Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

YÚN NEVER DID call. A couple of hours later, I broke down and decoded the instructions for the talk-system. They’d been written by a second-class technical writer, I thought, squinting at the manual. Or someone with a terrible sense of humor. Whatever. I finally managed to convince the blasted monstrosity to connect me with Yún.

The system chimed a couple times, then a bland voice informed me the young mistress had requested privacy.

I clicked off the talk-system with a loud, unsatisfying smack of my hand.

Peh. I guess we didn’t really have a truce.

I wanted Yún. I wanted Chen. I even wanted that horrible monster Yao-guài.

Except no one wants me back.

Feeling extra sorry for myself, I ordered an early dinner, which I choked down alone in the dining room. Oh, yeah, I supposed it was delicious, but my stomach hurt too much to appreciate it. Same-same with the video cubes I pretended to watch until late at night. Eventually, I drifted off into a gray, fidgety sleep, filled with dreams about dissatisfied ghost dragons and noisy pigs. About the mercenaries screaming as they fell into the snowy abyss. About Yún’s blank expression when she turned away from my kiss, back in Golden Snowcloud.

Eventually, a soft chiming wormed itself into my dreams. A happy, irritating, persistent chiming that dragged me up through the sludge of bad dreams to the waking world.

Reluctantly, I opened one gritty eye.

Across the room, a small brass clock chirped. I tried swearing. That didn’t work. So much for voice commands. I tried swearing and firing a pillow at the blasted thing. The clock dodged me, still chiming. I stumbled to my feet, a second pillow in hand. Maybe I could smother it.

The clock gave an alarmed cry. Six jointed legs sprouted from its sides, and it skittered away from me. I gave chase.

“Stupid, cursed . . .”

Before I could catch up with the damned thing, a slot opened at the base of the wall, and the clock escaped through it. The next moment, something else scuttled into the room. It was a wide, flat, square box—brass, like the clock, but with a dozen tiny clawed feet poking out from all four edges. Once the thing reached the middle of the room, legs extended and popped into straight poles. The surface rolled back to show a tray with a small squat teapot and cup.

I muttered an insult under my breath. Remembered the microphones and cameras. Okay then. Let’s pretend to be polite, if only for Lian’s sake. I thumped down on the bed and poured myself a cup of tea. More creatures appeared from more slots. They skittered around, bringing me bowls of warm scented water, a toothbrush, fluffy towels, and even a couple of bottles of perfume. I scrubbed my face and cleaned my teeth, but ignored the perfume. No use scaring the girls. Then I skinned out of my old tunic and trousers and pulled on the clean ones that a dozen other spiders had laid out on my bed. I still wasn’t all awake, but at least I could face Mr. Sleek and his hundred friends.

I punched the button beside my door. It slid open with a whispered admonition.

Yún was waiting for me outside. Well, no, she wasn’t waiting. She paced from point to point, her hands clasped behind her back, while Yao-guài watched from atop a doorframe. Neither of them looked happy, but then I wasn’t, either.

“Nice nap,” I said bitterly. “Have another, why don’t you?”

Yún whirled around. Her eyes were bright with tears. Immediately she drew a hand over her face. “Kai.”

(Peh! I am such a jerk.)

I didn’t even need Chen to tell me that one.

“Yún—”

She made a quick gesture of denial. “Not your fault. It’s Qi. I tried to find her. All yesterday. All night. I . . . couldn’t.”

A waterfall of cold rippled through me. “So did I. I mean, I tried to find Chen. Just once. It—something—threw me back into this world.”

“Same here,” Yún whispered. “We need to ask Lian about those palace protection spells.”

“Or not. We’ll be gone soon enough.”

She nodded, but her face was clearly miserable.

We rang the bell to summon an escort. A runner appeared in an eyeblink. She took us along a different path—through an airy gallery with ancient statues, up a small back staircase, to another corridor that emptied out beside the princess’s door. Once there, she handed us over to a liveried servant who led us into a small sunlit parlor.

The mood of the two people inside the parlor was anything but sunny.

“. . . there cannot be an excuse,” Lian whispered in a low furious tone. “The emperor himself—”

“Your Highness—”