With reverence, the head monk spread the scroll out on a table. Painted upon its surface were Chinese characters, accompanied by small detailed paintings. In the first, a man was shown with his arms spread wide as he stood beneath the nighttime sky. “The kung fu that you just witnessed is part of our belief in harnessing chi, the energy of the body. Chi does not merely exist within the human body, but within every living thing.” He looked up to see if any of the strangers or Westerners would debate this notion, but if he wanted an argument against the concept of living energy, he wouldn’t find it amongst the Blades of the Rose. Even Gabriel seemed to accept the idea readily. Thalia smiled to herself, thinking how much he had changed since she first met him weeks ago, and yet the essential core of him had not altered.
“Over a thousand years ago,” Lan Shun continued, “one man known as Po Tai thought to harness as much chi as he could and contain it within himself.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Thalia.
“Po Tai was not the first nor the last man to covet power,” Lan Shun answered. “So he performed many forbidden rituals to gather chi.” He pointed to the next illustration, of a man glowing with energy, but the man, instead of looking triumphant, was bent over and clawing at his own flesh, agony clearly evident in his face. “There is a reason why no man should claim that much chi for himself. It can drive a human mad. The chi destroyed him, but when Po Tai was obliterated, the chi did not simply disappear back into the universe.”
The next illustration showed what looked like a beast, made of many animals, rampaging through the distinctive tall peaks of Chinese mountains as tiny people fled in its path. “The chi could not be stopped. Finally, the emperor called forward the monks from this temple to find a way to contain it.” Another illustration depicted a small army of brightly robed monks chanting, their eyes closed, as they arrayed themselves in front of the beast. “It cost nearly all of them their lives, but they managed to bind the chi to a physical object. In order to ensure that no one would ever be tempted to use the gathered chi for his own selfish purposes, it was contained in the most modest of things, using the humblest materials.”
“A tea kettle,” Altan said.
Thalia looked at him with surprise. “How did you know?”
The bandit chief smiled. “I can always tell if something is valuable, and the way you carried that thing like a treasure told me just that.”
Lan Shun nodded, gesturing to the final illustration of a monk at a forge, and with a start Thalia recognized the scene as the same she had witnessed in the kettle’s steam. She met Gabriel’s eyes and saw his recognition, as well. “The kettle was kept by the monks here,” Lan Shun said, rolling up the scroll, “and carefully studied, until Genghis Khan and his horde took it, never knowing what they stole. A good thing, too, for if the khan had possessed an idea as to what the kettle could do, how much power it contained, he would have destroyed the world in his quest for dominance. Though the kettle has not been at our monastery for over six hundred years, tales of its power were passed to each head monk. We were all taught, should the kettle ever be returned, how to control it so that no harm befell anyone. And it is capable of a very great harm.”
Thalia shivered and found herself pressing close to Gabriel for the reassurance of his solid body. God, if the Heirs managed to obtain the kettle, the resulting disaster would be unfathomable.
“Why not simply destroy the kettle?” Catullus asked.
“Once chi has been gathered, it cannot be diffused. We would only destroy the physical cage of the chi. If the kettle ceased to exist, then the concentrated chi would be unleashed, and we would have to find another object to which we could bind it. Then the cycle would begin again.”
Everyone was silent as they absorbed this information. They all stared at the kettle which Lan Shun held. So odd. It still looked like an ordinary kettle, useful only for brewing tea, and for generations, that was exactly what it had done. Yet it contained such power that even those most familiar with magic—Bennett, Catullus, and Hsiung Ming—looked a bit awed. Thalia was sorry that her father could not be there just to see it, but then she was glad he was far away, and safe. Should the Heirs know what the kettle might be capable of doing, they would stop at nothing to make it theirs. She might have to witness the death of her good friends, of the man she loved. Icy with fear, Thalia wrapped her arms around Gabriel’s waist.
He seemed to understand her, his own arms coming up to hold her close. He felt strong and real, and she had to believe that they would make it out alive, together. She had to believe, because the alternative was too awful to comprehend.
