Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1) - Page 56

“Do. Not. Interrupt.”

The young man held the sheaf of papers against his chest like a shield, and tried again. “Your Highness, I know of the emperor’s wishes. I and my colleagues have spent the night searching for the correct paperwork and seals so that you and your entourage might depart Phoenix City with all dispatch, but I cannot—”

“You cannot conjure the necessary forms from the air. Yes, I know. Your office is overworked, the most important members of your staff absent to some mysterious conference in the northern provinces. You told me twice already.” Lian sighed. “How long, then?”

“If we can—”

“How long?”

He gulped back a breath. “Another day.”

Lian stared at him. “Very well,” she said slowly. “Tomorrow at sunrise, bring all the necessary permits to me. Or do you require longer?”

“Sunrise,” the young man stuttered. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Thank you. You may go now.”

The young man sidled past me and out the door. Farther away, another door opened and closed. Meanwhile, Lian flexed her hands and breathed out audibly. “My apologies.”

“For what?” Yún asked.

Her mouth twitched. “For being so . . . royal.” She sighed. “It’s not just the travel permits. The fastest wind-and-magic trains have a worker’s strike. They’ve reduced the number of trains running between Phoenix City and the borders. Even those had no seats or compartments to spare.”

“Do you believe that?” Yún said.

“I have no choice what I believe.” Lian made a visible effort and smiled at us. “Never mind that. Let us go to the parlor. The servants should have our breakfast ready by now.”

We retired into an intimate little dining room, where more liveried servants laid out platter after platter of this useless breakfast feast. Lian herself was polite and attentive throughout the meal—she asked us about our travels and about Yao-guài—but I could tell she wasn’t thinking about griffins or the raw fish and ginger creations the chef had arranged into intricate shapes just for the princess’s pleasu

re.

Yún was just as polite. She answered Lian’s questions about home. She asked her own questions about the university, the princess’s studies, and life in the Phoenix Court. It was like watching an old-fashioned play, where the actors gave formal speeches instead of just talking to each other. Of course, I knew the reason. Lian and Yún both knew about the microphones and spy machines. After an hour, however, even Yún was yawning.

“Would you like a tour of the palace?” Lian said, at last.

The servants were removing the last of our dishes.

I stopped myself from lunging forward in relief. Barely.

Yún was better. She patted her lips with a scented cloth napkin and smiled. “That would be delightful, Your Highness. Kai?”

“Sure,” I said. “The steward said we could ask him, though.”

“Nonsense,” Lian said. “You are my guests. I shall show you around myself.”

An hour later, I had it all figured out. The emperor didn’t need any protection spells. He let strangers wander around the palace until their feet dropped off. We saw tiny jewel-bright gardens, grand chambers set about with golden-leaf statuary and marble fountains, and even grander audience chambers. Lian knew everything about them, too. She could recite who had commissioned which terribly expensive tapestry to commemorate what glorious victory, and she could give the history behind every wing, from the dynasty to the architect.

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“Someone gave me a tour,” Lian said. “He—They explained everything to me. Would you like to see the library next? It’s small, but very quiet.”

Yún lifted her eyebrows. “I like quiet. Kai?”

“Splendiferous,” I muttered. “As long as I get to sit down.”

The library was a short distance away, down a spiraling staircase and through a hallway lined with old tapestries from the empire’s earliest days. Lian led us through a pair of double doors, into a brightly lit entryway. Shelves of books and scrolls rose up to the curved ceiling overhead. Through another pair of doors, past several desks, I could see more bookshelves extending into the distance.

An elderly man approached and bowed. “Your Highness.”

Tags: Beth Bernobich Lóng City Fantasy
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