Dragon's Fire Consort
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 15
The trial was set for three days hence. Public, in the main throne room, with the Emperor presiding.
Zhang Mei spent those days in her cell, alternating between tactical planning and staring at the brooch.
Escape was simple. Use the brooch, disappear, let them think she’d fled because she was guilty. Liang would be implicated by association but might survive—Zhao wanted him discredited, not necessarily dead.
She’d be safe. Home. Free.
But it would prove Zhao right. Destroy Liang’s reputation. Undo everything they’d accomplished.
The alternative was facing trial for treason. With fabricated evidence, coached witnesses, and Zhao controlling the narrative. The outcome was predetermined—guilty, execution, political victory for Zhao.
She should run. Any rational tactical assessment said run.
The brooch pulsed in her palm, warm and ready.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not yet.”
On the second day, she had a visitor.
Lady Chen entered the cell, dismissed the guards with imperial authority. She looked exhausted, her normally perfect appearance disheveled.
“Three minutes,” she said. “That’s all they’d allow me.”
“How is he?”
“Furious. Helpless. Blaming himself.” Lady Chen sat down beside her on the stone floor. “He wants to testify on your behalf. I’ve convinced him that would only make things worse.”
“It would. Zhao would twist it into proof of improper relationship.”
“I know.” Lady Chen was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been investigating the witnesses. Half of them are servants in Zhao’s household. The other half are officers who’ve been promised promotions. It’s all fabricated.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Not in three days. Maybe not ever.” Lady Chen’s frustration was evident. “Zhao’s been building this case for months. Every piece of evidence, every testimony, every document—it’s all carefully constructed. Even if I found contradictions, he’d explain them away.”
“So the trial is just theater.”
“Yes.” Lady Chen met her eyes. “You need to leave. Use whatever method brought you here. I know you have one—I’ve watched you touch that brooch like it’s a lifeline. Use it. Escape.”
“That proves I’m guilty.”
“That keeps you alive.” Lady Chen grabbed her hands, urgent. “Mei, they’re going to execute you. Publicly. Brutally. And there’s nothing we can do to stop it. Staying is suicide.”
“Staying is fighting. Running is surrender.”
“Running is survival!”
Zhang Mei looked at the woman who’d become an unexpected ally. Who’d married the man Zhang Mei loved. Who was now desperately trying to save her life.
“If I run, Liang is still implicated. He’ll be disgraced, possibly executed himself. And every soldier I trained, every tactic I taught—it all becomes suspect. Proof that I was undermining the dynasty. Years of work, destroyed.”
“Better that than you dead.”
“Is it?” Zhang Mei pulled her hands back. “I came here by accident. Landed in a time and place that shouldn’t be mine. I could have left a dozen times. Should have left. But I stayed because the work mattered. Because partnership with Liang mattered. Because for the first time in my life, I felt like what I did actually meant something.”
She held up the brooch. “This can take me home. Back to a life that was safe and comfortable and utterly meaningless. Or I can stay. Fight. Probably die. But at least prove that what we built was real. That I wasn’t a spy or a traitor. That the partnership mattered.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.” Zhang Mei smiled without humor. “But I’ve been insane since I threw a prince into a koi pond. Might as well be consistent.”
Lady Chen looked at her for a long moment, then laughed—strained, almost breaking. “You really love him, don’t you?”
“Does it matter?”
“It’s the only thing that matters.” Lady Chen stood, composed herself. “The trial is tomorrow at noon. I’ll be there. I’ll do what I can, though it won’t be much.”
“Thank you. For everything. For being good to him.”
“He doesn’t love me. Not the way he loves you.”
“He’ll learn to. You’re perfect for him—everything I can’t be.”
“I’m convenient for him. Politically appropriate. But I’m not his partner.” Lady Chen moved to the cell door, knocked for the guards. “Don’t die tomorrow, Mei. Please.”
“I’ll do my best.”
After she left, Zhang Mei sat alone with the brooch.
Tomorrow. The trial. The end, one way or another.
She slipped the brooch into her clothing, pressed against her heart.
Not an escape route. A reminder of choice. Of agency. Of the fact that she’d decided to stay knowing what it would cost.
Worth it, she thought. Even if it kills me.
The throne room was packed. Officials, officers, nobles, citizens granted special permission to witness. The entire empire was watching.
Zhang Mei was brought in wearing prisoner’s clothing, her hands bound. She kept her head up, her expression neutral. Professional assessment: exits blocked, guards everywhere, Emperor on the throne looking old and tired.
Crown Prince Zhao stood as prosecutor. Prince Liang was present but confined to a specific area, guards watching him closely. Lady Chen sat with the nobility, her expression carefully composed.
