Fox and Phoenix (Lóng City 1)

“Not in your case.”

I tried several different replies, but it took a while before my voice worked properly. “If I’m your friend, what about Yún? And the others?”

“Yún and I have spoken already. If you wish to know how I rewarded her, you must ask her yourself. Gan will receive a purse of gold and a promotion. So will the guards he brought. As for Jing-mei and Danzu, they come to me tomorrow for an audience. There are certain matters to forgive. Nothing that we cannot achieve.”

Kings and queens spoke a peculiar language, my mother always said. “Forgive” could mean any number of things, from nothing at all, to fines, to much, much worse. But this was Lian, and she would not forget that these two had helped her, even when it meant facing punishment later.

I cleared my throat. “And my mother?”

“She will have whatever she wishes. Though I doubt she will accept much. She is very . . . independent.”

“Astonishing,” I agreed blandly.

Lian’s mouth quirked into a smile. “An excellent word.”

We drank more tea, nibbled some fancy pastries. (Pepper pastries. Someone must have told stories. Probably Chen to Lian’s fox spirit, Jun.) There were particular protocols for formal visits such as this one, so neither of us hurried. Besides, it was nice to sit in a pretty room, scented with cinnamon and cedar, drinking expensive tea.

“What about your studies?” I said at last. “Are you sorry they ended so soon?”

“Yes. No. I learned a great deal from the university, but I grew to dislike the palace.”

We exchanged wry smiles at her understatement.

“You could find another university,” I offered. “One without any power-mad emperors.”

She shook her head. “My father is old. My duty is here. Also, Quan and I have talked about that. There are a hundred or more small schools all through the Seventy Kingdoms, but no true universities. We might establish our own in Lóng City. Some of those scholars in the mountain schools might join us, and Quan knows others in the empire who are excellent scholars, who need a post. Some of them are cousins . . .”

Quan and his one million cousins. I wanted to envy him. I think I had at one time. He was smart, honorable, brave, and

competent. Now? I remembered his face, when he thought he’d lost Lian’s trust, and I was glad for him.

Lian and I talked a while longer. Quan had started work on a new hospital for Lóng City’s poor. Lian’s father had recovered from the magical illness, but his ordeal had left him weakened. Lian would take his place in the trade negotiations when they reopened. She also spent hours with him and his ministers, discussing how to deal with the Phoenix emperor’s displeasure once the snows melted and the mountains were passable.

Eventually, all conventions satisfied, I took my leave from Lian and the Golden Egg Crate. Lian had offered to order me a special carriage, but I’d had enough of fancy things. I walked to the nearest wind-and-magic lift and tossed a ten-yuan coin at the old woman. The lifts were running half speed in winter, with more wind than magic. Two easy stops later, the carriage doors opened and I strolled home through a drifting of snow to the West Moon Wind District and my mother’s tutoring shop.

She sat at the front counter, ink brush in hand, checking her accounts with abacus and calculor. One of the shop cats snored on a sack in the corner. The griffin coiled around her inkstand, evidently dreaming, because it was twitching and making soft chirping noises. Yao-guài belonged to both of us now, my mother had explained. Our magics had entwined in that accidental explosion and brought him to life. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, either.

I paused at the door, and my mother glanced up. Her eyebrows quirked above those bright black eyes. “Staying or running?” she asked.

We hadn’t talked since that night two weeks ago. Ma mi slept a lot. But even when she woke and puttered around the shop, I found other things to do. Mostly running up and down Lóng City’s staircases. It wasn’t that I hated her. I just wasn’t sure what I’d say. Something angry, probably.

I blew out a breath. “Staying.”

My mother regarded me a long moment. “You have some questions for me, I think.”

“No. I don’t have anything to say.”

Her lips thinned in an unhappy smile. “You always were a terrible liar.”

When I didn’t reply, she sighed and let her gaze drop to her account books. A loose lock of hair fell over her eyes. She brushed it away absentmindedly. With a shock, I realized there were white streaks in her hair where none had been two months before, and the creases from her smile lingered as echoes, as though the skin were too tired to relax.

My mother is growing old.

Old in the usual way. And old from keeping the king alive.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I burst out.

Ma mi paused and lifted her gaze to my face. “I meant to, if that matters.”