Fox and Phoenix (30 page)

“Take this man way,” Gan said to the guards. He glanced at Nuó. “If you don't mind.”

Even though Gan was a grunt and no officer, the guards rushed to obey. Soon the crowds had melted away. Jing-mei, Danzu, Yún, and I hesitated, uncertain where to go. All our companions—except for Nuó—had vanished into the spirit plane. Quan remained where he'd been standing, his hand still clutched around what had been a necklace. Slowly, he unfolded his fingers. Ashes floated to the floor.

“You did it,” I said.

“Yes.” But his expression flitted from confused to more confused. “Nothing can withstand the spider of death,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. “And yet the king has lived nearly two months. Almost dead, but not quite. I don't understand . . .”

Another ear-popping
crack
reverberated through the chamber. An enormous ghost dragon materialized, filling the room with its translucent body. Silver scales, like wisps of mist and snow, coiled around us all. My breath hiccupped as I realized their pattern was a magical one. Of course. And yet, I'd never paused long enough to notice before. The king of Lóng City's ghost dragons caught my gaze. His inner eyelid quivered in a wink for me alone, then he swung his head toward the king.
My friend.

His voice made the air and stone tremble.

Wencheng Li's eyes fluttered open. “My friend. You saved my life.”

Hardly.
The dragon's lips curled back in a soundless laugh.
I sent minions. Those two.
He pointed a claw at me and Yún.
Your daughter brought the man who saved you. But until they could breach the many obstacles set by the Phoenix emperor, I asked a great favor of my other old friend.

His jaws stretched open. A silvery mist flowed out—a cloud of magic flux that slowly resolved into a very familiar figure—a small slight figure, with bright black eyes and a fierce gaze.

“Mā mÄ«?” I croaked.

And fainted.

“
Y
OUR MOTHER IS THE MOST ASTONISHING PERSON I know,” Lian said.

“All demons are astonishing,” I muttered.

Lian merely smiled and poured out two cups of smoke-gray tea. “You must learn to see her as others do.”

“As what? A half-demon?”

“Ah, now you are being deliberately obtuse, my friend.”

I scowled, but said nothing. It was all part of a grand ceremony, where we sipped our tea, delicately and formally, and kept our voices pitched low, in what the nobles called Everlasting Tranquility. We also wore our stiffest, most elaborate costumes. Lian, with her crown and jewels, could have challenged anyone in the Phoenix Court. Me, I wore a newly tailored shirt and trousers, and a short-sleeved robe decorated with silver threads and golden magic. That was because ours was more than a meeting between two almost-old friends. Today was for the royal princess and one of her trusted advisors.

Oh, yeah, me.

Two weeks had passed since we smuggled Lian into the palace and Quan rescued her father from a slow, miserable death. I'd thought our troubles were over, but I was wrong again. First, Lian had to summon the Guild Council and the king's ministers to explain what had happened in the Phoenix Empire. Yún, Quan, and I served as witnesses. My mother, too, came forward and gave her account. She knew magic was involved, she explained, but she didn't have the key to its power. She and the ghost dragon king had conferred, and agreed that she would remain behind, working spell after spell to sustain the king's life, while her worthless son and her most valuable assistant traveled to the Phoenix Empire to fetch the princess.

“There were plots underway,” she'd said, in her driest voice. “And so the ghost dragon king agreed to shelter me from view until the matter was resolved.”

Only Mā mī, I thought, could call two months in the ghost dragon king's belly
shelter.

After the ministers and Guild finished with her, or my mother with them, the court interrogated the false physician. They confirmed what I could have guessed in two seconds—that the man was a spy and agent for the Phoenix emperor, sent to disrupt Lóng City's government, so that Lian would have no choice but to marry the emperor's son. But I guess the muckety-mucks like to have all kinds of ceremony, so they dragged out the interrogation for three days, then opened another session with the ministers and the Guild to report their findings.

Speaking of ceremony, this was another one.