“Enough standing around and gabbing like fishwives,” Gabriel said in the silence. “We’ve a battle to prepare for.”
The Siege Begins
Thalia wiped the perspiration from her face as she finished burying the last of Catullus’s incendiary devices outside the monastery wall. After the war council had broken, Catullus immediately went to where herbs and chemicals were stored for making medicine and tinkered with them until he was satisfied. Though he had explained to her how the combinations of substances worked, she did not quite fathom all the complex reactions or how they could produce explosions. It did not matter. All that mattered was that they reduce the number of the Heirs and their mercenaries.
Sentries were posted on the ramparts, keeping watch and guarding those working outside the safety of the walls.
“I believe we are finished with this stage,” Thalia said to Catullus, who stood nearby and directed the placement of his device for cutting grappling hook lines. Monks strung thick lengths of rope, soaked in chemicals, all the way around the monastery’s exterior wall. Each rope was suspended midway up the wall, held in place by metal spikes.
Since night had fallen, everything was done by torchlight, and Catullus thoroughly surveyed his handiwork. “Careful,” he shouted to a monk and waved his arms. “Don’t get the torches close to the rope!”
Though the monk did not speak English, nor Catullus Chinese, the words and gestures had their intended effect. The monk moved the torch away from the rope.
Catullus dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. “We don’t want to blow ourselves up,” he said to Thalia. “So mind where you walk, as well.” He eyed the mounds of dirt that subtly marked where each incendiary device was buried.
“I must admit,” Thalia said, “I’m surprised to see you away from Southampton.”
Catullus smiled faintly. “I can fight as well as any Blade.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she said quickly, afraid she had insulted him. “But, you are so valuable to us—to the Blades, I mean.” She wasn’t a Blade herself, at least, not yet, but if she survived the siege and kept the Source safe, then surely she would be inducted into their ranks. But all of that was too distant even to consider. “If anything were to happen to you…”
“My sister Octavia is just as adept as I am when it comes to devising new contraptions. She can easily take my place if I am killed.”
“The prospect of your death does not seem to bother you,” Thalia said.
His smile was larger, but no less rueful. “Believe me, I’d rather not die. There are so many inventions I’ve considered but haven’t had the opportunity to create. Yet when we take the Blades’ Oath, we must keep the possibility in mind that serving the cause could result in injury or worse. Not just for ourselves, but our friends as well. Those that serve with us.”
“Have you heard from Astrid?” Thalia asked quietly.
Catullus’s smile faded, and he looked tired and despondent. “No. Not a letter from her in nearly a year. She never recovered from Michael’s death.”
Thalia’s mind immediately went to Gabriel. He, Bennett, Hsiung Ming, and Altan were busy within the monastery walls, planning more strategy and troop placement. She and Gabriel had not had a moment alone together since they’d arrived at the monastery, many hours ago. It felt like years.
“Would you excuse me?” Thalia asked Catullus.
He seemed to understand exactly what she meant, and did not mind when she left him to go back into the monastery. Thalia strode through the outer courtyard, passing monks, bandits, and a few tribesmen in furious preparation for the siege. Yet she could find no sign of Gabriel. Thalia went into the central courtyard, and even ducked into the temple, but still, she could not locate him. In the walled monastery garden, where food for the monks was grown, Thalia found Bennett and Hsiung Ming with a map of the monastery. They both looked up from their discussion when Thalia appeared at the entrance to the garden.
“He isn’t here,” Bennett said before Thalia could speak. “Try the walkway around the outer wall. There are stairs that lead to it in the northwest corner.”
She barely breathed out her thanks before heading for the stairs. They were steep, but she took them two at a time to reach the walkway. Sha Chuan Si’s outer walls were constructed with parapets, much like a castle, so that a monk could observe the surrounding landscape in relative safety. Sentries stood atop the ramparts, but Thalia’s gaze was drawn to one man.
