing, servant or noble. It was a reclaiming of her identity: the healer, not the pawn.
In the stillness, in moments between patients, her thoughts sometimes drifted to Tedric. She abhorred his monstrous methods but understood the fury that could fuel such a revolt. While she had spurned a gilded cage, he had chosen to burn the whole system down. Opposites, but both were acts of defiance against a world that sought to define them.
Then, she took to writing long, meandering letters to Reiyana. In them, she finally revisited her time in the dungeon and asked the questions she still could not voice within the Xûen court.
‘If you’re still wondering where Castiel Vaelmont meant to take you,’she wrote,‘I believe it was to one of those places—where they test purple limyerite on Omegas to strip us of what makes us who we are. To erase ourselves from the inside out.’
Whether Castiel had been right to think death would be kinder than such a fate, she wouldn’t presume to decide. That choice, she left to Reiyana.
‘I’ve wondered,’she continued,‘who Tedric Deymar truly is. He is a Beta—medium in height, with sun-browned hair and dark brown eyes. His swordsmanship is exceptional, quick and precise, favouring the rapier. On the surface, he is all charm. Too easy to trust. Too easy to like.’
Her hand faltered. She wiped her left cheek, the chilling memory of his fingers returning.
‘But the longer I knew him, especially in the dungeons, the mask slipped. He loathes Alphas, hates them with a fervour that feels personal. Killing them gives him satisfaction. And when it comes to Omegas . . .’Her ink bled a moment as her quilllingered.‘He watched them die without remorse. To him, their suffering is not tragedy, but an apt price to pay.’
She hesitated again. Then, her quill moved.
‘Tell me. Could Tedric be Castiel Vaelmont?’
She didn’t have to wait too long for Reiyana’s response. It came two days later, delivered by a royal Sparo.
‘JingYi, from your descriptions, Tedric isn’t Castiel but his brother, Lucen Vaelmont, who fights with a rapier. Castiel, I believe, uses a bow and arrows.’
JingYi sucked in a sharp breath.
Lucen.
She tried to match the name to the face—the voice, the blade, the cruelty, and found that name suited Tedric more than ‘Castiel’ ever had.
But the mysterious archer?Thatwas Castiel.
She placed the papers down and buried her face in her palms. She wished Reiyana were here. Or that she was there, so she could ask more, glean more. But the letter offered no further clarity. Only silence.
The Xûen court was nowhere as silent. Whispers wound through its corridors; debates murmured over tea and scrolls: what to do with the High Princess now. How to best utilize her. Which alliances might be restored, advanced. Which doors should open or close by her hand. Marriage contracts were being discussed in antechambers, her name thrown around as if her choices were irrelevant.