Descendant of the Crane(7)

She backed away, but her brother was quicker. He grabbed a handful of her cloak, frowning when his fingers met linen instead of silk. He brought the fabric to his nose, and her heart hammered. She tried to slow it. Sanjing was kin. He wouldn’t betray her to death by a thousand cuts.

“You went to the city. And you reek of incense.”

Hesina’s fear frayed into annoyance. She was the older sibling, and she drew herself up to her full and very average height. “Glad to know you care about my whereabouts. What next? Will you supervise who I speak to?”

“Why would I? You already have a devoted chaperone.” Sanjing released the cloak, and Hesina retreated to her desk. “Or should I say, manservant.”

She straightened her paperwork. Decrees, proposals, memorials—all matters that fell to her while she acted as unofficial queen before the coronation, and in the absence of her mother’s blessing. But no matter how Hesina concentrated, she couldn’t stop trembling. Elevens. Why did Sanjing have to be here, now of all times? “His name is Caiyan.”

“Really? I still prefer the sound of manservant. Has a nice ring to it.”

Her hands stilled on a copy of the Tenets. It was solid, thick with hundreds of essays on the Eleven’s beliefs. It withstood the pressure of her fingers as she dug them into the spine.

She could be cruel. Dredge up the past they’d both agreed to bury, say the words guaranteed to drive him away. But in the end, she simply set down the tome with a heavy thump. “Why are you here, Jing?”

“Again: why weren’t you?”

“I went to find justice.”

“For?”

Her limbs were cold, her head heavy. She was too tired for this. Maybe that’s why she told the truth. “Father.”

She drew the vial from the folds of her cloak. The golden gas shimmered in the candlelight.

“What is that?” asked Sanjing, squinting.

“Poison.”

He hissed in a breath. “Why am I learning this now?”

“You really thought he died from natural causes?”

“I didn’t think the Imperial Doctress had a reason to lie.” Sanjing scrubbed a hand over his face. “Six’s bones. What are we going to do?”

Hesina’s hopes lifted at the we, but it wasn’t enough. The better question was what could they do. It was their word and a vial against a kingdom already convinced its king had passed peacefully. Again, she needed the throne. She needed power. Once she had both: “Open an investigation.”

“With the Bureau?”

“Where else but the Bureau?”

Sanjing narrowed his eyes. “What about the war?”

“What about the war?” Then Hesina caught herself. “Don’t call it that.”

“What would you rather call it? A pissing match?” She cast him a warning glance, and he responded, “We’re alone, Sina.” Sanjing planted his hands on the desk, boxing in the space between them. “What we call it doesn’t change the nature of the ‘bandit raids’ along the Yan-Kendi’a border. They’re planned attacks from Kendi’a, and the commoners will realize that sooner or later.”

“They mustn’t.” The Tenets forbade war, and understandably so. The relic emperors had conscripted hundreds of thousands of serfs to wage extravagant campaigns against the other kingdoms of Ning, Ci, and Kendi’a, and the commoners of this era hadn’t forgotten the bloodshed. They praised Sanjing whenever he won skirmishes—skirmishes being key. Every century or so, some Yan king or queen would disregard the Eleven’s pacifist teachings and decree war, sending hamlets and provinces across the realm into revolt.

“Yan has water,” said Sanjing. “Kendi’a does not. Their steppes grow drier and drier with the years. Invasion is inevitable, and we need to be ready to meet it with an army. The Tenets forbid wars fought for gain; we fight for self-defense. But starting a war and officially declaring that the king was murdered? Don’t you see the issue?”

No, Hesina did not. “The people will want to know who killed their king,” she said, more certain of this than anything else.

Her brother’s eyes flashed. “They’ll want a scapegoat, Sina.”

“They’re better than that.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Father loved them.” In the same way he loved her—regardless of her flaws, teaching by example.

“Father wasn’t always right.”

Hesina stared at her brother as she would a stranger. When had they grown so far apart that they’d stopped seeing eye to eye on this too?

“We should start by examining the poison on our own,” Sanjing continued. “Find the truth for ourselves—”

“What’s wrong with you?” Hesina hadn’t shouted, but Sanjing stiffened as if she had. “Why do you have so little faith in our court?”

His expression hardened. “Because of this.”

He tugged papers out from under his breastplate and tossed them onto her desk. They spread like the wings of a crane, scattering on impact. Some landed on the floor.

Under the heat of Sanjing’s gaze, Hesina bent and gathered the papers that had fallen. She stacked them with the rest, shuffling everything into place, and grudgingly gave her attention to the contents.