Gabriel leaned against the parapet, staring out at the moonlit desert. It wasn’t quite bright enough for her to be able to make out the details of his face and dress, but she knew his wide, strong shoulders, his soldier’s bearing, the hard beauty of his long-limbed body that contained the potential for both action and pleasure. Though he did not move when she approached him, she knew he heard her boots on the wide, rough stones. Thalia stood beside him, also leaning against the parapet, to take in the dark plain. With the silver glow of the moon bathing everything in pearly luminescence, the Gobi appeared to be as otherworldly as the moon itself. A cold, dry breeze danced over the surface of the desert, up the mountain and the walls of the monastery, until it stroked Thalia’s face and ruffled Gabriel’s hair. Atop the wall, darkness gave them only a temporary sort of privacy from the sentries, but she would take it, just the same.
She did and did not want to touch Gabriel. She wanted to feel him, his skin, his self, but feared that if she did, she would never want to let him go. Would plead with him to run away with her, leave the defense of the Source to the Blades, and find some secluded corner of the Mongolian plains where they could be safe and untroubled. A ger only for them, where they could spend their nights making love, their days on horseback, with the sky above and the steppe below.
“I wish the morning would never arrive,” she said softly, without looking at him.
“Can’t come soon enough for me,” he answered. His voice was so low, such a gravelly rasp, she could barely hear him.
Thalia turned to him, resting her hip against the parapet, and crossing her arms. Temper, strained by anticipating the siege, flared. “Are you so eager for battle? Perhaps you were too hasty in leaving the army.”
His profile was a gold and silver coin, his jaw tight, as he continued to study the desert. “The sooner it’s morning, the sooner the Heirs get here. Once they get here, I can fight them. Once I can fight them, I can crush them. And then,” he continued, turning to her, his eyes gleaming in the night, “as soon as the Heirs have been defeated to the very last man, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”
Her heart slammed inside her chest, and her mouth dried. For one of the first times in her life, Thalia felt as if she might faint. “Only then will you ask?”
“Only then. I’m not fool enough to court disaster by asking now.”
“Would it…be tempting fate, if I said that when you do ask me, I would say ‘yes’?”
“It might,” he answered with a growl. “But I don’t give a damn.” He pulled Thalia against him and kissed her, open-mouthed, as if trying to draw her completely inside of himself, and she pressed herself to him, kissing him back with a frantic hunger. “I need to be alone with you,” he rumbled against her mouth. “I’ve an idea.”
Taking her hand, Gabriel led her down the stairs, through the bustling courtyards, until they reached the pagoda. Silently, they climbed all seven stories, until they reached the very top. Moonlight poured in through the open windows, and the sounds of battle preparations were far away. A sanctuary, for now.
He took her in his arms. He was warm and alive and all she would ever want to know of love. “Haven’t got any gift for words,” he murmured in the shadows. “But my body can tell you what my words can’t.”
In that place of light and darkness, they made love, and even though Thalia never demanded pretty avowals of devotion, she understood everything in the way Gabriel touched her, his mouth against hers, on her skin, hands and flesh communing. She let her own body speak for her, as well. Each caress was a promise, and each moan and sigh was a vow. Their climaxes, when they came, sealed their bond.
While Gabriel was still inside of her, her mind could not help but drift to Astrid Bramfield, burying herself alive somewhere in the depths of the Canadian wild. When Thalia had first learned, several years ago, that Astrid’s husband Michael had been killed on a mission for the Blades, Thalia had been sorry for her friend, comprehended her loss, but could not fully understand how grief completely shattered Astrid. Surely, Astrid would mourn for a time and then move on, for her own sake. But she hadn’t. And now Thalia understood why.
When Gabriel and Thalia regained some measure of calm, they reluctantly disentangled themselves. After rearranging his clothing, Gabriel helped clean and dress her, his ministrations economical but tender. They both stood.
She felt her legs weaken, and she tottered. Gabriel immediately supported her. He swung her up into his arms easily. Thalia murmured a protest but hadn’t the strength to fight him.
He walked down the pagoda’s stairs, then headed toward the dormitories. “Sleep,” he said.
“I can’t,” she objected, though her words were slurred. “Too much to do. Doubt I could sleep, anyway.” She could barely lift her head up to see the quizzical expressions of the monks in the dormitory as Gabriel strode into the room.
