Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

Yún’s only answer was a snort of laughter.

We drank down our tea, wincing at its bitterness. Gradually the warmth spread to my toes and fingers. I swallowed a yawn and looked around for our serving boy and the curry. No sign of him or the innkeeper, though I heard a crash and clatter from the kitchen.

Yún unfolded one of her maps and frowned. She didn’t answer my next question, so I wandered over to the windows. An icy wind leaked around the shutters. I heard a far-off booming, like the dull echo of thunder. Yún said the kingdom’s name came from all the avalanches in the region. We’d have to be careful once we set off again.

I glanced over my shoulder. Yún and I were still the only ones in the common room. I pulled my talk-phone from inside my shirt. My heart tripped faster as I tapped in the special code for Princess Lian’s talk-phone, the one she had entered herself the year before. Deep inside, I heard Chen snuffling—anxious—but he wisely did not say anything. He knew I’d tried this same number last week.

A weird hissing noise echoed from the talk-phone. I heard a clicking, then nothing.

Ai-ai, where are you, Lian?

“No use,” said a voice next to my elbow.

I jumped and hurriedly tucked my talk-phone into my pocket. “What?”

The serving boy jerked his chin toward my shirt. “That. Your talk-phone.” He dumped a tray with my bowl of goat curry on the nearest table. “It’s no use trying to call anyone. We got no magic flux, not until spring.”

That got my attention. “Why?”

“Don’t you know? It’s because—”

“Hei! Boy!” shouted the innkeeper. “Get your lazy bones over here.”

The serving boy snapped his mouth shut and scurried away. The innkeeper grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him to the far corner of the common room, where the two of them squabbled at each other in low tense voices. The innkeeper glanced toward me once—his eyebrows flashed down to a point over his fleshy nose—then back to his hapless serving boy. He hissed something in a wordless undertone, and the boy scuttled away through the kitchen doors.

Nosy old man, I thought.

He’s angry, Chen grunted. No, he’s afraid. But I don’t know about what.

Maybe he thinks the storm will knock down his miserable inn.

Chen snorted a laugh. Maybe.

He did a quick fade from my mind, leaving me to my bowl of curry. It wasn’t so bad, I thought, chewing a cautious mouthful. Whoever did the cooking knew a lot about spices. Or they’d bought a package of standard kitchen spells. But then I remembered what the serving boy said about the magic flux, and that meant no spells, pre-packaged or not. I chewed another mouthful, thinking hard. I’d heard how a magic well could go dry, or how a disturbance might alter the currents the flux followed through the air, but how could anyone predict the magic would return next spring?

I finished my curry and yawned. It was only midafternoon, but the light slanting through the shutters was dim and gray. Outside, the wind blew stronger, keening like a ghost. The inn shuddered and seemed to shrink around me. I cleared a spot in front of me and rested my head on my hands.

The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me roughly. “Kai! Kai, wake up!”

I bolted upright and nearly fell over. Yún grabbed my arm and shoved me back into my seat.

It was pitch-dark outside. We were alo

ne in the common room, which shimmered with an eerie yellow glow from an oil lamp overhead. As Yún turned toward the light, I could see a strange wild look in her eyes. “What is it?” I whispered.

“The griffin. Come with me.”

She hustled me through the corridor that connected the inn with the stables. Even though I told myself that nothing could be wrong, Yún’s urgency and the howling of the wind had infected me. My throat squeezed tight as I undid the latch and entered the stall, where we had stowed our animals and our gear.

Our pony cowered against the far wall, its dark eyes wide with reproach against us and the gods who had brought him to this terrible spot. Between us, a small feathered creature lay motionless in the straw. Next to it was a small smelly heap of half-digested stew.

My heart stopped at the sight, then lurched into motion again when the griffin stirred. “Did the serving boy—”

“I don’t think so.”

It’s not poisoned, Chen said. I would know. So would Qi.

“Poisoned or not, it’s dying,” Yún said flatly. “Kai, we must leave as soon as possible. The innkeeper tells me there’s a famous magical physician in the next valley, in Golden Starflower Waterfall. It’s nearly on our way.”