“He may be a spirit, but he’s more than capable of protecting us.”
“But don’t you think it’s time for him to move on?”
“Maybe.” She rolled her lips together. “But then who’d keep us safe?”
“You’re already safe,” I told her. “And I’m sure Ren will convince the king to allow your men a proper burial, here in Xiatang.”
“I really hope so.” Feilin smiled faintly. “He must’ve done commendable work to impress the king so much.” She paused, then said, “You really think the king will listen to a painter, evenan honored one? My mother—well, she has her doubts. But she’s wrong, isn’t she, Mistress Kang?”
The desperation in her question gutted me, and I heard myself say, “Actually, Feilin, the truth is—”
I broke off.
But Feilin’s attention never wavered from my face.
“The truth is what?” she pressed.
I chewed my lip. Feilin was a friend. She’d proven her kindness by helping us so much already. Surely she deserved to know the truth, and deserved to be reassured by it. I just didn’t know where to start.
My throat felt suddenly dry as I said, “The truth is… the truth is Ren is really close to—to Prince Liqin. And he’s not really a painter. I mean, he is, but not professionally—”
Heavens, this was embarrassing, my attempt to untie a lie I’d knotted so tight. I’d never confessed like this before. My words were coming out horribly jumbled.
Feilin looked understandably confused. “What do you mean, not professionally?”
“I mean he doesn’t get paid. At least, I don’t think so…”
“So he paints for the prince as a favor?”
“No! I mean, I don’t know, maybe sometimes since they’re brothers—”
Her eyes widened. “Brothers?”
“Oh!” My stomach felt like a fish on land, flapping for water. “Well, they’re… sorry, yes. They—they are brothers. Ren is a prince. The second prince of Sian.”
Feilin stared at me, stunned. I searched her eyes, deciphering bewilderment, surprise, worry—but not anger. At least, not yet.
“Feilin,” I started. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truthfrom the beginning. But this is why I think Ren can convince his father—”
“What did you say?”
We both jumped at the voice that had come from behind me.
I spun around. Master Zhang stood a yard away, watching me with cold eyes. His gray-green pao and silvered hair fit well into the natural scenery. He could’ve been a forest spirit from children’s stories, if not for the distinctly human anger directed at me.
“Master Zhang,” I said, horror drenching me from head to toe. “Please listen to me—”
“Is that boy really the king’s son?” he interrupted.
I pressed my mouth shut. But my silence was just as damning as the truth.
A shadow crossed the old man’s face, his gray aura intensifying, and I realized I’d made a dire mistake. Ill-timed clouds curtained the sun, causing a sudden chill that matched the coldness radiating from Master Zhang. Gone was the ornery elder of Xiatang. Standing before me was the evil spirit who’d killed an entire platoon of trained imperial soldiers. With just his will, he’d dragged their helpless bodies to the bottom of the pond, leaving them for dead. As I stared into his storm-black eyes, I knew he would readily do the same to Ren, the son of his greatest enemy.
“No,” I gasped.
But it was too late.
Without warning, the spirit of Master Zhang dissolved into nothing. And yet I knew he wasn’t gone, merely going somewhere else—to the very town where I’d left Ren alone and defenseless.
