“Lan,” he said, and somehow her name coming from his mouth unsteadied her into silence. “When I first arrived here, the masters did everything they could to get rid of me. Trust me when I say that you do not wish to stray from the teachings of the Way. Practitioning has been heavily scaled back and regulated by the Imperial Court since the beginning of the Middle Kingdom, and this scrutiny intensified after the defeat of the Ninety-Nine Clans and the establishment of the Last Kingdom. The paranoia of using qì in ways that fall outside the rules of the Way as defined by our emperors has long been instilled into practitioners—the ones who have survived to this day, at least. Those who defied it…were killed.”
She had never heard this part of her kingdom’s history before. The last rays of sun had ebbed from the world. Like a tipping scale, the moon rose on the other side of the sky, its fluorescence carving the boy before her into black and white, parts known and hidden. Lan thought of the way his eyes had turned black, of the scars on his hands, of the storms in his eyes, and suddenly felt ashamed of her own lightheartedness on the subject matter.
“All right,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I won’t do it again.”
He watched her for a moment. “But…?”
Her head snapped up again. “But you have to take me to Guarded Mountain.”
“Ah,” Zen said slowly. Lan knew that look. It was the one that came before a denial.
“You promised,” she pressed. “I thought you were a man of honor.”
The practitioner gave her a look of wearied resignation. “The tracking spell Ulara discovered in your arm complicates things. The moment we step beyond the Boundary Seal of Skies’ End, we will be vulnerable.”
“I have to go before they attempt to extract the metalwork from me,” Lan said. “I can’t die not knowing why my mother left behind this Seal.”
“Your mother.”
She hesitated. If she was going to ask for his help, then she would need to tell him enough of the story so that he was convinced.
Lan drew a breath and nodded. “I think whatever’s in this Seal…whatever is at Guarded Mountain…has to do with why the Elantian magician was after me. Why he’s been searching for me all these cycles. That night in Haak’gong, he asked me to give something to him. That’s the same thing hesaid to my mother before he killed her.”
Zen’s eyes blazed. “Your mother gave you that Seal.” He asked the question flatly.
A knot formed in her chest. “Yes.”
“That Elantian magician killed her in an attempt to take something from her.”
She nodded.
“And you think”—Zen’s eyes found her left wrist—“you think the clues to whatever he wanted…whatever it is that he has spent cycles tracking down…is in your Seal.”
“Yes—clues that lead to Guarded Mountain,” Lan said quietly. “Whatever we find there, we may also understand why you sensed so much yin to my qì.”
Zen was silent for a long time. “We will need to be quick,” he said. “We must return before the Elantians can locate us with the tracking spell—for though Ulara’s Seal is strong, the spell is still embedded in your arm. Stepping outside the Boundary Seal removes another layer of protection.”
Her heart lifted. She wanted to throw her arms around him. “When can we go?”
“Within the next fortnight. Before the Master of Medicine returns to operate on your arm.”
Her blood roared in her ears.Within the next fortnight.Twelve cycles of searching, and the answer to her question was only days away.
“But before we go, you must focus on training,” Zen said. “No more near-death experiences until you can hold your own against me and know enough practitioning to not be a deadweight.”
Her intense joy dissipated, replaced by a fiery determination.
Lan drew back and folded her arms. “Fine. In that case, you’d better sleep with an eye open and a knife in your hands, Mister Practitioner.”
“Stop calling me ‘mister.’ I am not so much older than you.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
“I have a better idea.” He leaned forward and gave her a look so searing, she had the sudden impression that his propriety had all been an act. “How about I teach you, personally?”
Lan met his eyes, and for the first time in a while, she felt a smile come to her from the inside out, warming her. She lowered her gaze. “I know I gave off the wrong impression when I met you, with the butterknife—”
“The teapot,” he supplied. “Andthe teacup.”
