Fox and Phoenix (26 page)

I opened my mouth to argue—so glad that I had my spirit companion back to argue with—when a blast of wind choked my mouth. Surprised, I fell forward into a deep drift of snow.

B
LIZZARD WINDS SHRIEKED AROUND ME. IN ONE instant, my face went numb, and a deep ache penetrated my ears and into my brain. I blinked—tried to. My eyelashes were stuck to my face. I rubbed them free with one frozen hand. My brain clicked over into the realization that we were in the middle of a snowstorm, in the mountains, in the pitch-dark depths between midnight and dawn.

Stand up
, Chen urged me.
You'll freeze.

Too late
, I snapped. But it was so, so good to hear Chen's voice.

A hand closed over my shoulder and hauled me upright. Quan shouted into my poor abused ear that I must start walking.
I know, I know
, I thought. Gloves, but no boots. Our cloaks too thin for the dagger-sharp mountain winds. I pulled my collar high and tugged my knitted cap over my forehead. Snow had already slithered into my shoes and soaked my socks. We would die in minutes unless we found shelter.

Then another body lurched into mine. “Kai. Oh, Kai, you're safe.”

Yún pulled me into a tight hug. I clutched her even closer. We were both babbling,
It's you, you, you, you
, while our spirit companions grunted and roared and shrilled at us to stop the love-talk and march, dammit.

“Quan? Kai? Yún?” The wind snatched at Lian's voice.

“Here,” Yún said. “All safe.”

“I have Yāo-guài,” Lian said. “Quan?”

“Here.”

We leaned close, head to head, our arms linked together, our hands tucked into our sleeves, creating a small bubble of temporary warmth, while around us the storm pummeled the mountainside. Yāo-guài poked his head out from Lian's shirt, ruffled his feathers, and dived back inside.
Lucky monster,
I thought, shivering. This close, I could sense Yún's crane-spirit, Lian's fox, and the shimmering phoenix that belonged to Quan. Overwhelming everything was the presence of Nuó, my mother's mountain-cat. A tremor passed through all the other companion spirits, the humans as well. Only then did it occur to me that my mother must have sent Nuó to us.

Where is she?
I demanded.

Safe,
the cat grumbled.
Safer than you.

Nuó hissed.
Shut up, stupid boy. Forget your mother now. Follow me to the light.

Her presence vanished from my brain with a loud
pêng
. A wave of musk whipped around me, jerked my attention away from the circle of my friends. I lifted my head—a blast of wind hit me in the face. My eyes blurred with tears that froze immediately, but I'd caught a glimpse of Nuó's figure striding away, the snows parting to either side, like soft cake split by a knife.

“
Ai!
The light!” Yún shouted. “There! I see it!”

She pointed upward and to the left, in the direction where Nuó had vanished.

The light was hardly more than a smear of dirty yellow, flickering in and out between the streamers of snow. I rubbed my hands over my eyes. Now I could see another smear of light close to the first one. Could it possibly be a shelter?

A squawking, gabbling noise broke out next to me. It was Lian and the griffin.

Lian cursed and struggled. She looked as though she were wrestling with her clothes.

“Stop it, you wretched little monster—”

Yāo-guài broke free and soared after Nuó. Glittering magic trailed behind the griffin, like clouds of golden sun motes. The magic illuminated a series of broad cat-prints in the snow.

Quan and Lian were already trudging ahead, bent against the bone-freezing wind. Yún gripped my arm hard and dragged me after them. But it wasn't fast enough. My hands were stiff inside my gloves. Pinpricks of fire ran through my veins. I could tell the fire would soon fade into numbness and frostbite.
Half a
li
,
I told myself, staring at the beckoning light.
Less than that.
I ordered my body to keep going, but my feet felt disconnected from my legs, two clumsy lumps of nothing.

With a dozen more painful steps, the blurred lights sharpened into rows of bright squares. Around them, I could make out the outline of a sizeable building.

Relief sent me staggering ahead of the others to the inn's heavy wooden door. My useless hands fumbled at the latch. No good. Then a warm animal breath curled through my hair and down my neck.

