She smiled in a way that made him quickly avert his gaze. “Well, Mighty Master Zen. You’ll keep me safe.”
Unsure how to respond, Zen let her sleeve down and pulled on his black gloves. “We arrive at the Village of the Fallen Clouds tomorrow by sunset. It is at the base of GuardedMountain, so we should have time for a hot meal and some rest before we proceed with our search.”
Lan leapt to her feet, stretching. “A hotmeal,”she groaned. “Will there be a realbed?”
His lips curled at the corners. “I do believe that is the function of an inn.”
“And unlimited pork buns? They’re my favorite! Madam Meng was so stingy with them because pork was expensive.”
“All the pork buns in the world.”
She whooped and spun, then that devious look sparked in her eyes as she leaned toward him. “Tell me your favorite song,” she said. “Because I’m in such good spirits, I’ll sing it for you.”
Zen hesitated. “You would not know it.”
“I will,” she insisted.
He looked into the fire. “Back home, it snowed a lot. We used to wake up to a different type of silence, a knowing that the world was spun anew and that winter had arrived. The song comes from there: ‘The Sound of Snow Falling.’ ”
“You’re right,” Lan said. “I don’t know it.” Her face lit in a devious smile as she scooted closer to him, propping her elbows in her lap and cupping her chin with her hands. “Which means you must teach me.”
“No. I’m terrible at singing.”
“I’ll more than make up for it.”
“You mock me,” he said, but the girl was relentless. “All right. Fine. Just once.” And he hummed, closing his eyes as memories swelled in his mind. Grasslands stretching from one horizon to another. Skies so blue and vast, he had the impression he could reach up and touch them. And snow, flakes as fat as goose feathers, that covered the great earth in an undisturbed blanket. When he finished, he opened his eyes to find her watching him, the firelight flickering across her face.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, and stood. Her páo unfurled in a fall of white, and though she held his jacket carefully to cover the torn parts of the bodice, she was nonetheless graceful as she began to dance.
The song that spun from her lips was the most beautiful that Zen had ever heard: a soft, masterful rendition of his. The pale light of the moon dusted her silhouette, catching the edges of her smile. And Zen let himself drink in the sight of her as he had back at the Teahouse, the night around them disappearing as he fell into her spell of snow and silver, and a homeland he now knew only from memory.
No matter how luxurious a life the caged bird leads, it remains at the mercy of its master.
—Collection of apocryphal and banned texts, unknown origin
She stood in a room bordered by spirit screens, lit by the dim glow of alchemical lamps. Beyond the screens, she could see movement. Silvery voices drifted over: girls laughing, teasing each other, the words of their conversation indiscernible. A shadow stirred behind one screen, a long-haired girl with delicate features, and then that girl began to sing.
Ying. It was Ying.
Lan lunged forward, relief flooding her—only she wasn’t sure why.
I’ve missed you,she tried to say. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. There was something she had to tell Ying, something important, something that could change the course of their lives…only she couldn’t remember what.
She reached out to pull the screen back, but it seemed to draw farther away from her. The room, the warmth, the glow—it was all fading, and then she was looking at her friend through a wall of ice. The songgirls giggled within, clustered beneath a lush plum blossom tree.
A cold wind cut into Lan’s bones. It rattled the tree, and its petals began to fall.
When they hit the floor, they turned to blood.
Behind the wall of ice, the songgirls began to scream. Lan was reaching for them, running as fast as she could, yet the air had turned thick as congee, and she felt as though she were sprinting underwater, the currents buffeting her back—
In the distance, a figure was approaching, silhouette outlined clearly behind the ice. It was only when he was ten paces away that Lan realized he was not behind the ice.
He wasinthe ice.
The Winter Magician stepped out from the wall of ice, his silver armor and rippling blue cloak unmarred. He was smiling, his expression unmoved as the songgirls behind him dissipated into mist, their screams echoing.
Hello, my little singer,he crooned in his language.I see you. Now you’ll give it to me.
