Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

I dropped the bucket and fell to my knees next to Yún. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried to stand up, fell back with a groan.

“It’s your shoulder, isn’t it?” I said bluntly. “You were so busy worrying about Yao-guài, you forgot to worry about yourself.”

I unbuttoned Yún’s shirt and pulled the bandage away. The wound had closed completely since I last examined her, but sure enough, the scar puckered angrily and the skin surrounding it had turned a bright red. I cupped my hand gently over her shoulder. Thank all the gods in heaven, her skin wasn’t fever hot, just overly warm.

Oh but there were all kinds of warm in the world.

Yún turned her face toward mine, eyes wide and dark. Her lips were a few inches away, no more. Her breath feathered my cheek. Blood rushed into my face as the world dropped away from everything except the two of us, alone in the stall. No ghost dragons, I thought confusedly. Nothing to interrupt us now.

Without me thinking, my hand strayed down even as I leaned forward to kiss her.

“No.” Yún jerked her face away. “No, Kai.”

All the warmth vanished in the sudden chill. Yún closed her eyes tight, and her face went deadly still. As if Yún herself had vanished deep inside.

I rocked back onto my heels and stood. Swung around so Yún couldn’t see my flushed face.

She’s embarrassed. She never meant to kiss me back that first time. And now she’s scared of what I might do.

“The water has magic,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “You should drink some.”

Whether she did or not, I had no idea. Yao-guài chirped loudly, demanding attention. I gathered him into my arms and carried him to his nest of blankets. Still too weak from lack of magic, he squirmed and protested in soft complaining warbles, but he didn’t do more than nip at my hands as I tucked the cloth around him. Chen said nothing. He didn’t need to. By the time I finished, Yún had already curled up in her blanket, her back toward me. I did the same, ready to pretend sleep until it came for real.

8

I WOKE TO THE SMOTHERING GRAY HALF-LIGHT OF morning. The air was chilly and close; it smelled of wood smoke and a hundred leftover meals.

Yún was

still asleep. I resisted the impulse to touch her wrist, her cheek. I’m sorry, I thought. I’m sorry I’m such a horrible, selfish friend.

A soft, snuffling piggy inside my head. Then, You are too hard on yourself.

Maybe I’m not hard enough. That’s what my mother always said.

Chen snorted, but he didn’t say anything else. I fed the pony and, picking up a sling basket from our gear, headed out to the indoor market to fetch something for breakfast.

Snow trickled down from the smoke vents. The magicians had extinguished the lamps, leaving only the pale, pale light from the openings, and a dank breeze drifted through the cavern. I bought a flask of hot tea from one vendor, a bowl of spiced noodles from another, and tucked them into my basket. Radios played in the market square. The flux ran strong here, I could tell, because there wasn’t the usual crackle and sputter. A few even relayed news and vids from kingdoms as far away as the Khamsang provinces, way up north, but most were tuned to local weather stations. I listened as I poked around a few more stalls, looking for something the griffin might eat.

“. . . weather wizards predict five more days of heavy snowfall . . .”

“. . . bursts of dangerously high winds . . .”

“. . . all freight lifts closed and magic-locked by royal decree . . .”

Five days locked underground. I shuddered at the idea. Sure, we could eat well, but nothing in this underground city was cheap. As I counted out more and more coins, I thought we would have to visit a piaohao soon.

One of the vendors sold grilled lamb mixed with rice. I bought enough for one small but hungry griffin (recently dead), then headed back toward our stall. Yún would be awake by now. Whether she was talking to me was something else.

Golden Snowcloud’s cavern was laid out like a checkerboard, with different squares for markets, others for warehouses, livestock pens, guard barracks, offices for the royal bureaucracy, and anything you could imagine, plus a lot more. There was even a palace of sorts. Small, but then the Golden Snowcloud outside was tiny as well. In the middle lay a wide open square with the city wells, which the royal wizards had dug into the rock centuries ago.

I was crossing the center square, when I heard an uproar—shouts, the clatter of boots, and then the shrill cry of some unnatural beast.

Trouble, Chen grunted in my ear.

He didn’t need to say more. I knew that screech. It was Yao-guài. The crowds were already streaming toward the quadrant where the livestock and stables were located. I slung the basket of food over on shoulder and thrust myself into the middle of the swarming, milling mass of bodies. Another screech launched my heart into my throat. All kinds of explanations tumbled through my head, none of them happy ones.