At the end of the hall was a golden dais and a reclining throne carved from a beautiful yellow rosewood. On it sat a person.
Lan sensed Tai stiffen by her side, heard Dilaya draw a sharp intake of breath. They walked toward the dais, then stopped nine paces from it—nine, the number of emperors.
The young man on the throne rose, and Lan had the impression that she looked upon a god. Everything about him was steeped in a time long past, from the carnelian-colored hàn’fú he wore, with its great, billowing sleeves and long skirt, to the way his black hair fell, uncut. It parted at his forehead, revealing an eye painted in cinnabar. He was of average height and build, and though he was young—a few cycles their senior, perhaps—there was something ancient to his beauty, to the depths of his eyes. His cheeks were flushed as though with fever, his lips red as though painted.
The blindfolded girl leapt to the dais. Lan hadn’t even seen her move; the cloth of her páo and blindfold rustled once, then fell still.
“Oh,” the young man said, and his voice was a lofty tenor, melodious and smooth. “Well,thisis unexpected.”
“That should be my line,” Lan replied, “especially after the water demon you sent to greet us.” Her mind was spinning fast. The last thing they’d expected to find in Shaklahira was some semblance of the imperial palace that had been lost twelve cycles ago. Because if Shaklahira had been well maintained and kept secret from the outside world for all these cycles, then this young man must be…
He tipped his head back and laughed. The sound was long and rolling, echoing through the gilded halls. It lapsed into a fit of coughing. He hunched over, pressing a red silken handkerchief to his mouth. When he finished, he straightened, leaving a dark smear behind.
A memory found Lan: an old shopkeeper’s rheumy cough, the whistle of his breath. She knew of consumption, a disease frequently found across poorer Hin villages. How had this young man, secluded in his palace of gold, caught it?
“By the Four,” he exclaimed, descending the steps of his dais. He swept a long gaze over them. “How delightful.”
“Who are you?” Dilaya seemed to finally have found her voice.
His eyes slid to her. But it wasn’t he who answered the question.
It was Tai.
“Hóng’yì,” he whispered.
The name jolted through Lan. Stirred memories of that winter twelve cycles ago, of thatworldthat had—until this very moment—been lost. She recalled her courtyard house, the occasions when Mama had sat with her in the study and recounted stories of the Imperial Court, of the emperor and his one male heir, for the empress and concubines had beentoo weak to bear the emperor another son. Lan recalled the villages in the days after the Conquest, the whispers and tears shed for Emperor Shuò’lóng, the Luminous Dragon, and his only son, the lost heir of the Last Kingdom. Gone so soon, so young.
Hóng’yì, Hóng’yì,they’d cried.The young heir, the Red Radiant Prince!
The young man’s expression turned thoughtful. “That name used to go after ‘His Imperial Highness,’ ” he said. “Though I’ve lost every right to that title.” He swept his arms open with a flourish of long red sleeves. “Well met. Zhào Hóng’yì, former crown prince and imperial heir to the fallen Last Kingdom. Ruler of Shaklahira and any and all subjects within this Boundary Seal. I hope Xue’ér extended a warm welcome to you on my behalf.”
Lan stood, frozen in shock. This was the imperial heir to the Last Kingdom, in flesh and blood. Son of the rulers who had persecuted Lan’s clan, who had hunted down Zen’s family.
“Well?” Prince Hóng’yì said. He studied them with open curiosity. “Will you not introduce your friends, Chó Tài? It has been too long.”
Lan knew of the former emperors only by her mother’s stories, and later Zen’s. She had thought them dead, irrelevant to anything and everything. If the prince still lived, then what was he doing here, in a desert palace hidden to the world, with an entire staff at his disposal? Why hadn’t he fought for the Last Kingdom or attempted to rally troops against the Elantians?
And then: did this mean he hid both the Godslayer and the Crimson Phoenix? Or was he, too, a victim of the imperial line’s lies?
There was only one way to find out.
Lan curved her lips into a smile and dipped her head. “My name is Lán’ér,” she said, shifting dialects to the southern tones she had picked up in Haak’gong. “I hail from Haak’gong, from a teahouse recently destroyed by the Elantians.”
“Dí’ér,” Dilaya said. Evidently, she had picked up on Lan’s plan to mask their names and true identities. “My northern village was taken in the Conquest.”
Prince Hóng’yì smiled faintly. There was still a trace of blood on his lip, but he either was used to it or did not seem to notice. “Where are my manners? You must be weary and hungry from your travels. Come, dine with me.”
—
They were led to the gardens by the waters that Lan, Dilaya, and Tai had seen when they had crossed the arched bridge through the Boundary Seal. The air was cool and smelled of fresh pines as they sat at a beautiful round rosewood table that had been laid out for them. The two Táng monks retreated, but Xue’ér remained at the prince’s side like a pale shadow.
Servants rushed forward with trays laden with hot food. It was the richest spread Lan had seen in her entire life: roast quail with radishes garnished with osmanthus flowers, smoked duck with mushrooms and sweet beans, rice cakes with bowls of honey, and a steaming clay pot of mutton soup, all accompanied by an assortment of cold dishes.
“Please,” the imperial heir said. A servant had set down a jade pot in front of him. When he lifted the lid, there was what resembled a single lotus seed on a small porcelain platter. It was perfectly round, as polished as a pearl, and glimmered gold as though made of liquid honey. “Medicine,” he said, catching the three of them watching him. “For my cough. Please eat; no need to wait for me.”
He popped the seed into his mouth and swallowed. Something inside him seemed to roil: a qì, Lan sensed, trembling like an earthquake. Hóng’yì’s eyes were closed, brows furrowed.
It passed in a few breaths. When he opened his eyes again, his skin had lost the pallid shade from earlier, glowing a healthy gold. He picked up a piece of smoked duck with his chopsticks and laughed when he saw them all staring at him. “I told you, please eat. I’ll not be so ill-mannered as to take my consumption medicine at the dining table next time.”
