Her heart pounded like battle drums as the reality of her choice set in. She’d done it once before, when her home had been conquered and her world had fallen apart. She’d survived.
She could do it again.
The Teahouse seemed to settle around her again, the noise and scents and sights flooding back. She saw the other songgirls weaving through expensive lacquered tables. She spotted Ying, standing demurely to one side as a group of Elantian noblemen roared with laughter, precious stones flashing on their fingers and coats. Her friend hovered uncertainly, one man’s arm slung around her waist as she attempted to serve him tea.
A knot rose in Lan’s throat. It wasn’t fair—it wasn’t fair that this was the last look she might have of Ying, someone she loved, someone she had spent cycles of her life with. That they might never see each other again, and their last words to each other—what had they even been?
“Four Gods watch over you,” Lan whispered. Turningaway from the only person she had left in this world who felt like family, she could now do nothing more than to pray that somehow, somewhere, by some impossible chance, the gods existed and they were watching.
She turned and began to make her way toward the doors, smiling at patrons and dodging their wandering hands.Calm,she thought to herself. It would all be over in ten seconds. Less.
The Teahouse doors were in sight; night spilled in like a bowl of fresh-ground ink. Hope drummed to the beat of her heart—hope, fear, and a thrill of adrenaline at the knowledge that, for the first time in a long time, she was making a choice utterly on her own.
Then she caught sight of two figures standing before the filigreed screens.
Madam Meng was wearing her most charming smile, which displayed all the pearly teeth in her mouth—the ones she’d bought from the blood and sweat and tears of her songgirls. She laughed, and those teeth weredazzling,and Lan wanted to rip them from her mouth.
Across from the Madam, grin stretching like that of a predator, was the green-gazed Elantian Angel. Donnaron. Even as they spoke, those poisonous spring eyes shifted to Lan like the flick of a snake’s tongue.
He straightened slightly. Raised a hand, and pointed.
Right at her.
Lan’s plan fell apart at the seams.
Panic spilled over. She turned sharply, her ears filled with a buzzing sound, her vision blurring, unaware of what she was doing or where she was going exceptawayfrom him.
She only had time to catch sight of someone tall, someone dark, before she crashed headfirst into that someone.
Peace be upon your soul, and may you find the Path home.
—Hin funerary rites
“Forgiveness.” A black-gloved hand darted to her waist to steady her, the other catching the edge of her tray before it tipped and the contents went crashing to the floor. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
A voice, lovely and deep as velvet midnight, speaking to her in near-perfect Elantian.
Lan blinked as she was set back on her feet, the tray returned to her hands. Her rescuer stepped back quickly, lightly, like a retreating shadow, and it was then that she caught sight of his face.
It was the Hin man from earlier—the one she had noticed. Who had been looking at her. He stood a courteous two paces away from her, looking utterly discordant among the gleaming lacquerwood panels and red screens decorating the Teahouse walls. Up close, she realized that he was young, all smooth skin and black hair, perhaps only a cycle or two older than her. A boy so beautiful, he looked as though he belonged in a painting.
“I—” She shifted her stance, glancing behind her, too agitated to bother with subtleties. Madam Meng was tipping her head back and laughing, her fingers pinching the air in the way that Lan had learned to recognize meant she was talking about money. It would only be a matter of minutes. “Sorry, I—excuse me—”
“One moment. Please.” His hand snagged on her right wrist, light, loose, tracing what might have been a question mark. Nothing like the grip of the Elantian soldier from earlier. “I’d like to talk to you.”
Ordinarily she would have been extremely flattered; none of the Elantians would have even entertained the notion ofaskinga Hin girl to talk to them. It was always an order. One expected to be obeyed.
Fate would have sent him to her on the precise night her path would take a turn.
“I’m sorry,” Lan said distractedly, “but I’m in the middle of—”
And then the Hin reached into the folds of his coat and drew out a torn, dusty, and utterly familiar piece of parchment.
The rest of the world peeled away as she caught sight of the Demon Gods at the corners of the scroll, the top of the curved character she’d studied just a few bells ago. She blinked, then looked to him. He had her full attention now.
His face was careful, impassive, but his eyes—they seemed to pierce her mind, slowly unraveling each of her thoughts. Beneath it all, though, there was a hint of surprise mingled with confusion, as though he had found something unexpected in her. “What do you know of this scroll?”
She was out of time, out of patience for courtesies and games. “Where did you get that?”
