“Try it,” I said.
Quan and I exchanged pleasant glances. His eyebrows lifted, clearly suspicious, but he held out two fingers to Yao-guài.
The griffin gently nibbled at the offered fingertips. Its eyes gleamed and it snapped.
Quan jerked his hand back and sucked on his fingers. He studied the griffin with increased respect. “I see where you got the name,” he said. “Little monster.”
Yún chuckled. “It’s the fish oil on your fingers, I think.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.” She gathered Yao-guài into her arms. “Now, what about Lian? We need to talk to her right away. Kai has a talk-phone, but we’ve had trouble using Lian’s number.”
“And I bet the wizards here spike the lines,” I added.
“They do,” Quan said. “Let me think.”
He rubbed his bitten finger absentmindedly, as though he were running through a dozen or more possibilities. Like a doctor making his diagnosis, I thought. Or a spy figuring through which plans would work and what to do if they didn’t.
No, not a spy. A nobleman used to courts and intrigue.
“We could send a message,” he said at last. “By hand is best.”
“A courier?” Yún asked.
“No. I have some friends I trust.”
He brought out a writing kit and paper. For a moment, he frowned at the paper, then brushed a note swiftly and sloppily. The message, which he showed to us both, told Lian that a friend in Lóng City had sent her a gift she had long desired in her heart. If she wished to accept the package, she should arrange for the messengers to be admitted to the palace. I also noticed he didn’t sign the message.
The note went to a child in the courtyard below. Thereafter, Quan told us, it would make its way across the city to a certain trusted runner inside the palace.
“What if you can’t trust this runner?” I asked.
“I can. She won’t say anything. I know her.”
Yún’s eyebrows lifted. “Another cousin?”
“I have several,” Quan said mildly.
His answer did nothing to ease the anxious twinges in my stomach, but I couldn’t argue without giving away our news for Lian. And no matter how friendly he was, I couldn’t quite trust him. Once we reached Lian, we didn’t have to.
Two hours later, the reply came back: Bring me the package at once, please. I will make certain the gates open to you. Lian.
The trip took an hour by tram, in between stops and transfers and blockages. Quan had politely insisted on coming, even though Yún insisted back—not quite so politely—that it wasn’t necessary. Most of the time, I pretended to doze in my seat, but I was watching Quan from half-closed eyes. Something had changed. He wasn’t the stiff, cautious young man we’d first met. He looked nervous, and that made me nervous, too.
The tram jerked to a halt in the middle of a crowded square. At the north end, a high wall stretched the entire width of the plaza. Behind it came a series of huge buildings, fat towers, and skinny towers, all of them capped with gold-plated roofs shaped like fancy pastries. From everywhere at once came the strong, taut sense of magic. Those were no ordinary protection spells. Those would pluck any thought of danger from my mind and crisp my body to ash before I could even clear my throat to work a spell or plan a misdeed.
The palace.
Quan tapped my arm, recalling me. “This way.”
He took us along the wall and around the corner to a smaller gate flanked by dozens of guards. All of them were dressed in sober gray. All had the imperial insignia of a blazing phoenix embroidered over their chests, and the usual assortment of stun pistols and daggers. Several, those with gems above the insignia or embedded in their ears, carried long curved sabers.
Quan approached the senior guard and bowed. A flash of electronics from the guard’s eyes told me our images were being recorded. Nervously, I shifted on my feet until Yún hissed at me to keep still. Quan was talking to the guard, but his voice was too low for me to make out the words. Then I heard the words “gift” and “package.”
The guard beckoned us to approach. “Show me this gift,” he said.
“It’s a magical beast,” Quan said smoothly. “Apprentice Yún?”