of the king’s birth year.
Bill floated toward her. “What are you doing with the king’s helmet?”
Luce slid the helmet onto her head, tucking her black hair inside it. Then she opened the other side of the wardrobe, thrilled and nervous about what she had found.
“The same thing I’m doing with the king’s armor,” she said, gathering a heavy tangle of goods into her arms. She donned a pair of wide leather pants, a thick leather tunic, a pair of chain-mail gloves, leather slippers that were certainly too big but that she’d have to make work, and a bronze chest guard made of overlapping metal plates. The same black, fire-breathing dragon on the helmet was embroidered on the front of the tunic. It was hard to believe that anyone could fight a war under the weight of these clothes, but Lu Xin knew that the king didn’t really fight—he only led battles from the seat of his war chariot.
“This is not the time to play dress-up!” Bill jabbed a claw at her. “You can’t go out there like that.”
“Why not? It fits. Almost.” She folded over the top of the pants so that she could belt them tightly.
Near the water basin, she found a crude mirror of polished tin inside a bamboo frame. In the reflection, Lu Xin’s face was disguised by the thick bronze plate of the helmet. Her body looked bulky and strong under the leather armor.
Luce started to walk out of the dressing chamber, back into the bedroom.
“Wait!” Bill shouted. “What are you going to say about the king?”
Luce turned to Bill and raised the heavy leather helmet so that he could see her eyes. “
Bill blinked, and for once made no attempt at a comeback.
A bolt of strength surged through Luce. Disguising herself as the head of the army was, she realized, exactly what Lu Xin would have done. As a common soldier, of course De would be on the front lines in this battle. And she was going to find him.
The pounding on the door again. “King Shang, the Zhou army is advancing. We must request your presence!”
“I believe there’s someone talking to you,
Three men in flamboyant red-and-yellow martial robes greeted her anxiously. Instantly, Luce recognized the king’s three closest councilors: Hu, with the tiny teeth and narrowed, yellowed eyes. Cui, the tallest one, with broad shoulders and wide-set eyes. Huang, the youngest and kindest on the council.
“The king is already dressed for war,” Huang said, peering past Luce into the empty chamber quizzically. “The king looks … different.”
Luce froze. What to say? She’d never heard the dead king’s voice, and she was exceptionally bad at impersonations.
“Yes.” Hu agreed with Huang. “Well rested.”
After a deep, relieved sigh, Luce nodded stiffly, careful not to send the helmet tumbling from her head.
The three men gestured for the king—for Luce—to walk down the marble hall. Huang and Hu flanked her, and murmured in low voices about the sad state of morale among the soldiers. Cui walked directly behind Luce, making her uncomfortable.
The palace went on forever—high gabled ceilings, all gleaming white, the same jade and onyx statues at every turn, the same bamboo-framed mirrors on every wall. When finally they crossed the last threshold and stepped into the gray morning, Luce spotted the red wooden chariot in the distance, and her knees nearly buckled under her.
She had to find Daniel in this lifetime, but going into battle terrified her.
At the chariot, the king’s council members bowed and kissed her gauntlet. She was grateful for the armored gloves but still pulled back quickly, afraid her grip might give her away. Huang handed her a long spear with a wooden handle and a curved spike a few inches below the spearhead. “Your halberd, Majesty.”
She nearly dropped the heavy thing.
“They will take you to the overlook above the front lines,” he said. “We will follow behind and meet you there with the cavalry.”
Luce turned to the chariot. It was basically a wooden platform atop a long axle connecting two great wooden wheels, drawn by two immense black horses. The carriage was made of shiny lacquered red wood and had space enough for about three people to sit or stand. A leather awning and curtains could be removed during battle, but for now, they hung down, giving the passenger some privacy.
Luce climbed up, passed through the curtains, and took a seat. It was padded with tiger skins. A driver with a thin mustache took the reins, and another soldier with drooping eyes and a battle-ax climbed up to stand at his side. At the crack of a whip, the horses broke into a gallop and she felt the wheels beneath her begin to turn.
As they rolled past the high, austere gates of the palace, sun streamed through pockets of fog onto a great expanse of green farmland to the west. The land was beautiful, but Luce was too nervous to appreciate it.
“Bill,” she whispered. “Help?”
No answer.
She peeked outside the curtains, but that only attracted the attention of the droopy-eyed soldier who was supposed to be the king’s bodyguard during the journey. “Your Majesty, please, for your safety, I must insist.” He gestured for Luce to withdraw.
Luce groaned and leaned back against the padded chariot seat. The paved streets of the city must have ended, for the ride became incredibly bumpy. Luce was flung against the seat, feeling like she was on a wooden roller coaster. Her fingers gripped the plush fur of the tiger skin.
Bill hadn’t wanted her to do this. Was he teaching her a lesson by bailing now when she most needed his help?
Her knees rattled with each jolt in the road. She had absolutely no idea how she’d find De. If the king’s guards wouldn’t even let her look out past a curtain, how were they going to let her near the front lines?
But then:
Once, thousands of years ago, her past self had sat alone in this chariot, disguised as the deceased king. Luce could feel it—even if she hadn’t joined with her past body, Lu Xin would have been here right now.
Without the aid of some weird ornery gargoyle. And, more importantly, without all the knowledge that Luce had amassed so far on her quest. She had seen Daniel’s unbridled glory in Chichén Itzá. She had witnessed and finally understood the depths of his curse in London. She’d seen him go from suicidal in Tibet to saving her from a rotten life in Versailles. She’d watched him sleep through the pain of her death in Prussia as if he were under a spell. She’d seen him fall for her even when she was snotty and immature in Helston. She’d touched the scars of his wings in Milan and understood how much he’d given up in Heaven just for her. She’d seen the tortured look in his eyes when he lost her in Moscow, the same misery over and over again.
Luce owed it to him to find a way to break this curse.
The chariot jolted to a stop, and Luce was nearly flung off her seat. Outside, there was a thunderous pounding of horses’ hooves—which was strange because the king’s chariot was standing still.
Someone else was out there.
Luce heard a clash of metal and a long, pained grunt. The chariot was jostled roughly. Something heavy thumped to the ground.
There was more clashing, more grunting, a harsh cry, and another thump on the ground. Her hands trembling, Luce parted the leather curtains the tiniest bit and saw the droopy-eyed solder lying in a pool of blood on the ground beneath.
The king’s chariot had been ambushed.
The curtains before her were thrust apart by one of the insurgents. The foreign fighter raised his sword.
Luce couldn’t help herself: She screamed.
The sword faltered in the air—and then, the warmest feeling washed over Luce, flooding her veins, calming her nerves, and slowing the pounding of her heart.
The fighter on the chariot was De.
His leather helmet covered his black, shoulder-length hair, but it left his face wonderfully unobstructed. His violet eyes stood out against his clear olive skin. He looked baffled and hopeful at the same time. His sword was
