Shulien’s hut was too small to contain her frustrations as she searched for what she needed for this journey. Felt shoes, a rush jacket, silver coin, her swords.
As she searched she felt Mubai in the room with her. His ghost haunted her, and all the incense she had burned did nothing to quieten it.
The duke is dead, she imagined him telling her. His ghost stood over her. He was quiet, calm, impassive. She imagined him standing in his scholar’s gown. He liked the casual air it gave him, even when fighting for his life. He had been nonchalant about his safety; his brilliance and talent got him killed. She had loved and admired him as a man, but his ghost had a detached and patronizing air. I gave him the Green Destiny. It must be taken and hidden. You know the power of the sword. You know the power it has . . . She ignored him and his voice became reprimanding. Shulien, you must protect the sword. How could you let the duke die without securing the sword? Shulien, you must go and protect the sword.
“Yes!” she said suddenly. Her voice was short and impatient. The ghost hushed.
She was angry at the voice for nagging her, and angry at it for going silent now. Ghosts! she thought. She imagined the ghost was still with her. “I know. I was there. Remember? You died defending that sword.”
We had to. I had to.
Yes, she thought. Whoever held Green Destiny could hold the martial world in their fist.