Edan and I ignored him and continued along the corridor. The Temple of Nandun was ancient, its structure carved into the underbelly of the mountain so skillfully one could not tell where the temple ended and the mountain began. We passed several chambers, sparsely occupied by the master’s acolytes, their eyes half closed in concentration.
“Are they practicing magic?” I asked Edan.
“Most are.”
I tilted my head at a lone plum tree in one of the open-air courtyards. “How does it flower so late in the year, and so high in the mountains?”
Edan led me to stand under its branches. “Nandun took refuge under a blossoming plum tree,” he explained. “Magic is what keeps it alive here. The disciples take turns tending to it, and it blooms always, even in the dead of winter.”
“Plum blossoms are the first flowers to bud after winter,” I remembered. “They’re a symbol of hope and purity.”
He plucked one and set it in my hair, the way he’d done on our travels with the blue wildflower I now kept pressed in my sketchbook. “And new beginnings,” Edan said quietly.
We found Master Tsring meditating in the garden. His eyes were closed, and if he heard us approach, he made no gesture to acknowledge it.
Copying Edan’s movements, I sat cross-legged on the ground, and waited.
Master Tsring looked so old and frail his robes practically swallowed him: his pants hung slack, the hems discolored with age. His shoulders were pinched, narrowing his gaunt frame. Yet when he spoke, his voice was strong.
“You disobeyed me, Gen,” he said. His eyes snapped open, pupils sparking like burning coals. “I forbade you to leave the temple.”
Edan touched his forehead to the earth, remorsefully. “Forgive me, master. It is entirely in your right to expel me.”
“Quite so!” Master Tsring huffed. “The audacity of you young enchanters—”
“—is inexcusable,” Edan finished for him. “However, I implore you not to punish my companion. She—”
“I know who she is,” said the old man irritably. “Even if you had not spoken about her all these weeks past, I would recognize the demon’s kiss upon her. You do the temple grievous harm by bringing her here.”
“She hasn’t yet succumbed. There is still a chance for her. Please, help her.”
Master Tsring looked at me, his gaze holding mine. He muttered, “Trouble always comes from enchanters who take the oath.”
“It is because of this girl that my oath is broken,” Edan said softly.
“I would hardly call her a girl,” Master Tsring said, pointing at my red eyes.
I squared my shoulders. I’d done enough hiding and cowering in my time at the palace; I wouldn’t cower anymore. “I am here for your help, not your reprimands.”
He harrumphed, twisting the ends of his long white beard. “Long has it been since an enchanter has broken his oath and sought out my counsel. When Edan came to me, I should have realized his freedom came at a price. Though I would not have expected it to take the shape of one such as you.”
His tone provoked me. “A girl?” I challenged. “Or a demon?”
“Both,” replied the master curtly. He harrumphed again and stood, circling me deliberately, his cane tapping the stone ground between each step. It was hard to imagine that this wizened, shrunken figure had once been Bandur’s teacher, a great enchanter.
Edan waited, and I shifted uncomfortably.
“Interesting,” he grunted, once he’d inspected me from every angle. “Gen is correct—you haven’t yet succumbed. Surprising, given how long ago it has been since Bandur marked you.”
“Does she have a chance?” Edan asked.
“That, I cannot ascertain just yet.” Tsring threw his beard over his shoulder, then poked at my ribs with his cane. “They say the belly has a better memory than the heart, and I must agree. Let us eat.” His cane thumped the ground. “One cannot unravel a demon’s curse on an empty stomach.”
• • •
I couldn’t shake the feeling that lunch was a test.
Though I hadn’t eaten for days, I was not hungry. The monks served me a steaming bowl of carrot soup, with soymilk and bean curd and pickled cabbage, a meal I should have consumed greedily. But I had to force down every bite, as if I were eating paper. Even the tea they served, a famously bitter brew called Nandun’s Tears that grew sweeter as one drank it, had no flavor to me.