He laid her down upon an unoccupied mat. Though the monks did not usually share their quarters with women, these were doubtless special circumstances, and no one in the room complained as Gabriel pulled a blanket over Thalia.
“Rest then,” he commanded her softly. He brushed the hair back from her face, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, just to look at him a few moments longer. He appeared tired, preoccupied, but there was no mistaking the love that softened his expression. Gabriel bent forward and brushed a kiss against her mouth. “Think of where you’d like to go for our bridal tour.”
A foolish idea, she thought, when they might not survive the morrow. Even so, Thalia fell asleep smiling.
He was no stranger to the morning of a battle, though it had been many months since he’d experienced one. Sometime, in the hours before dawn, he’d managed to catch a little sleep. Soon after enlisting, he had faced his first night before combat. All night, he’d shook with a combination of fear and excitement, so that when the actual conflict began, he was already exhausted. Only several cups of coffee and his own nerves kept him upright. After barely surviving that battle, Gabriel learned it was better to sleep than stew.
So, after finalizing preparations with the Blades and Altan, Gabriel returned to the dormitory and stretched out next to a completely slumbering Thalia, setting his rifle down beside him within reaching distance. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and, in her sleep, she sighed and burrowed close to him. Even though he knew better, he tried to keep his eyes open, stay awake so he could memorize the feel of her, but his body demanded rest, and he slept hard for a few, brief hours.
Next thing he knew, Bennett Day was shaking him into wakefulness. Day had a rifle in one hand and a spyglass in the other. “They’ve been spotted,” Day said, quiet and urgent. “About an hour’s ride from here.”
Gabriel forced himself upright and nodded his thanks when a cup of steaming tea was put into his hand. Another was provided for Thalia, who was rubbing her face. “Five minutes,” Gabriel said.
Day nodded and quickly left the dormitory. As Gabriel sipped his tea, he studied Thalia over the rim of his cup. She looked pale and worn, and the sun had barely begun to lighten the sky. Knowing that the enemy was nearly at the gates, Gabriel waited for the sense of calm to come over him that usually did in the hours before combat. But it didn’t come. His hands were shaking. And he knew why. In order to survive the day, in order to protect her, he would have to think of her as another soldier and nothing more. Otherwise, he very well would lose his godforsaken mind.
“You should eat something,” he rumbled, his voice still hoarse from sleep.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly keep anything down.” She glanced at him as if expecting him to argue, but he didn’t.
“Finish your tea, at least,” he said, and she complied. Once they had both drunk the last of their tea, he set their cups aside and rose to his feet. He didn’t help her up, even though he wanted to. Instead, he shouldered his rifle.
Thalia stood, looking at him quizzically. Before she could speak, he turned and left the dormitory. He heard her follow. Dawn turned the sky violet and pink, and the air was cold. Gabriel’s breath turned to white puffs in front of his face. Gathered in the central courtyard were the monks, the bandits, the tribesmen, and the Blades, wearing expressions that varied from eager to terrified, to, in the case of the Blades, alertly ready. Everyone turned to Gabriel when he entered the courtyard, looking at him expectantly.
“Given that you’ve years of military experience,” Graves said, “it would be best if you went over the final preparations. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit,” Gabriel answered. “I like telling people what to do.”
Graves smiled a little at this. With Hsiung Ming translating for the monks and Thalia translating for the brigands and tribesmen, Gabriel addressed the crowd. He didn’t bother standing on a box or anything else to elevate him and demand attention. His voice could do the job.
“We have a slight advantage in our location,” Gabriel said. “High up, with only one true entrance. First line of defense will be Graves’s devices, and half of Altan’s men on the parapet. But the Heirs will find a way to breach the wall, and when they do, you monks and tribesmen will do your best to disarm the mercenaries. Graves and Hsiung Ming have their weapon, which is mounted on top of the blacksmith’s building. Altan and I will guard Lan Shun, who will be in the temple with the kettle. Some of Altan’s men will serve as skirmishers and the rest with Altan and me in the temple. Everyone clear?”