“You have saved my father's life,” Lian said.

“Quan did that.”

She smiled, a more secretive smile. “True. And he will receive his reward. If he wishes it.”

I'd guessed that much, too. “When's the wedding?”

Her gaze, as sharp as a knife, flicked up to mine. “
When
I ask and
if
he accepts.”

“Oh, he will. He's not that stupid.”

For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far, because Lian's face scrunched into a very odd expression, as though she couldn't make up her mind whether to laugh, or snort, or order me executed by Death of a Thousand Cuts. She settled on merely exasperated. “Never mind about Quan. You are the reason for this meeting.”

She touched her palm to a polished silver square set into the tabletop. A servant entered carrying a velvet cushion. On it was a small leather cylinder, with brass caps at both ends. The caps were engraved with dozens of tiny symbols. More symbols were burnt into the leather. Recognizing the official seals of the kings of Lóng City, I nearly whistled.

“Your reward,” Lian said, presenting me with the cylinder. “With my word and this device, you are given freedom from all taxes and fees within the kingdom, for your life, the lives of your children, and so unto the distant future. You are named Friend of the Throne, and Brother of My Heart. Your debts are mine. Your sustenance shall be paid from my purse. My faith and loyalty are yours forever.”

My hand shook as I accepted the cylinder. “I don't know what to say.”

“Try, ‘You're welcome, Princess.'”

I regarded her suspiciously. “Isn't that supposed to be ‘Thank you'?”

“Not in your case.”

I tried several different replies, but it took a while before my voice worked properly. “If I'm your friend, what about Yún? And the others?”

“Yún and I have spoken already. If you wish to know how I rewarded her, you must ask her yourself. Gan will receive a purse of gold and a promotion. So will the guards he brought. As for Jing-mei and Danzu, they come to me tomorrow for an audience. There are certain matters to forgive. Nothing that we cannot achieve.”

Kings and queens spoke a peculiar language, my mother always said. “Forgive” could mean any number of things, from nothing at all, to fines, to much, much worse. But this was Lian, and she would not forget that these two had helped her, even when it meant facing punishment later.

I cleared my throat. “And my mother?”

“She will have whatever she wishes. Though I doubt she will accept much. She is very . . . independent.”

“Astonishing,” I agreed blandly.

Lian's mouth quirked into a smile. “An excellent word.”

We drank more tea, nibbled some fancy pastries. (Pepper pastries. Someone must have told stories. Probably Chen to Lian's fox spirit, Jun.) There were particular protocols for formal visits such as this one, so neither of us hurried. Besides, it was nice to sit in a pretty room, scented with cinnamon and cedar, drinking expensive tea.

“What about your studies?” I said at last. “Are you sorry they ended so soon?”

“Yes. No. I learned a great deal from the university, but I grew to dislike the palace.”

We exchanged wry smiles at her understatement.

“You could find another university,” I offered. “One without any power-mad emperors.”

She shook her head. “My father is old. My duty is here. Also, Quan and I have talked about that. There are a hundred or more small schools all through the Seventy Kingdoms, but no true universities. We might establish our own in Lóng City. Some of those scholars in the mountain schools might join us, and Quan knows others in the empire who are excellent scholars, who need a post. Some of them are cousins . . .”

Quan and his one million cousins. I wanted to envy him. I think I had at one time. He was smart, honorable, brave, and competent. Now? I remembered his face, when he thought he'd lost Lian's trust, and I was glad for him.

Lian and I talked a while longer. Quan had started work on a new hospital for Lóng City's poor. Lian's father had recovered from the magical illness, but his ordeal had left him weakened. Lian would take his place in the trade negotiations when they reopened. She also spent hours with him and his ministers, discussing how to deal with the Phoenix emperor's displeasure once the snows melted and the mountains were passable.