The charges were read. Espionage. Treason. Conspiracy to undermine the dynasty. Each one carrying the death penalty.
“Captain Zhang Mei,” the Emperor said. His voice carried absolute authority despite his apparent exhaustion. “You stand accused of grave crimes. How do you answer?”
“Not guilty, Your Majesty. Of any of it.”
“Then let us examine the evidence.” Zhao stepped forward, every inch the righteous prosecutor. “Captain Zhang appears from nowhere. No verifiable background. Claims foreign origins but provides no proof. Teaches tactics that, while effective, are unlike any known Chinese military doctrine.”
He presented documents, testimony from “witnesses” who claimed Zhang Mei had asked suspicious questions, had private meetings with unknown individuals, had made comments suggesting foreign loyalty.
All fabrications. All presented convincingly.
“Furthermore,” Zhao continued, “she has maintained inappropriate relationship with Prince Liang. Spending excessive time alone together. Bypassing proper protocols. Acting not as advisor but as something more intimate.”
“I serve as tactical advisor,” Zhang Mei said clearly. “Military strategy requires close coordination between commander and strategist. That’s professional necessity, not conspiracy.”
“Yet you refuse to marry. Refuse to integrate into proper society. Maintain independent quarters and independent authority.” Zhao’s voice was reasonable, sympathetic. “These are the behaviors of someone who preserves freedom of action. Who maintains ability to betray when the moment is right.”
“Or the behaviors of someone who values professional independence.”
“Perhaps.” Zhao smiled. “Then explain your origins. Truly. Where do you come from? Who trained you? Who sent you?”
This was it. The trap. Answer honestly and sound insane. Lie and be caught. Refuse to answer and appear guilty.
Zhang Mei looked at the Emperor, at Liang, at Lady Chen. At the assembled court waiting to condemn her.
“I’m from very far away,” she said. “A place that doesn’t exist yet. A time that hasn’t happened.”
Murmurs rippled through the throne room.
“I don’t expect you to believe me,” she continued. “It sounds impossible. Insane. But it’s the truth. I came here by accident, through something I don’t fully understand. I stayed because I found work that mattered. Partnership that meant something. A place where my skills actually saved lives.”
“You claim to be from the future?” Zhao’s voice dripped skepticism.
“From a different time. Yes.”
“Convenient. Unfalsifiable. Perfect cover story for a spy.”
“It’s not a cover story. It’s the truth.”
The Emperor leaned forward. “Prove it.”
Zhang Mei thought frantically. Proof. How do you prove time travel? Modern knowledge wouldn’t work—she could have learned it from foreign sources. Technology didn’t exist yet to demonstrate. Her tactics were the only evidence, and Zhao had already framed those as sophisticated espionage.
Then she remembered. The brooch.
She pulled it from her clothing. Guards tensed, but she held it up, open in her palm. “This brought me here. This jade brooch. When I touched it in a cave in the mountains, it transported me across time.”
The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “That proves nothing. It’s jewelry.”
“It’s more than jewelry. It’s—” Zhang Mei held the brooch, felt its warmth. “I can leave. Right now. Use this to go home. Disappear from your prison, your charges, your execution. If I were a spy, I would have done that already. Escaped the moment I was arrested.”
“Unless you’re bluffing,” Zhao said.
“Then call my bluff.” Zhang Mei met the Emperor’s eyes. “I choose to stay. Not because I’m trapped. Not because I’m guilty. But because the work matters. Because what Prince Liang and I built together is real. Because I’m loyal to this dynasty, even though I’m not from it.”
Silence stretched across the throne room.
“Use it,” the Emperor said suddenly. “If that brooch can truly transport you, prove it. Leave, then return. Show us it’s real.”
Zhang Mei’s heart hammered. If she used it, she might not be able to return. The brooch might only work once in each direction. She could escape—but that meant abandoning Liang, proving nothing, dying a traitor in history’s memory.
Or she could refuse, and be executed for failure to prove her claims.
No good options. Just choices.
She looked at Liang. Their eyes met across the throne room. He was shaking his head slightly—don’t risk it, don’t do this.
But Zhang Mei had made her decision months ago. When she found the brooch and chose not to use it. When she stayed through separation and assassination attempts and loneliness. When she decided that this—this partnership, this work, this man—mattered more than safety.
“I can’t,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if it works both ways. If I leave, I might not be able to return.”
“Then you have no proof,” Zhao said triumphantly.
“I have my record. Every garrison I’ve trained is more effective. Every battle using my tactics has resulted in victory with minimal casualties. Soldiers are alive because of what I’ve taught them. That’s my proof. That’s my loyalty.”
“That’s circumstantial—”