Descendant of the Crane(6)

There was only one way to find out.

“Go on without me.” Hesina turned north, toward the dungeons.

Caiyan caught her elbow. “It’s best to visit at a less suspicious hour.”

Lilian took her other elbow. “For once, I agree with the stone-head. Commit one act of treason at a time.”

Better yet, commit no treason at all.

Hesina shook them both off. “I didn’t say I was going to make him my representative right now.”

If only it were that simple. To prevent the rich and powerful from hiring the best scholars and winning every case as they had during the relic dynasty, the Tenets ordered that plaintiff and defendant each be assigned a representative at random. As a result, Hesina couldn’t choose her own representative. It was treason. Convincing the only person in charge of the selection—Xia Zhong, Minister of Rites, Interpreter of the Tenets—happened to be treason too.

But that, Hesina decided, was another problem for another night.

“What are you going to do in the dungeons, then?” Lilian was asking when Hesina emerged from her thoughts. “Examine his rod?”

Caiyan cleared his throat.

Hesina patted Lilian on the arm. “I’d save you the honors.” “I’m holding you to that.”

“It’s late, milady,” said Caiyan, changing the subject. “The prisoners won’t be going anywhere. Wait for tomorrow, when your mind is clearer.”

Don’t wait, growled the fear in Hesina’s belly. She’d been too late to save her father, too late to stop news of his “natural death” from circulating the kingdom.

But Caiyan had a point. The night was balmy with the last of the summer heat, and Hesina’s senses had begun to fog. Their trip into the red-light district felt like it’d taken place an eon ago, and she couldn’t hold back her yawn when they reached the Western Palace, home to the imperial artisans.

Under a medallion-round moon, Lilian bade them good night. The woodwork of her latticed doors was stained fuchsia and gold, bright like the textiles strewn, hung, and piled within. It was like looking into another world, a too-short glimpse of a life Hesina could not have. The doors slid shut, and Hesina and Caiyan continued on, traveling under the covered galleries that converged like arteries at the Eastern Palace, the largest of the four and the heart of court. The sunk-in ceilings dropped lower as they passed the ceremonial halls of the outer palace, the corridors narrowing as they approached the inner.

Caiyan stopped Hesina short of the imperial chambers. “Lilian and I will stand by you no matter what you choose to do.”

The words were bittersweet, reminding Hesina of something her father might say.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Caiyan hadn’t doubted the gas in her vial. She’d run to his rooms in hysterics and he’d sat her down and outlined her options. Steady, reliable Caiyan, a friend, a brother, who received her gratitude with a short bow. “Get some sleep, milady.”

“You too.” But then Caiyan headed in the direction of the libraries, which made Hesina doubt he would.

Alone, she made for her chambers. The path to the imperial quarters was intentionally convoluted, designed to confuse intruders. Tonight, Hesina felt no better than one as the knit of lacquer corridors enmeshed her within the screened facades. Some of the images stitched upon the translucent silk were of water buffalo tilling rice paddies, but most were of the Eleven’s revolution. Gold thread fleshed out the flames engulfing the soothsayers and shimmered in the pool of blood spreading from the relic emperor’s severed head.

Hesina’s breath went ragged. Don’t fear the pictures, Little Bird, her father would have said. They’re simply art. But now she was as bad as the emperors of the past. She had used a sooth. Worse, her true heart sympathized, and she was too cowardly to speak it.

Hesina tried to look ahead. A mistake. The list of tasks awaiting her was daunting. Find the convict with the rod. Persuade Xia Zhong to choose him as her representative. Secure her mother’s blessing and commence her reign by telling the people their king had been murdered.

She would be an unforgettable queen—if she didn’t die by a thousand cuts first.

As Hesina neared her chamber, her blood slowed to a crawl. Light was seeping out from under the doors. She’d blown out all her candles—she was sure of it—which could mean only one thing:

Someone was inside.

Pulse fluttering, she laid a hand atop the carved wood. Her options were few. Walk away, and her visitor would think she’d been gone all night. Enter, and she’d have no choice but to explain her whereabouts.

On second thought, perhaps she hadn’t blown out her candles. Hesina very much hoped that was the case as she pushed in.

“Sanjing?” Her mouth fell open while the doors swung shut. “What are you doing here?”

Candlelight rippled off the scales of her blood brother’s laminar armor as he rose from her daybed. He was still in full military dress, hair pinned in a sloppy topknot, curved liuyedao sheathed at his leather broad-belt.

He stalked past her embroidered screens and around her sitting table. “You first, dear sister. What have you been doing elsewhere?”

He closed in. Too late, Hesina realized the state of her appearance—brown cloak, wild eyes, the fumes of sin city clinging to her hair.