Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

Quan looked puzzled at first, then laughed. “Hardly. We met in lectures. Magical Philosophy and Ethical Applications. Would you like sugar for your tea?”

Yún made a face. “Who puts sugar in their tea?”

“Barbarians,” Quan said. “We had several exchange students from tribes in the far northeast. Interesting customs. One of my cousins lives in the outer provinces, and he tells me the most outrageous tales. Of course, he could be exaggerating.”

As he talked, he measured tea into a small teapot decorated with dragons that intertwined into a pattern making an even larger dragon. Soon he was pouring tea into three cups that looked as though they’d been cracked and mended several times over. A poor man, but I recognized the dishes as coming from a once-rich household. And the tea itself turned out to be a rare and delicious blend from the southern coastal cities. It had a delicate smoky flavor that chased away all my miseries in spite of myself. Quan explained that another cousin who lived on the coast sent him regular shipments. Meanwhile, Yún continued to ask polite questions about Quan and his studies, which he just as politely deflected.

She’s right, I thought. He’s hiding something.

We finished our tea. Quan smiled, but I could tell he was embarrassed. “I promised you dinner. There is only one difficulty.” He paused, cleared his throat. “You see, I meant to visit the markets today, but—”

“But you stopped to talk with us,” Yún finished for him. “Never mind. We have some leftovers from the train. Show me what you do have. Let’s see what we can cook up.”

Quan supplied rice, eggs, fresh leeks, and one lonely onion. We supplied our cartons of twice-cooked beef. It wasn’t easy, cooking for three (plus one hungry griffin) in that makeshift kitchen, but one burner, three pots, and two skillets later, we had a heaping bowl of what the snobs would call an unclassifiable meal.

As we cooked and ate, Quan told us funny stories about the university, his cousins (he had a hundred, at least), and Phoenix City itself. He never mentioned Lian again, nor did he talk about the emperor or his court. I expected Yún to ask more questions, but she didn’t. She laughed at Quan’s stupid jokes and convinced Yao-guài to accept tidbits from our host’s fingers. Only when Quan happened to glance away did I catch the calculating look in her eyes, and I knew she had not forgotten her own warning.

Once the meal was over, Quan nodded toward the stacks of pillows and blankets. “My bedroom is yours,” he told Yún over her protests. “I remade the bed with clean linens. Kai and I will be comfortable enough out here. The floor isn’t as hard as it looks.”

Yún glanced at me. I rolled my eyes. Reluctantly, she withdrew with our griffin. Quan set to work, laying out the cushions and blankets. I scowled at him. Are we supposed to like you now?

He glanced up and smiled pleasantly. “Doesn’t that hurt your face?”

That only made me scowl harder. “Why are you being so nice to us?” I demanded. “We don’t have any money, and we aren’t powerful nobles back in Lóng City. Anyway, what were you doing with those snobs from the university?”

“My father taught me to be helpful. It was a rule in our household. Besides, I remember when I first came to Phoenix City, years ago. Someone helped me then. It’s my turn now.”

/> I opened my mouth, shut it. Maybe that was enough to explain his kindness to us. Maybe, I thought, there was such a thing as a good coincidence. Maybe I should just keep watching.

IN SPITE OF everything, I slept like a twice-dead griffin. Once, close to dawn, I drifted up from muffled dreams to find Yao-guài nestled under my chin, his feathers tickling my nose. His breath was warm upon my wrist, and I could feel a steady heartbeat against my chest. Dead or revived? But sleep rolled over me once more, and I sank back into never-dreams.

Later, much later, I woke again to the murmuring of voices. Bright light slanted through the window shutters, and from far away came the familiar noises of early morning street traffic. Not yet, I mumbled.

A heavy weight thudded on my back. The griffin gave a bone-shaking screech and pecked at the back of my head.

“Time for breakfast, Kai,” Yún called out.

Bleary-eyed, I sat up.

Yún and Quan were both disgustingly wide awake. Yún was making tea, while Quan searched through the narrow closet that served as his pantry, muttering. “Rice, smoked fish, I thought I remembered buying more groceries last week. Ah, Kai, you’re awake. If you’d like a bath, you should hurry before the hot water runs out. The tub is just down the hall.”

Yún tossed a towel at me. “Take Yao-guài with you He’s stinky from yesterday. I think he’s molting, too. Here’s a comb.”

“What about soap?”

“I left some by the bathtub.”

I eyed the griffin. She was right. Yao-guài looked pretty shabby. No palace guard would let us inside with him the way he looked. Swallowing my grumbles, I captured him and stalked down the hall.

The bathroom was more like an extra-large closet, completely filled with a gigantic iron tub. A small sign listed the invocations to use for turning the water on and off, and adjusting the temperature. More magic, I thought uneasily, and of a kind I never expected to find outside a royal palace. You couldn’t use up magic flux, according to my mother, but you could wreck the currents by sucking away too much at one time.

Pretty soon I was too busy wrestling with a very uncooperative griffin to worry about magic or its misuse. By the time we finished with our baths and got back to the room, Yún and Quan had laid out breakfast. There were bowls of rice and curry, and a stack of yeasty cakes. Quan must have nipped out to an early market, I thought, as I gobbled down a handful.

Quan watched as Yún fed bits of rice and beef to Yao-guài. “You say he was dead?”

“Dead and stuffed,” I said. “My mother bought him from a wandering junk man.”

“Interesting,” Quan murmured. “There are some odd qualities about the magic, almost as if someone had cast several spells at once. Would he let me examine him?”