Bingmei had seen death before. She’d been dead before herself and knew what lay beyond. Had Quion gone to the Grave Kingdom? She couldn’t bear that thought. He deserved the phoenix’s majestic court in Fusang.
Losing him was unbearable. He’d been her dear friend and companion, by her side on every step of her voyage as the phoenix-chosen. His skills as a fisherman, knowledge of knots of all kinds and sizes, and gentle wisdom had solved many of the problems they’d faced along the way. But it was his loyalty that mattered the most. Even when she’d tried to abandon him to save his life, he’d stolen the meiwood cricket to keep her from running off. And he’d been there for her during the anguish of childbirth. She loved him so dearly, as much as any brother.
Grief had a terrible, conflicting smell. It smelled of tart berries, ferment, and water lilies. And this time, it even smelled like fish. She sat there, arms wrapped around her knees, her cheek resting against them as the tears continued to leak out.
Shui, Xue, Po.
She blinked. The words were clear and direct, causing a spark in her heart that grew stronger. She knew the Immortal Words that could bring someone back to life. She’d tried using them to bring back Jiaohua after they’d escaped Echion’s palace, and it had failed.
But this time felt different. She’d embraced the phoenix’s cause. She had offered her body to create its next incarnation. Bingmei, quivering with anticipation, pulled Quion’s body over. His eyes were still open, clouded over in death. Water dribbled from his lips. And the scorpion pendant she’d tossed away still clung to his shirt.
Trembling, she dipped her finger into the water of the river. She traced the word for “water” on his forehead. Shui.
Next, she needed blood. A small cut from her knife provided it. Blood oozed from the small wound she’d dug into her forearm. She dipped her finger in it and traced it on his forehead next. Xue.
She had no ashes or coal, but she knew the Immortal Word for “fire” and drew it with her finger on a small stick of driftwood nearby. It sputtered to life, burning, growing hot. Then she quenched the tip and used the smoldering end to trace the final word on Quion’s forehead. Po.
Her arms began to tingle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
“Breathe, Quion,” she pleaded. “Breathe.”
The magic swelled, and she saw his hand twitch. Then Quion arched his back, turned to his side, and began to vomit water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Missing
Bingmei put her hand on Quion’s shoulder, her heart bursting with joy that the Immortal Words had brought him back to life. Yet her son was still foremost on her mind. Would Quion know what had happened to him?
He retched continuously for a while, spewing out the river water until the convulsions finally ended and the tremors calmed to trembles.
“Quion,” she gasped, wrapping him in her arms. He clung to her, his fingers digging into her back.
“I’m . . . I’m alive again,” he whispered, his voice raw.
She squeezed him harder. His clothes were soaked through and gritty with sand, which was also in his hair. Holding him tightly, she soothed him until even the trembles left. He smelled of a fish cooked over hot coals until the flesh turned crispy. She also smelled his gratitude for being alive. As she hugged him, the pain in her arm flared to life, but it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
He pulled back sharply, and she smelled the emotions that replaced the calming fish smell. Frantic worry, like wilted flowers burning.
“Bingmei! Oh no, Bingmei!”
“What?” she asked, her tone sharp with worry.
“The baby,” he said, his face twisting with emotions of grief and despair. “Little Shixian. Oh no, Bingmei. No!”
“What? What happened to him?”
He cupped his hands over his face. It wasn’t grief. It was absolute terror.
“Tell me. If there’s a chance he’s alive, I need to hope. Quion, I need to hope.”
He nodded his head miserably. Then, lowering his hands, he stared at her, his mouth an anxious line. “When the flood came, I only had time . . . it happened so fast . . . I just had time to pull the basket off my pack. I was going to try to climb a boulder and set it on top . . . so that you could come down and save him. The waters came so fast. I used the cricket to jump up on a boulder, but before I could get any higher, it swept over both of us.”
“The waters took you downriver?” she asked.
He nodded emphatically. “I . . . I managed to keep one hand on the basket. I steered it away from the rocks, but I kept hitting them. I knew I couldn’t let go. I heard the dragons shrieking. It was horrible. I tried to catch my breath, but I started to choke. I swallowed water. Then more and more. I kept clinging to the basket, sinking deeper and deeper. The baby was crying. I was so scared, Bingmei, but I knew I couldn’t leave him.”
She bit her lip, squeezing his arm and nodding for him to continue.
“I . . . I drowned, Bingmei. I died. I came out of my body, like you’ve talked about many times. I felt the pull of the Grave Kingdom, but I resisted it. I had to stay with the basket. The river pushed us up on the shore, right there,” he added, pointing to the sandbar that she’d dragged him from.
“What about the basket?”
“My hand still held it. It was so strange, Bingmei. Looking at my corpse, I wanted to come back inside. I couldn’t leave little Shixian all alone. The water carried away my leopard too, but
