I would not speak so casually of a ‘blood-painted path’ if I wereyou.
“I do not expect you to tolerate any part of me,” Zen said. Perhaps it was his acquiescence that bought a moment of silence from Dilaya, a chance for him to keep speaking. Another gust of wind swept sand at their feet, stirring their clothing.“I only ask that you allow me to wait until Sòng Lián wakes. I wish to speak to her.”
Dilaya shot him a look of outrage. “Allow you to approach her while she is at her weakest? While you have the chance to destroy the only key left to the Godslayer, to our fulfilling our mission for the Order of Ten Thousand Flowers?”
“If I wished her any harm, I would not wait for her to wake. If I wished anybody here any harm, I would not have to—” He stopped, catching the way Dilaya flinched, the way a fleeting fear crossed her expression before she schooled it back to stubborn fury. Suddenly, he was disgusted with himself for even bringing up the prospect of harm, for reminding them that all it would take was a single thought for the Black Tortoise to waken.
“Go on.” Dilaya’s voice was dangerously low. “Tell me more about how you would harm us.”
He loosed a breath. He’d lost his chance, and with it, all hope of seeing Lan one last time before he returned to Where the Flame Rises and the Stars Fall and began the final part of his plan.
“Dilaya,” came a soft, feeble voice.
Zen’s heart lifted. The world seemed to exhale.
Dilaya turned to Lan, her anger instantly forgotten. She swore, and the look on her face might be the most relieved Zen had ever seen her. “Curse you, little fox spirit! You had me worried for no reason.”
Lan’s eyes curved in the faintest smile, then lifted to meet Zen’s. Any joy in them vanished. She swallowed and turned back to Dilaya. “I will speak to him,” Lan said. “But first, I want some…”
“Water?” Dilaya supplied.
“…pork buns.”
—
Shaklahira had withered like a dead desert rose. Zen rather preferred its true countenance over the unnaturally lush gardens and radiant colors from earlier. He stepped through the piles of sand that its gardens had become, up the dusty steps, and through the front doors, their paint cracked and peeling.
The bones of the interior remained, yet its patina of splendor had been stripped. Gone was the luxurious decor: the lapis and porcelain vases, the glass trinkets from Masyria, the amulets from the Achaemman Empire. The once-gold dais was now faded stone, the gauze curtains billowing in the breeze moth-eaten and coated in dust.
Sand rose from the carpet beneath Zen’s boots as he and Dilaya made their way toward the small throng of people gathered beneath the dais. Dilaya held Lan in her arm, refusing to let Zen touch her.
The group of people looked up at the sound of footsteps. Zen took them in carefully. Their countenances, their outfits…it was as though they’d walked straight out of an old tome about the Ninety-Nine Clans. There was a cluster of monks undoubtedly from the Táng clan, their heads shaven, their sand-colored robes made for the ease of combat. They held long-range weapons like spears, cudgels, and plows, a stark contrast to the wooden prayer beads around their necks. Two healers with hemp satchels knelt by Chó Tài, who was now awake and resting on a cloth pallet on the ground. With a pang, Zen thought of Shàn’jun, of the boy’s quiet heartbreak when Skies’ End had fallen and he’d thought Chó Tài had not made it out alive.
One more situation to remedy,Zen thought.
“Listen up,” Dilaya called, coming to a stop before the group. She set Lan on the ground with more gentlenessthan Zen would have thought the matriarch capable. “Zhào Hóng’yì and his Crimson Phoenix have been defeated for now, and youcan thank this girl for it.” She kept her arm wrapped around Lan’s waist to support her. “If you stand with Hóng’yì, you are welcome to leave; I am not the type of person to duel a defenseless opponent, yet I would welcome the chance to meet you on the battlefield.” Her teeth flashed. “But if you have ever wished to live a life free of imperial rule and free of conquest and you would fight for it, I would welcome you to our cause.”
There was a momentary silence. Then, beneath the shadow of a pillar, a girl stepped out: small and slim, with hair the color of snow and a matching white blindfold over her eyes. She held a fan in each hand, stitched with the same patterns of bronze and violet as her páo.
Without a word, she knelt at Dilaya’s feet.
“Yeshin Noro Dilaya,” the girl said, her voice as soft as a breeze. “We are indebted to you and Sòng Lián. Zhào Hóng’yi has kept us here under the control of his mind, enforcing our loyalty. For most of us, it has been twelve cycles…yet the imperial family held me for much longer.”
Zen’s focus sharpened on this girl. She looked to be their age, and there was nothing about her to suggest anything out of the ordinary, but he had an inkling….
“Xue’ér,” Dilaya said with surprising gentleness. “What is your truename?”
“Elanruya,” the girl said quietly, “of the Yuè clan.”
Dilaya’s gray eye widened in wonder. “I don’t believe this. I thought the Yuè clan vanished dynasties ago.”
“We were nearly wiped out by the imperial family’s ruthless hunters, who sought our secrets of immortality. My ancestors hid away our kingdom behind a Boundary Seal when their bodies expired. But the Zhào clan caught me and has kept me in their service ever since, enslaving my mind with their art and forcing me to harvest the Seeds of Clarity for them. I have brought shame to my people; please allow me a chance toremedy it.” Elanruya held out her fans, splaying them before her, and touched her forehead to the ground. “Elanruya of the Yuè clan pledges her allegiance to you and your cause.”
Behind her, the Táng monks, too, had knelt; the remaining residents of Shaklahira followed, heads bowed.
Dilaya looked around, her expression unchanged except for a new glint in her eye. “Good,” she said, her voice echoing in the hall. “We will fight to take this kingdom back from the Elantians and to destroy the Demon Gods. We’ll need all the swords we can get. Let’s start with some healers for this little fox spirit, Sòng Lián. Cooks, we’ll need a meal from whatever supplies are left in the kitchens. Then: Táng monks and whoever else knows a smidgeon of practitioning, you’re with me to set up defenses around this place so we don’t sit about like rabbits in open terrain. Ah, and…” Dilaya turned to Zen. “Take him down to the dungeons. So long as he remains here, he will do so as a prisoner.”
He acquiesced with his silence, knowing this was the price he needed to pay in order to see Lan just one more time.
