Standing there over Lek’s invisible grave, Kyoshi couldn’t have spoken about him anyway. She had the tongue of an animal in her mouth, the howl of a beast in her chest. Lao Ge was right about mercy having its price.
She’d shown Jianzhu mercy with every thought that went through her mind not dedicated to his destruction. Each smile and moment of laughter she’d shared with her friends had been an act of dereliction. This was the cost of forgetting Jianzhu, of not whispering his name before every meal, not seeing his shape in every shadow. And Kyoshi would never stop paying for it until she confronted him.
“What are you going to do?”
Kyoshi glanced up from the patch of grass that cloaked her sworn brother. Kirima had asked the question, her eyes red and hard. Wong and Lao Ge waited for an answer as well.
“I’m going to finish this,” Kyoshi said, her voice the breaking of branches and rending of cloth. “I’m going to finish him.”
“What about us?” Wong said. He had the same hunched, plaintive look as when he was waiting to hear whether or not the Avatar would stay with the group after their escape from Hujiang.
Kyoshi had to give him a different answer this time. She held up her hand. “Here is where we have to part ways,” she said.
Qinchao Village had an air to it that many visitors found off-putting. Over half the inhabitants belonged to the clan of Chin, making outsiders feel like they were talking to the same person and being watched by the same set of eyes, no matter what part of town they did business in. There was a degree of tightfisted wealth that drew attention away from a set of bizarre customs and holidays that appeared nowhere else in the Earth Kingdom, many of which revolved around dolls and effigies, small ones for the home and great towering ones in the square for public festivals.
Qinchao folk were insular, even compared to Yokoyans. They exalted their status with borderline treasonous statements, like “A citizen of Qinchao and a subject of the Earth Kingdom,” where wordplay and order implied their priorities.
A long time ago, Kyoshi and a group of other young maids had been allowed a few days of chaperoned leave to visit Qinchao. Jianzhu had sternly warned them not to run afoul of the law there, lest bad things happen before he could rescue them. The other maids giggled and proceeded to ditch Kyoshi with Auntie Mui while they ran as a group from street to street, trying wine for the first time and flirting with actors by the outdoor theater.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened. They’d all come home safely.
But Kyoshi remembered the sense of foreboding she’d had back then as she entered the gates through the circular walls and made her way to the teardrop-shaped town center. There’d been a darkness below the clean-swept streets and ghostly hues of the village that she’d sensed would burst through the surface someday.
She must have been looking into the future. That day was today. And that shadow from the deep was her.
She walked down the main street, unconcerned by the stares she drew. With her headdress adding to her height, her makeup done in a fresh coat of red and white, and the heavy armored bracers strapped over her wrists, she looked half a performer who’d lost her troupe, and half a soldier without her battalion. She attracted attention, openly and without hesitation, like she’d never done before in her life.
This was who she was now. This was her skin. This was her face.
The
Chin clan’s crown jewel was the great stone teahouse in the center of town. Unlike the ramshackle Madam Qiji’s with overnight rooms above a common area, the unnamed establishment was a three-story structure devoted entirely to food and drink, in the manner of larger cities like Omashu and Ba Sing Se. Residents of the village would spend all morning there, enjoying tea and gossip. It was the most obvious place for Jianzhu or her to wait for the other.
Kyoshi lowered her head and stepped inside. The restaurant was built with the second and third floors as mezzanines, letting her see the tables filled with boisterous conversation raining down from above. Waiters carried trays of stacked bamboo steamers through the aisles, calling out their contents, pausing when beckoned by a guest to place small dishes of glistening dumplings on the tables.
The man behind the counter gaped at her and waved toward the dining area. Either it was open seating, or he was too taken aback to deny her entrance. She spotted a table on the ground floor that was still being cleared and moved toward it. Chairs squeaked against the floor as people turned in their seats. A server coming the other way down the aisle nearly dropped his tray and backpedaled as fast as he could.
Kyoshi took a position facing the door so she could see who came and went. The dirty dishes in front of her vanished as if she were a shrine spirit who’d be displeased with any used-up offerings that lingered too long. Once the table was clean, she placed a round, smooth stone in front of her. Then she waited.
Eventually, her stillness allowed the other patrons to go back to their business. The chatter around her picked up. The music of songbirds could be heard from the second floor; a gathering of elderly men had brought ornamented cages to show off new specimens in their collections to each other.
Customers filed in through the entrance over the course of the morning. She took note of their builds, gaits, and faces, waiting for one of them to be Jianzhu. It was only a matter of time before he came.
Her former employer walked in and immediately spotted her sitting at the far table. He seemed slightly stooped. His handsome face was wan, haggard, like he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. His hair and beard had been combed, but not to his usual impeccable standards. He looked older than she remembered. Much older.
Jianzhu settled into the chair across from Kyoshi. An enterprising waiter, seeing that a normal person had joined her at the table, came over to ask them what they wanted. Jianzhu sent him packing with a glare.
The two of them drank each other in.
“You look terrible,” Kyoshi said.
“So do you,” he replied. “The shirshu poison hasn’t left your system completely. I can tell from the way you’re a little slow-blinking.”
He put his elbows on the table and leaned on his hands, giving her an exhausted half smile. “Did you ever realize the animals weren’t tracking you, personally, to begin with?” he said. “I gave them Rangi’s scent, not yours.”
“You were hunting her the whole time instead of me,” Kyoshi murmured. His ruthlessness was beyond her comprehension by leaps and bounds.
Jianzhu rubbed his face. “Bringing you back without some kind of leverage would have been pointless. You never would have listened to me. You made that perfectly clear before you ran away.”