Dilaya smacked the flower to the ground and stomped on it. “Don’t get used to it.”
—
The imperial heir’s study was at the very heart of the palace. Away from the shutters of the outer halls, it was dark, the only light that of flickering red lanterns. Several of the maids pointed Lan in the direction of the study, and she found herself standing before a set of elaborate rosewood sliding doors.
Lan could sense the Seals dripping from the intricate fretwork as she reached for the doors. So many, whispering with combinations of qì she could not yet hope to understand.
The doors slid open of their own accord, and she stepped into the prince’s study.
The chamber was long, almost a hall of its own: dimly lit and perfumed by the scent of desert roses. Bookcases lined the walls, brimming with row upon row of gleaming tomes. At a dark cherrywood desk in the center of the room, a lantern burned, illuminating a seated figure.
Prince Hóng’yì wore a páo today, spilling in a loose tumble of red and gold, as opposed to the tighter, structured hàn’fú he’d worn last night. His hair was unbound, falling over a sliver of his bare chest. He looked up, the lantern casting their red glow into his eyes.
Lan inclined her head. “Your Highness.”
“Lán’ér.” He set down the horsetail brush he had been writing with and beamed at her. “I thought I was clear last night: you may call me Hóng’yì.”
Lan returned his smile. “You are generous, Your Highness,” she said as she took a seat across from him. It was only when his hair fell back as he angled his face to look at her that Lan recalled the cinnabar pattern she’d seen on the serving girl’s wrist. It was the same one that the prince had on his forehead.
“Xue’ér,” the prince said, and Lan started as the figure of a girl moved in the shadows. Lan hadn’t even sensed her qì. Forsome inexplicable reason, it took effort to focus on this girl’s presence. “I will be fine alone with Lán’ér. Would you see to it that our guests Chó Tài and Yeshin Noro Dilaya have whatever they need throughout the day?”
Don’t,Lan wanted to say, for if Xue’ér went to tend to them, there was no way Dilaya and Tai could snoop around. She opened her mouth, searching for an excuse, but none came to mind that wouldn’t be suspect.
Xue’ér snapped one of the two fans she carried shut and inclined her head. Only her white hair—perhaps the source of her name,xuemeaning “snow”—rustled slightly, along with the silk of her blindfold. Then she was gone.
Lan made sure her smile was back when the prince’s attention returned to her. “Interesting choice of wardrobe,” she said lightly, gesturing to her eyes to indicate Xue’ér’s blindfold.
“She was given the blindfold when she was young, to help with her training,” Hóng’yì replied, flipping absentmindedly through a scroll. “Now she seems to prefer it. Perhaps it reminds her of her mother.”
“What sort of training would require a blindfold?”
Hóng’yì gave a noncommittal shrug and changed the subject. “You came to find me,” he said, and leaned forward just so the lamplight limned his lashes. “Why are you here?”
She drew a sharp breath. There was something magnetic, almost hypnotic, about his gaze up close. Something that drew her to place her elbows on the table, just enough to close the distance between them. “I want to know more about you,” Lan said, and it wasn’t a complete lie. She wanted to know more about him to learn about the Godslayer. She wanted to know more about him to learn abouthim.The prince was an enigma; as with Shaklahira, she felt that there was something missing to the picture that she couldn’t put her finger on justyet.
Hóng’yì’s eyes were black pools, infinitely deep. “It seems we have a mutual interest,” he murmured. “There is a way, Lán’ér, to open our minds to each other, completely and without lie.”
“Is your plan to bribe me with plum wine and pork buns?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her tone.
His smile did not reach his eyes. She had a sudden, jarring memory of another boy who had beheld her, whose frown had melted as his lips curved and his eyes crinkled.
She drew back slightly. A familiar ache found her heart.
Hóng’yì did not seem to notice. “The Hin principles of practitioning focused on the different branches—theArts—of specialization,” he said. “But there is a school of thought, spearheaded by the former Yuè clan, that qì is segregated into three layers: qì of the flesh, qì of the soul, and qì of the mind. Practitioners mostly use the first layer, the qì of the flesh, to conjure physical Seals. Then there are those who converse with ghosts, with the echoes we leave behind after death, with the qì of our souls.”
Lan listened, unblinking. She thought of Tai and his clan’s ability to commune with ghosts and imprints of souls. The School of the White Pines had not categorized that ability, other than to bestow upon him the title of Spirit Summoner.
“Perhaps least common are those with the ability to manipulate the qì of the mind. This art is likely lost to the world of practitioning, for there was only one clan that possessed this ability.” Hóng’yì smiled. “My clan.”
Lan’s lips parted. Not for the first time, her gaze darted to the cinnabar eye on his forehead and wondered whether that was related to his art. “And let me guess,” she said, attempting to sound playful, “you hid away your art just as you hid away this beautiful palace.”
“Indeed. But once in a lifetime, I am persuaded to begenerous.” Hóng’yì held out his hand. “I could show you if you’d like. Reading and penetrating the qì of someone’s mind, someone’s thoughts, someone’s emotions.”
She looked at his outstretched hand. His fingers were slim, long, the skin soft and untouched by the hardships of life. She could not refuse this offer, not if she wished to find out more about this prince and the imperial family’s secrets.
She placed her callused palm in his.
“To learn from me, you will need to discard everything you know about practitioning,” Hóng’yì said to her. “Your masters at whichever school trained you taught you only the fundamentals. Thescienceof formulating the different types of qì into Seals and using them for your purposes. But I will lead you toward the enlightenment the monks of old achieved; show you the layers of practitioning lost to time. Learn with me, Lán’ér, and you will see practitioning change from science…intomagic.”