Allow me,
said Nuó.

She pressed one great paw against the door. The latch shattered into bits. The door banged open so suddenly I fell into a heap. The next moment Yún, Lian, and Quan spilled over me. We untangled ourselves and crawled toward the stone hearth, snow dripping and melting from our clothes as we went.

“
Ai-ya!
Who are you? What are you?”

A small round man charged through one of the side doors, waving both hands in circles. He was dressed in a gown and slippers. His hair was gray and pulled back into a tight, old-fashioned queue.

“Out! Out!” he shrieked. “I have no room for beggars!”

Yāo-guài swooped in from nowhere. The innkeeper shrieked even louder. He snatched up a fire poker and swung it around his head. Yāo-guài dodged the poker. His shrieks were even louder than the innkeeper's, and the griffin was throwing off sparks of magic. Yún and I dragged each other to our feet.

“Yāo-guài! Stop it!”

Yāo-guài soared up to the ceiling and clung to a wooden crossbeam, scolding us all furiously.

Quan laid a hand on the innkeeper's arm. “Honored sir . . .”

The innkeeper shook off his hand and waved the fire poker in our faces. “
Hai!
Beggars! Thieves! Begone! I have spells against you.”

“But honored sir, the laws of hospitality . . .”

This was going nowhere. Apparently, Lian thought the same thing. She stepped in front of Quan, her expression the same haughty look I remembered from our first meeting. “You will give us shelter,” she said. “Or you will answer to my father the king.”

“Liar,” the man breathed. “Silly wench, to think I'd believe—”

Another door crashed open, and a new person stalked into the room. He was short. Dressed in an extravagant silk robe over an even more extravagant woolen dressing gown. All along the border and hem were stitched spells for warmth and comfort, and as the robe swirled around, magic flux glittered from special threads woven into the cloth. I was so amazed by the man's clothing, I didn't even bother to look at his face or really listen to his voice as he delivered a grand tirade about the noise.

“It's annoying enough that I'm trapped in your miserable inn until the storm breaks. Now you think to entertain me with arguments in your common room. Who these people are—” He swept his arm around, as if to take us all in, and his voice squeaked to a stop. “Kai?” he bleated.

It was the bleat that recalled me.

“Danzu?”

Danzu glanced wildly from me to my companions, from the griffin to Quan to Yún. When he got to Lian, his eyes stretched wide open and he made a noise as though he had rocks in his throat. “Your—I mean—”

“We need a private room,” Lian said calmly.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Right away.” He rounded on the innkeeper, who'd watched this whole exchange with flapping lips. “You. I want a private room with a fire. Hot tea. And I mean
scalding
. Soup and blankets and dry clothing. And two chambers with hot baths. Right away, or I shall report you to my uncle and the rest of the merchant's guild.”

I couldn't tell what discombobulated me the most—Danzu giving orders like a merchant king, or the innkeeper bowing and babbling and running to obey those orders. Soon enough the inn's servants herded us into a spacious private chamber with a roaring fire, dry clothes, and a vid-screen piping soft pre-recorded music. Two more chambers had been made ready, their bathtubs brimming with steaming scented water.

We took turns soaking until feeling returned to our fingers and toes. In the meantime, Danzu had sent word to the kitchens. More servants appeared with platters of barley pilaf, flatbread stuffed with lamb's meat and spices, and pots of fresh tea. Danzu hovered over us—Lian in particular—asking if we were warm and comfortable, assuring us that he would beat that miserable innkeeper if we were not satisfied with our meal. He had changed from his robe and morning gown into an equally elegant tunic and trousers. Now that we weren't frozen and dying, I finally realized how strange it was to find him outside Lóng City, away from his new street gang.

Suspicious, I stared at him. “What
are
you doing here any way?”

He coughed delicately. “Business.”

“Oh, right. Street rats and smugglers always prance around in blizzards—”

“I am
not
a smuggler—”

“Quiet!”

That was Yún.

My mouth snapped shut. So did Danzu's. Old habit dyed into our skins.

