The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 36
She wanted to ask how they had come to be here. How they had defeated Echion. But it struck her that she could not, for the same reason Rowen had not been able to tell her what he’d discovered.
He lifted his other hand, trembling, to her face. He touched her cheek, grazed her nose with the edge of his hand, then ran his fingers through her hair.
“You are real!” he whispered thickly.
She stepped in and embraced him, memories teasing her mind from the visions she’d had. Her glimpses of the future. He stroked her, shivering with anticipation.
“Don’t wake up, don’t wake up,” he said to himself in a half-worried tone.
And then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. When their lips touched, it was familiar, yet new. She’d kissed him in that vision, but it had come and gone many months ago. Her heart became thunder and storm. She wanted to tell him her feelings, to assure him of her love, but she couldn’t speak.
And not being able to express herself was its own kind of pain.
He broke away, gasping. “Is it you? Is it really you? Tell me. Please tell me!”
She buried her face in his chest, nodding, hugging him tightly as tears trickled from her eyes. He cupped her cheek, and she kissed his palm. But it wasn’t nearly enough, and so she wrapped him in her arms as tightly as she could and kissed him fiercely. He lifted her up as if she were nothing but wisps of air. She felt the strange wings on her back fold together, the ones that could not be seen in the mortal world but were there still. Every sensation felt new and glorious. But in a dark corner of her mind, she sensed the dimming of the glyph back in the crypt.
When the light was out, it would pull her back through time. She would have to leave him again.
Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
—Dawanjir proverb
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Overshadowed
The magic of the glyph had run its course. Too soon, it seemed. Too soon. She felt the rip of power, the inexorable pull that dragged her back through time’s vortex. And she heard Rowen yell in anguish and despair as the magic forced them apart. Bingmei fought against it, wanting to remain in this state of future bliss, but she was powerless against the command to return. She found herself, in an instant, back within the sarcophagus, panting and grieving and confused.
A weariness she’d never experienced before settled over her, draining away her strength. It felt as if she had swum in a river, against the current, until her arms and legs were helpless and she knew she’d drown. Weakness sapped everything from her. She felt her head tilt to the side, and she passed out, the lethargy so great she couldn’t even move a wrist. As her consciousness flickered, she remembered how vulnerable Echion had become after using the words of power on one occasion. Some of them were more draining than others, it seemed. The darkness in the tomb closed around her, tangible but not oppressive, as if a thick mist had descended from the lid of the sarcophagus. It blotted out her mind, even her breath.
As she fell beneath the thrall of the fog, she felt her spirit-soul slip away again. She was still tethered to her body—she could sense the thread of connection with it—but she floated away listlessly, drawn by a breeze that took her back toward the Death Wall. She could no more fight it than she could command herself to remain in place. The valley of broken columns of rock spread out beneath her. The skies were empty now, and she saw the sun begin to rise. How much time had passed? She had no idea how long she’d lain in her grave.
The draft of wind continued to carry her along, and she felt small and light, like a siskin. And then she realized that her senses were not just drifting on the wind but were tied to a little bird, flapping its wings furiously, soaring over the lush forests and mountain crags. She was the bird and the bird was her. She could see from its eyes and experience the thrill of soaring through the air but not the cold bite of the wind. And then she passed it, unconsciously snatching up another thread, attached to a bird that was farther ahead. Bingmei realized in wonder that she was connected to ravens and sparrows, to siskins, and even to eagles. They were her eyes, her form, and she could follow their strands wherever they went.
She flew from one to another, exploring this new power while crossing the world. It felt effortless and instinctual, and she knew it to be a gift from the phoenix. How far could she travel this way? Where was Rowen? She still sensed him, but he was farther south. So she went from mind to mind, from bird to bird, flitting between them until she saw that her journey would end at Fusang.
Where Juexin had told her the dragon was torturing her love.
She saw the dragons as she approached. They were everywhere. They filled the sky, and some of them perched atop the parapets of stone and gold tiles. Others were hunting elk or bear in the woods surrounding the palace. The Fusang she’d just returned from, the one from the future, was so full of order and peacefulness. The contrast was jarring.
Rowen, she discovered, was in the Hall of Unity. There was a small hummingbird at the upper window, and she could feel the wild beating of its heart as she entered it, seeing from its eyes. There were two men guarding him. One of them, she realized, was the very man who had killed King Shulian with his fist and a