Eventually, all conventions satisfied, I took my leave from Lian and the Golden Egg Crate. Lian had offered to order me a special carriage, but I'd had enough of fancy things. I walked to the nearest wind-and-magic lift and tossed a ten-yuan coin at the old woman. The lifts were running half speed in winter, with more wind than magic. Two easy stops later, the carriage doors opened and I strolled home through a drifting of snow to the West Moon Wind District and my mother's tutoring shop.

She sat at the front counter, ink brush in hand, checking her accounts with abacus and calculor. One of the shop cats snored on a sack in the corner. The griffin coiled around her inkstand, evidently dreaming, because it was twitching and making soft chirping noises. Yāo-guài belonged to both of us now, my mother had explained. Our magics had entwined in that accidental explosion and brought him to life. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, either.

I paused at the door, and my mother glanced up. Her eyebrows quirked above those bright black eyes. “Staying or running?” she asked.

We hadn't talked since that night two weeks ago. Mā mī slept a lot. But even when she woke and puttered around the shop, I found other things to do. Mostly running up and down Lóng City's staircases. It wasn't that I hated her. I just wasn't sure what I'd say. Something angry, probably.

I blew out a breath. “Staying.”

My mother regarded me a long moment. “You have some questions for me, I think.”

“No. I don't have anything to say.”

Her lips thinned in an unhappy smile. “You always were a terrible liar.”

When I didn't reply, she sighed and let her gaze drop to her account books. A loose lock of hair fell over her eyes. She brushed it away absentmindedly. With a shock, I realized there were white streaks in her hair where none had been two months before, and the creases from her smile lingered as echoes, as though the skin were too tired to relax.

Old in the usual way. And old from keeping the king alive.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I burst out.

Mā mÄ« paused and lifted her gaze to my face. “I meant to, if that matters.”

“But you didn't.”

I scowled, knowing I sounded like a spoiled child.

“I didn't tell you because I had no time.” Her voice was softer, slower. “I had gone to the market to buy more herbs and a special-order powder. And to make arrangements with Bin Chu and Hai-feng Lo. Not a
li
from the
piaohao
, I noticed two men following me. Amateurs. Oh, some might call them professionals, but I could tell right away. So I lured them into an alleyway and disposed of them. Unfortunately, a squad of royal guards were patrolling nearby and witnessed the event, so after that, I had to disappear myself. The ghost dragon king was quite accommodating.”

My lungs squeaked dry. “You killed them?”

My mother made a
tch-tch
noise in her throat. “It was a minor spell, calculated to displace their wretched bodies into an alternate plane of existence. Ah, that reminds me. I really must release them soon. Today, perhaps.”

You always said she was scarier than watch-demons,
Chen said softly.
Why are you surprised?

My brain hurt at the thought. I rubbed my temples with both hands. “So what about the shop?”

“It can wait. Another month or three. After the wedding.”

Gently my mother dislodged Yāo-guài from his napping spot. She kissed him on top of the head, and he scrambled up the shelves to curl around the old radio. I thought she had finished with me, so I turned to go, but she beckoned me behind the counter.

“You didn't open the safe,” she said quietly.

My face turned hot. “We tried, Chen and I.”

“Ah. Another item I forgot to tell you. Well, and, you weren't ready before today.”

In between her odd tone and the sudden change of subject, I didn't know what to say. I mumbled something about trying the simple spells. She nodded. “Good choice. I did choose a simple one, only not what you guessed.”

She laid a hand over the lock and said a name.

My father's name.

The lock clicked; the door swung open.

The safe was stuffed full of scrolls, boxes, and more envelopes. Mā mÄ« extracted an especially thick envelope and handed it to me. “For you,” she said. “From your father. He wrote you a letter before going off to war. He wrote several more before . . . before he died. He told me give you them all when you had become a man.”

I was too stunned to do more than take the envelope. My blood thrummed, just like when the ghost dragon bit my fingers underneath Lóng City. Mā mī fiddled with another scroll, but then plucked back her fingers, murmuring something about how dreams were best remembered from afar. I wanted to ask what she meant, but her expression had softened to a strange and wistful look.