I couldn’t tell what discombobulated me the most—Danzu giving orders like a merchant king, or the innkeeper bowing and babbling and running to obey those orders. Soon enough the inn’s servants herded us into a spacious private chamber with a roaring fire, dry clothes, and a vid-screen piping soft pre-recorded music. Two more chambers had been made ready, their bathtubs brimming with steaming scented water.
We took turns soaking until feeling returned to our fingers and toes. In the meantime, Danzu had sent word to the kitchens. More servants appeared with platters of barley pilaf, flatbread stuffed with lamb’s meat and spices, and pots of fresh tea. Danzu hovered over us—Lian in particular—asking if we were warm and comfortable, assuring us that he would beat that miserable innkeeper if we were not satisfied with our meal. He had changed from his robe and morning gown into an equally elegant tunic and trousers. Now that we weren’t frozen and dying, I finally realized how strange it was to find him outside Lóng City, away from his new street gang.
Suspicious, I stared at him. “What are you doing here any way?”
He coughed delicately. “Business.”
“Oh, right. Street rats and smugglers always prance around in blizzards—”
“I am not a smuggler—”
“Quiet!”
That was Yún.
My mouth snapped shut. So did Danzu’s. Old habit dyed into our skins.
Yún glared at us. “Stop fighting. Stop acting like stupid brats. Okay?” She exhaled slowly, as though her own temper weren’t so calm. “Good. Now. Danzu, tell us why you’re out here. Better, tell us where here is.”
Danzu’s mouth dropped open again. “Um, we’re in Lake of the Blue Jewel.”
Lake of the Blue Jewel was a tiny city-kingdom northeast of Lóng City. That meant we were less than half a day’s journey from home. I frowned. Why hadn’t Nuó dumped us outside Lóng City’s gates? Or even in the palace itself? Or maybe...
Lian had that thoughtful look, the one that said she read more from our circumstances than I could. “It’s lucky we met you,” she said. “As the philosophers say, it is always better to enter a conflict with knowledge. You know I’ve been absent from Lóng City almost a year. Please tell me how the kingdom sits these days.”
Danzu took a minute to answer. He was going to break terrible news, I knew it. Lian must have suspected the same. Her expression never faltered, but I could see how the pulse at her throat fluttered.
“Your father is alive,” he said.
(Lian let an almost soundless exclamation escape.)
“He’s very sick,” he continued.
(Her fingers tightened around Quan’s hand.)
“He can’t talk,” Danzu went on. “And the physicians don’t let the councilors and ministers spend much time in his chambers. They say . . .” He stopped and turned dark with embarrassment. “It’s just gossip, your Highness. Nothing worth bothering about.”
“Tell me what they say,” Lian said. “I must know.”
Her gaze locked with his. Danzu flinched and licked his lips. My own heart thumped in sympathy. It was easy to think of Lian as a friend. Never a commoner like me, never someone ordinary, but a companion in flight from the evil bad guys. It was easy to forget that she was a royal princess, the heir to Lóng City’s throne.
Except now, when you could see a hundred years of responsibility in her dark eyes.
Danzu looked absolutely queasy by now. He blew out a shaky breath, and when he spoke, his voice wasn’t anything like the snarky kid I knew. “They say . . . They say the king is trapped in spells, your Highness. Some say it’s because he allowed you to study abroad. Children should not dictate to their elders, and all that. Some—a lot more—say you abandoned your city and your throne for the Phoenix Empire. They say that is why you never answered the Guild Council’s messages about your father.”
“I never received those messages,” Lian whispered. Her expression smoothed out into a royal mask. “What else?” she said. “The council cannot do anything without my father’s consent, or mine. Or . . . No, you heard more?”
“It’s the Guild Council,” Danzu said. “They intend to hold a special conference next week to . . . to . . .” He took a nervous swallow. “To decide who takes the throne.”
The Guild Council had that power, written into Lóng City’s laws centuries ago, ever since they ended the Interregnum and allowed Prince Xiang back on the throne. Only one queen—Queen Mae-wan, the grand-niece of Prince Xiang—ever tried to overthrow that law. Old tales say the ghost dragons joined with the Guild Council and turned Mae-wan into the very first gargoyle.
Quan clasped her hands within his, and she leaned toward him in whispered conversation. For a moment it was as though they had closed out the world. I wished I could read the story of their past year together.
I wasn’t the only person watching. Danzu eyed them closely, as though trying to figure out how to make a profit from this new secret. Then his gaze caught mine. I scowled and drew one finger across my wrist. Danzu shrank into his chair, more like the street rat I knew from the old days. Okay, so he’d changed, but he was still the same old Danzu underneath.
“Danzu,” Lian said, recalling us both, “I have yet another favor to ask you. I must reach Lóng City before the Guild Council meets. And I would do so quietly. Do you understand?”
Danzu smirked. “Absolutely, Your Highness.”