Descendant of the Crane(9)

Now most of the cells were empty. The handful of sooths who had escaped execution either lived like the Silver Iris or had scattered to the far reaches of the other three kingdoms. Only common criminals remained, such as the robber across from Hesina.

They sat in an old interrogation chamber, perfectly soundproofed for private conversations but aesthetically compromised by the bloodstains on the wall. The convict slumped in his chair, mute as a toad. His head was cast down, a shock of brown hair curtained over his eyes, making it hard to tell what he was feeling or thinking—or if he was even breathing. At least, in this way, Hesina couldn’t see his bruises and lament over the terrible first impression she’d made.

Nothing had gone as planned. Convicts weren’t allowed personal possessions, and the gnarled, crooked rod discovered in the robber’s cell apparently qualified as such. Hesina had stopped the guards from crushing it under their boots, but she’d been too late to spare the robber from their fists. Now she placed the rod on the table between them. She hoped—yet doubted—the peace offering would be enough.

The convict took the rod without a word.

Hesina cleared her throat. “Forgive me.” She hedged on the side of sounding overly formal. She didn’t want her emotions to betray her as they had in front of the Silver Iris. “I know this is all very”—strange—“sudden.”

Silence.

“You must have many questions.”

Evidently not.

With a breath, Hesina began to explain the circumstances of her father’s death. The words came slowly, then fast, tearing out of her as if they, too, were trying to outrun that day in the gardens.

She finished by describing the golden poison. Her chest heaved for air.

“As you can tell, the king didn’t die a natural death, contrary to what the decrees…” Did convicts look at decrees? “What the rest of the kingdom knows. Once I open an investigation, the Bureau will see the truth in the evidence. When they forward the case to the court, I’ll need a representative, and”—how long could she beat around the bush?—“well, when that time comes, would you be willing? To be that representative?”

Silence upon silence upon silence.

Hesina’s hands went clammy. She took inventory of other things, like the color of the convict’s hair. It was a brown like clay, at least three shades lighter than the lamp-black fuzz Yan babies were born with.

Maybe he wasn’t Yan. Maybe he couldn’t understand a thing she’d said. It wouldn’t be the first wrench in her plans, but it’d be the most unfortunate. How was she to make him appear like an examinee hopeful if he wasn’t literate?

“Excuse me.” Hesina whispered, as if he were dozing and she didn’t want to wake him. “You do understand the language, don’t y—”

Her breath hitched as his gaze snapped up.

Beneath all the swelling and discoloration, the robber was surprisingly young. His eyes, like his hair, were oddly pigmented, gray as stone, impenetrable as they captured hers.

Without warning, he took her right hand. She almost yelped as he pressed a finger to her palm and drew out the shaky characters of the common tongue.

I AM A LOWLY MERCHANT ROBBER. I CAN’T HELP YOU.

This was a start. “I’ll support you in any way that I can.”

WHY ME?

WHY SEARCH?

WHY THE ROD?

His grasp tightened as her hand closed. Cocking his head to the side, he examined her. He tapped on her knuckles, and after fighting to pace her racing heart, Hesina reluctantly uncurled her fingers.

YOU CAN’T SAY.

The writing stopped, then continued.

HOW WILL YOU TRUST ME WHEN YOU DON’T TRUST YOURSELF?

Gone were the uneven strokes and crude lines of someone unfamiliar with the language.

He was one to speak of trustworthiness. “Honesty on matters of the trial is all I ask for,” Hesina said with confidence she didn’t feel. Could he see the secrets she held under her tongue? Or had the lies stained her teeth?

AND IF I REFUSE TO BE YOUR REPRESENTATIVE?

“Then you refuse.” Her stomach dropped when she imagined the scenario—having courted treason all night only to walk away empty-handed. “You have that right.”

A PERSON OF PRINCIPLE.

WHO LIES FOR THE TRUTH.

Hesina held his impassive gaze. Well? she thought as the seconds passed and it became clear that he’d seen her for who she truly was. Her father had taught her honesty, but deception had been her first language. Well? Can you work with a hypocrite?

He drew the characters slower this time, as if he was making up his mind. He lifted his finger, and Hesina hardly dared to breathe. She looked down, even though the words were invisible, and searched for an answer in the tingles of his touch.

DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DUEL?



“A duel?” asked Caiyan after Hesina recounted her conversation with the convict.

It was the next day. After morning court, they’d met in the king’s study, sitting around a zitan game table on squat, jade stools carved to resemble napa cabbage heads.

“Yes, a duel.” Hesina considered the pieces on the ivory xiangqi board. “He said he’d only represent me if I won.”

“He’s mocking you,” concluded Lilian. “Or flirting with you. Or both.”

“His motives are unclear,” rephrased Caiyan. “But if he didn’t want to represent you, he wouldn’t have set terms at all. What do you think, milady?”