Wild Orchid by Cameron Dokey Page A

seemed to fall into a fitful doze, as if acknowledging that the future was set and there was nothing to be changed by keeping watch through the night.
    I threw back my covers and slipped out of bed, dressing quickly in my oldest clothes, the ones that made me look the most like a boy. My ears strained against the silence, alert for even the slightest sound. But the house stayed peaceful all around me. Whispering a prayer of thanks, I gathered the few belongings I had decided to take and tied them into my winter cloak. It was not as warm as my father’s because it had no fur lining. But it would have to do. I took my bow and quiver full of arrows and slung them across my shoulders.
    I tiptoed to the kitchen, wrapped some food in a knapsack, and retrieved a water skin. I would not risk filling it here but would do so from the stream. Then I let myself out of the house and walked quickly to the stables. I did not look back. I feared that if I did, I would lose my nerve, in spite of all my resolve.
    It was fortunate that my father’s great stallion and I were well acquainted with each other. Otherwise, my plan would have been over even before it had started. I fed the horse a bit of apple, and he let me saddle him without protest. I was just leading him from the stall when the door to the stable slid open. I stopped dead in my tracks.
    “I thought so,” Min Xian said as she poked her head around the door.
    “Min Xian,” I breathed. “Be quiet. Come in and close the door.”
    “What’s the point in doing that when you’ll only open it right back up again?” she asked, but she did lower her voice. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go without saying good-bye, did you?”
    “You knew I would do this?” I asked, suddenly feeling the hot sting of tears behind my eyes.
    “Of course I did, little one,” my nurse said. She crossed to where I stood, my hand on the horse’s neck, and she placed her hand on my arm. “I saw you watching them at dinner, and saw into your heart, my Mulan. I should stop you.”
    “No. You shouldn’t,” I said. “It’s the only way. You know it too, Min Xian.”
    “I don’t know that,” she answered crossly. But I knew Min Xian too well to be deceived. The longer she sounded cross, the longer she could postpone crying.
    “But even these old eyes can see that it may be the best way,” Min Xian went on. “Now turn around. You can’t go off with all that hair. It’ll give you away for sure. If I cut it and then tie it back, you’ll at least stand a chance of looking like other peasant boys.”
    “Oh, thank you, Min Xian,” I said, for I had worried about my hair.
    I turned my head and felt her strong fingers grasp my braid. A moment later there was a tug and a rasping sound as Min Xian moved the knife blade back and forth. And then my head felt strange and light. Min Xian tucked the thick braid of hair into her sash. Then she quickly rebraided what was left on my head, tying the end with a leather thong.
    “That’s better,” she said. “Now take this.” She turned me back around and thrust a bundle into my hands.
    “I packed food,” I protested.
    Min Xian gave a grunt. “Take more. It’s a two-day journey to the muster place, and you’ve never ridden as hard as you must to make it there in time. If you faint from hunger as soon as you arrive, you’ll be no use to anyone.”
    “Only girls faint from hunger,” I said. “And I’m no longer a girl, remember?”
    Min Xian gave a snort. “Hold your tongue unlessyou’re spoken to,” she said. “Go quickly. Don’t stop to make friends on the road. It will be full of many such as you, going to do their duty.”
    She stepped back. “Get along with you now. And remember that no matter what you show on the outside, inside you have a tiger’s heart.”
    “I will,” I promised. “Please tell my father and Zao Xing that I love them.”
    Min Xian nodded. “I’ll hardly need to do that,” she said. “They