Yún took the griffin from inside her shirt and let the guard examine him. Yao-guài hissed and ruffled his feathers, but allowed the guard to look him over, only snapping once when the man lifted his tail.
“Very well,” the guard said, returning the griffin to Yún’s arms. He flicked open the talk-phone on his wrist and spoke some nonsense words. Coded instructions, I guessed, because a runner appeared almost right away.
First, we had to stop inside a small stuffy room, where more guards recorded our faces and fingerprints. After that, the runner took us through a small set of doors into a very plain corridor—a service passageway, from the looks. Gray stone walls. Gray stone floors. The air felt warm and close, as if we were a hundred li underground. A series of lamps overhead slowly rotated on their stems, following us as we passed by.
The corridor ended in an empty room with low ceilings and a railing around its three walls. The minute we stepped inside, a door slid shut behind us. None opened in front.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Magic lift,” Quan said.
“But we’re—”
The runner pressed a series of buttons on a small inset panel. Abruptly my stomach dropped to my toes. I lurched sideways, just in time for Yún to lurch into me. Quan and the runner had both braced themselves against the wall.
One sudden stop. Another lurch toward the side. My ears were buzzing from all the magic, my insides were crawling up through my throat, and all I wanted to do was pound on the door and scream for someone to let me out of this hideous trap.
With another whooping change of direction, the magic faded slowly away, while it felt as though the room was sliding slowly across a level surface. I swallowed my stomach back to its proper place. Yún didn’t look any less unnerved than I did. The wretched griffin, however, was chirping in excitement.
The same doors slid open to reveal another corridor.
“Did we actually go anywhere?” I croaked.
“Quite a distance,” Quan said. “Up five floors and across half the palace.”
To my relief, he wasn’t laughing at either of us. The runner had that blank servant’s expression that said he’d tell the story later to his friends. Probably with lots of exaggeration and jokes about the poor mountain peasants from up north.
“This way,” Quan said.
“You say that a lot,” I growled.
Yún smiled queasily, as though she
hadn’t recovered yet. “Slowly, please.”
We followed the runner past several large courtyards filled with blossoming trees, along a sunlit gallery, through more halls and chambers. Finally, we stopped before a small set of doors, decorated with tiny enameled panels depicting folk tales of the mountain kingdoms.
The runner touched a wall panel of silver webbing. Soft chimes sounded from within. Very quickly, a woman in the emperor’s livery opened the door. “The princess expects you,” she said, gesturing for us to enter.
We came into an airy, six-sided entryway. I only had time to take in the silk hangings; the miniature fountain carved from a block of jade, with more jade figures set all about its rim; and a scent that reminded me of mountains and home, before a voice called out. “Kai! Yún!”
Lian ran toward us. She hugged Yún first, me next. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said fervently. “I’ve missed faces from home. I missed yours.” She hugged me again, so fiercely it left me breathless. My throat contracted as I realized we would be bringing her no good news from that home she missed so much.
A musky scent tickled my nose. A fox-shaped shadow glided past us. Jun, Lian’s fox-spirit, circled us once and paused, her nose pointed toward the doorway behind us. Her muzzle wrinkled into a snarl.
Abruptly Lian drew back. Her gaze traveled past us to Quan. All the joy vanished from her face. “You,” she said. She drew up stiff and straight, once more the cold, remote princess I remembered from the first time we met.
Quan flinched. “Your Highness.”
“You did not write that note,” Lian said. “I know your handwriting. Or were you lying with your brush? The way you lied to me before, with words and deeds.”
“Lian, I wasn’t lying. I—”
Jun cut him off with a growl.
“Go,” Lian said coldly. “Thank you for bringing my friends, but go.”
Quan’s face flushed. He swept into a deep bow, his manner as formal as Lian’s. Without another word, he backed out of the entry hall. Jun flickered out of sight, back to the unseen world of the spirit companions.