Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

“Shall I go to the piaohao?” I asked.

“If you like.”

It took a mighty effort not to stomp away, cursing. Instead, I blew out a breath (quietly) and counted to a hundred. “I would like that. And would you like to pack our gear?”

“Yes.”

One small word, as cold as an entire blizzard.

What did I do wrong? All I did was kiss her. Twice. I thought she liked kissing.

Chen didn’t even bother to say anything. Deep inside, I felt his presence, but nothing more. Maybe he didn’t understand girls either.

In spite of our not exactly speaking to each other, we were awake and ready long before dawn the next day. One vendor had opened his stall early, and from him, we bought a hot breakfast, which neither of us felt like eating. As soon as the royal watch opened the doors, we left.

Crews of workers had cleared away the snow our griffin had not melted with his magic. More snow trickled down from the leaden clouds, but already patches of a silvery sky showed through, and a faint sunlight glittered off the remaining ice and snow. The magic flux ran stronger, too, because the lifts were running smooth and quick, taking us up to the highway in moments instead of hours.

We headed south in cold and determined silence. Three hours later, we reached a point where the highway split into five different directions. One large black stone pillar marked the main highway south. Three smaller tracks looped back toward Snow Thunder City and other points east. The fifth one wound up the mountain slope to the next narrow goat trail heading almost directly west.

“South?” I said.

“No. East.”

“Won’t they expect us to head east? I mean—”

“West then. I don’t care.”

I glanced over. Yún glared back, tight-lipped, her eyes unnaturally bright.

“West,” I said. “Sounds good to me.”

The pony whuffed horse-curses under its breath, but didn’t balk, even when the goat trail vanished into an expanse of bare rock. Hours later, we’d gained a point high above the same highway. Yún called for a stop, and I wasn’t going to argue.

I’m tired of arguing. I’m tired of this trip. I just want to find Lian and go home.

We rubbed the pony down and fed Yao-guài dried beef. I pulled off my boots and massaged my feet. How many weeks since I’d left Lóng City? Five, at least. Maybe six. I’d lost track through all the storms. Meanwhile, Yún was staring over the edge of our cliff at something far away. She’d found a new way to ignore me, I thought. Then, she gave a muffled exclamation.

“What is it?” I asked.

She motioned for me to be quiet.

I crept quietly to her side and peered over the ledge. The cliff dropped straight down to a jumble of snow-whitened rock and dirt and scrub below. It was hard to make out anything in the patchwork of gray and brown and the bright glare of sunlight on snow. I wiped the tears from my eyes and stared harder.

Then I saw it. The highway marker we’d left three hours before. A few spots along the highway itself were visible farther along. But what snagged my attention were the five black figures circling around the marker.

Yún rummaged in her pack and took out a long round cylinder fashioned out of a dull gray metal. Both ends were capped with glass lenses. Brass rings circled the cylinder all along its length. There was a whiff of magic and science about the thing. She set the glass against one eye and aimed its other end at the stone marker. With her free hand, she twisted the brass rings, then hissed with satisfaction.

“May I see?” I whispered cautiously.

She shot me a glare, but handed me the cylinder.

It took me a few tries, but all of a sudden, the stone pillar leapt straight at me, large and crisply clear. All its markings were as easy to read as if I stood right beside it.

Without warning, a dark brown shadow blotted out the pillar. I jumped.

“What is it?” Yún asked quietly.

“I can’t tell yet.”