Upon Alphonse Elric's insistence the Zhang family concealed themselves in muted clothing with hooded garments. Under the circumstances a plum outer robe layered over an onyx inner one were the best Suyin could do. Lady Zhang's wardrobe resembled a painter's pallet. Every bolt of fabric she selected herself. Each stitch sewn by her own hand. Of course, she had the means to buy bespoke garments but she enjoyed making her own clothes.
In the country Suyin's seamstress skills were as much a mainstay for her formerly three person family as Feng's modest income. In those days she'd wondered how they'd manage when more children came along. Now Suyin wondered if her children would survive to old age. She prayed her daughter's condition wasn't as grave as she feared. Between Lan Fan's profession and Xiang's daredevil feats on that damnable bicycle it wasn't any wonder why silver strands flecked her obsidian hair.
Suyin put on her heather grey cloak. She found only her burgundy gloves.
Lan Fan has black gloves.
In fact her daughter had a great number of black garments in her room, and an entire drawerful of gloves in various fabrics. The night before Suyin hadn't taken the time to appreciate her daughter's appearance. Now she asked herself why Lan Fan wore such an exquisite evening gown. Why wasn't she wearing her uniform and armor? Furthermore, how did she acquire such an expensive article of clothing?
Lan Fan's embroidery had come a long way, yet Suyin couldn't imagine her daughter enduring the tedium of hand stitching hundreds upon hundreds of beads onto finely woven fabric. To say nothing of Lan Fan constructing couteur clothing. Suyin tried over the years to teach her the finer points of sewing. Lan Fan's eyes glazed over every time.
As if the only lessons worth learning were those taught by her grandfather. Time and again Suyin attempted to tell Lan Fan she didn't have to live her life as her father and grandfather's legacy. Desperation drove the circular conversation. Suyin thought it lost on Lan Fan. She thought her daughter intended to turn Xiang into her own legacy.
But Xiang admitted he had to go over Lan Fan's head to the emperor to further his ambition. A fact that called Suyin's convictions into question.
Suyin shut the wardrobe. The design on the front of the doors depicted a magnolia tree. Beneath her palms the inlaid mother-of-pearl, amber, and glass felt frigid.
I shouldn't have hit her.
Lady Zhang choked back her emotions. Time was of the essence. Wallowing in guilt would only waste it. Departing her room she went to borrow a pair of her daughter's gloves.
Xiang dressed all in ebony. The young lord went to his sister's room to borrow one of her spare cowls. The door to Lan Fan's room stuck from the cold. He opened the door with a forceful tug. Pale light filtered in through the panes of the window his sister so often sneaked in and out of. The phonograph in the corner collected dust, as did the wooden crate containing records beside it. He bypassed her bed and vanity to the wardrobe. The air in the oft closed off room felt freezing compared to the rest of the house.
He opened the doors of the wardrobe. Lan Fan's clothes resided on wooden hangers. Xiang ran his right hand along the fabric before lifting her red cloak off the rack. Over the hook hanged a cowl the color of a new moon. He removed the fabric, returned the cloak, and turned toward the door on the right to see himself in the mirror.
Xiang looped the article of clothing over his head, and pulled the hood up over his hair. He regarded his reflection, but saw only his sister's stricken face from the night before. She looked frightened, Xiang realized. He hasn't recognized the foreign expression on Lan Fan's features, but seeing it on his own face made it clear.
Lan Fan wasn't as fearless as he thought, but he knew for a fact she was brave. He needed to show bravery now even if his own fear squeezed his heart like a vice. A shadow obscured the light spilling into the bedroom from the hallway. Xiang heard a sharp intake of breath. He turned toward the sound. Xiang's mother stood framed in the doorway.
"Xiang," she uttered.
Suyin looked startled.
Still angry at his mother Xiang resisted urge to ask if she was all right. Not that either of them could claim to be all right considering the current state of affairs.
"For a moment I thought…" Suyin faltered.
The fleeting expression of anguish on her face weakened his resolve.
"Mother?"
"I can't find my black gloves. Lan Fan has so many. I thought I might borrow a pair," Suyin did her best to save face.