Yún glared at us. “Stop fighting. Stop acting like stupid brats. Okay?” She exhaled slowly, as though her own temper weren't so calm. “Good. Now. Danzu, tell us why you're out here. Better, tell us where
here
is.”

Danzu's mouth dropped open again. “Um, we're in Lake of the Blue Jewel.”

Lake of the Blue Jewel was a tiny city-kingdom northeast of Lóng City. That meant we were less than half a day's journey from home. I frowned. Why hadn't Nuó dumped us outside Lóng City's gates? Or even in the palace itself? Or maybe...

Lian had that thoughtful look, the one that said she read more from our circumstances than I could. “It's lucky we met you,” she said. “As the philosophers say, it is always better to enter a conflict with knowledge. You know I've been absent from Lóng City almost a year. Please tell me how the kingdom sits these days.”

Danzu took a minute to answer. He was going to break terrible news, I knew it. Lian must have suspected the same. Her expression never faltered, but I could see how the pulse at her throat fluttered.

“Your father is alive,” he said.

(Lian let an almost soundless exclamation escape.)

“He's very sick,” he continued.

(Her fingers tightened around Quan's hand.)

“He can't talk,” Danzu went on. “And the physicians don't let the councilors and ministers spend much time in his chambers. They say . . .” He stopped and turned dark with embarrassment. “It's just gossip, your Highness. Nothing worth bothering about.”

“Tell me what they say,” Lian said. “I must know.”

Her gaze locked with his. Danzu flinched and licked his lips. My own heart thumped in sympathy. It was easy to think of Lian as a friend. Never a commoner like me, never someone ordinary, but a companion in flight from the evil bad guys. It was easy to forget that she was a royal princess, the heir to Lóng City's throne.

Except now, when you could see a hundred years of responsibility in her dark eyes.

Danzu looked absolutely queasy by now. He blew out a shaky breath, and when he spoke, his voice wasn't anything like the snarky kid I knew. “They say . . . They say the king is trapped in spells, your Highness. Some say it's because he allowed you to study abroad. Children should not dictate to their elders, and all that. Some—a lot more—say you abandoned your city and your throne for the Phoenix Empire. They say that is why you never answered the Guild Council's messages about your father.”

“I never received those messages,” Lian whispered. Her expression smoothed out into a royal mask. “What else?” she said. “The council cannot do anything without my father's consent, or mine. Or . . . No, you heard more?”

“It's the Guild Council,” Danzu said. “They intend to hold a special conference next week to . . . to . . .” He took a nervous swallow. “To decide who takes the throne.”

The Guild Council had that power, written into Lóng City's laws centuries ago, ever since they ended the Interregnum and allowed Prince Xiang back on the throne. Only one queen—Queen Mae-wan, the grand-niece of Prince Xiang—ever tried to overthrow that law. Old tales say the ghost dragons joined with the Guild Council and turned Mae-wan into the very first gargoyle.

Quan clasped her hands within his, and she leaned toward him in whispered conversation. For a moment it was as though they had closed out the world. I wished I could read the story of their past year together.

I wasn't the only person watching. Danzu eyed them closely, as though trying to figure out how to make a profit from this new secret. Then his gaze caught mine. I scowled and drew one finger across my wrist. Danzu shrank into his chair, more like the street rat I knew from the old days. Okay, so he'd changed, but he was still the same old Danzu underneath.

“Danzu,” Lian said, recalling us both, “I have yet another favor to ask you. I must reach Lóng City before the Guild Council meets. And I would do so quietly. Do you understand?”

Danzu smirked. “Absolutely, Your Highness.”

“Can you convey us into the palace by tonight?”

He whistled. “Tonight?”

“As discreetly as possible,” Lian said.

The smirk faded. Danzu plainly was struggling between the honest answer and one that made him look good. “I, ah . . . no. I can't,” he said. “Lóng City, yes. Maybe. Not the palace. However, I do know someone who knows someone else who certainly can.”

Hü
. Sure. It was the old days all over again, with Danzu bragging about his so-called connections. I scowled. “Don't listen to him, Lian. He's not—”