Xiang pivoted back to the wardrobe. He rummaged through the drawer full of gloves to give his mother time to collect herself. Finally, he selected a pair of leather gloves lined with fleece. He shut the drawer and made to close the doors when he heard his mother speak.
"I'm sorry for not listening."
The last thing he expected from his mother was an apology. He decided to meet her halfway.
"I should've told you about the bicycle accident the day it happened," Xiang offered. "The rest of it, too."
He didn't apologize for his adventure at the palace. If he had it to do over again he'd make his appeal to the emperor all the same. Xiang felt badly about getting Lan Fan into trouble, but he wasn't sorry for sparring with his sister. Although, the young lord no longer knew what to make of Lan Fan's relationship to Emperor Ling. He hoped the next time they talked his sister would explain.
"Are these okay?" He held up the gloves as he looked over his shoulder.
Suyin smiled softly at him. Xiang smiled back but his heart wasn't in it.
"They'll do nicely. We should hurry. Come along, darling."
"Yes, mother."
In Master Hsu's office Ling Yao and Margot Fontaine partook of tea poured into porcelain cups painted with multicolored enamel. The emperor and automail engineer's tea receptacles depicted chrysanthemums and peonies respectively. In the censer a fresh block of juniper burned. The two of them sat on opposite sides of Lan Fan's hospital bed. Jin had come and gone with breakfast citing the need to convene with Shu on the intelligence he collected in the night.
"You saved her life," Ling commented.
"I didn't do it for you," Margot declared in case he thought otherwise.
"Be that as it may any boon you ask of me I shall grant," he declared.
"I don't know what you think I could possibly want from you," drawled the Amestrian woman.
"There must be something you wish for..."
Margot swirled the tea in her cup. Ling saw the gears turning in her head.
The automail engineer lifted her eyes from the contents of her cup.
"Political asylum."
The Dowager Empress entertained General Mustang in the atrium in an effort to amend their encounter from the evening before. Breakfast set on the table before them. Roy Mustang appeared as fatigued as Xue Yao felt, though his dress uniform afforded him a distinguished air. Lady Xue looked thoroughly rested and positively radiant. A ruse of rouge, a fabrication of foundation, as false as her lashes. She curved the corners of her crimson mouth into a coy smile.
"You'll forgive us our overreach," Xue cloaked the command in the form of flirtation. "We dared not risk the safety of a diplomat. Not even one so adept as The Flame Alchemist."
The Chieftess of the Yao Clan knew how to stroke the fragile egos of men. Twenty years of strategic subservience served her well.
General Mustang countered her coy smile with a charming one.
"I understand your concern, Your Majesty."
The Dowager Empress noticed his eyes flick to her bodyguard at the formal address. Guardsman Yu shadowed Xue as frequently as Commander Liu shadowed her son. Be that as it may, the nature of Ming Yu and Xue Yao's relationship remained purposefully professional. The death of Feng Liu, defacto big brother and bodyguard to Young Lady Yao before the birth of her son, taught her to refrain from forming friendships with those destined to throw themselves in front of swords.
A lesson Lady Xue deliberately did not instill in the little prince. At the age of seventeen she swore herself to solitude save for her son. Xue turned her heart to stone to protect the pure heart of her child.
"Speaking of concern," he continued. "His Royal Highness left in a hurry last night. I hope all is well."
Xue lifted the black cast iron teapot from the table between them. The Dowager Empress deigned to serve the dignitary tea. An act that required her attention, and allowed her to mull her answer.
"I've heard tell of you and your adjutant. The two of you are close," Lady Xue set aside the royal 'we' in order to initiate an intimate conversation. "Is that correct?"
Mustang lifted his cup from the leaf shaped saucer. The white formal wear gloves he wore were immaculate. According to the report she received on Roy Mustang, the human weapon in front of her no longer needed an array to immolate his enemies. Xue guessed the gloves were still constructed out of his specialized ignition cloth. The Flame Alchemist had no need for transmutation circles but he was nothing without a spark.
"I've worked with Captain Hawkeye for a number of years," he obfuscated.
Xue returned the teapot to the center of the circular table. The Xingese woman with proximity to power picked up her cup by the rim. Her son respected this man. Ling trusted him perhaps more than he should. Roy won Xue's regard for the part he played in procuring a doctor for Lan Fan after her self inflicted amputation.
Nevertheless, he didn't have her trust. Not yet at any rate. Lady Yao could count on one hand the number of men she trusted implicitly: Commander Qiyin Gao; The three thieves; and, of course, the son she so treasured.
"Last night Commander Liu slipped on a patch of ice. She suffered a wound to her head," Xue stated. Believable lies blossomed from the seeds of truth. "Naturally, the emperor was concerned upon hearing the news. Lan Fan has served our clan for a number of years. His Royal Majesty holds his vassal in the highest regard."
The Dowager Empress took a sip of the red tea. She observed the subtle movements of the muscles around Roy's mouth and eyes. The furrow that formed between his brows for a fragment of time.
"Is Miss Lan Fan all right?" He inquired.
Xue Yao laughed like a wind chime on a light breeze.
"Don't let her hear you call her 'Miss' Lan Fan. Commander Liu is likely to challenge you to a duel for such an offense."
"I appreciate the warning," Roy chuckled in response.
"To answer your question Lan Fan is resting. I imagine the Commander of His Royal Majesty's guard will be back to work by this evening at the latest," The Dowager Empress twisted the truth.
General Mustang seemed to buy it.
"I'm pleased to hear it," Roy replied.
Based on the prognosis the bodyguard could stay comatose indefinitely. In legally binding terms Commander Liu detailed her directives. Lan Fan laid out a clear line of succession. The pragmatic woman planned for all conceivable contingencies. Lady Xue could not be more proud of her. Qiyin Gao rose to the occasion beautifully; Xue feared not for her son's safety.
In actuality, The Dowager Empress worried about The Emperor's ability to lead in Commander Liu's absence. The acquisition of an actor meant Ling's return to the political stage. Xue knew her son well enough to know his thoughts would linger on Lan Fan. Ling's performance mattered the most in this play. If he couldn't pull this off none of them would.
Ling laughed.
He thought Ms. Fontaine was joking. The punchline never came. The automail surgeon stayed stony faced. Ling's awkward laughter petered out.
"I don't understand. Why would you need political asylum?"
Margot propped one flat clad foot on the frame of the bed and leaned back in her chair.
"None of your business," she said through her teeth.
The emperor deposited his dainty tea cup on the square table beside him. Ling leaned forward in his seat, propped his elbows on his knees, and pressed his palms together.
Margot kept her eyes on him like a cornered animal. A fierce fox prepared to bite if he dared come closer.
"Do you fear persecution?" Ling treaded lightly.
The automail engineer turned her eyes to Lan Fan.
"Extradition."
Ling's eyebrows climbed in surprise.
He blinked several times.
"Ah! Does this have anything to do with why you work on the blackmarket?" The emperor inquired.
Margot Fontaine stared at him stupefied.
"Don't worry! I won't allow your extradition," Ling assured.
"You won't?"
"I'll grant you political asylum if you tell me what crime you're accused of," he negotiated.
"I'm not accused of a crime."
"If you're not accused of a crime then-"
"I committed a crime," she clarified.
The emperor and the engineer stared at each other.
"Oh," Ling replied noncommittally.
Margot's eyes darted away and back again.
"Several in fact."
Ling wondered what sort of criminal he'd just gotten himself into bed with.
"How many?" He winced.
Margot ticked off her laundry list of offenses.
"Money laundering. False identification. Illegal immigration," she tilted her head in throught. "Twice."
"I'm guilty of that last one," Ling confessed. "Anything else?"
"Desertion."
That last offense caught him off guard.
"You're a soldier?"
A haunted look fell across her face.
"The eastern front had a shortage of doctors. The military drafted me right out of my automail apprenticeship as a combat medic."
Ling realized which war she must've fought in the moment she mentioned the eastern front.
"Ishval," he said.
"I'm a criminal but at least I'm not a war criminal."
A knock interrupted their conversation.
