The Emperor of Xing in all his glory invited Xiang to join him for an informal meal the following morning. Xiang woke well before sunrise. A feat for the boy who found himself running late for school more often than not. He rubbed his tired eyes and freshened up for the day. Xiang hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, but the bath he took before bed helped him fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Xiang ran his fingers through his shock of hair. Going to bed with damp hair hadn't done him any favors. He managed to tame his locks into a similitude of his sister's hairstyle. He thought about the day the two of them cropped off their tresses; the result of flipping through Amestrian and Cretan catalogues courtesy of Mme. Madeleine, in addition to the impulsivity of youth.

Seated on the porch out of the sun, Lan Fan had sheared sections of Xiang's shoulder length locks with a straight razor. Xiang watched the lackadaisical fish in the pond wind their way through the lotuses. Sunlight shimmered off the scales of the dragon carp. He'd watched the autumn wind whirl his hair. A dole of doves discovered the treasure trove. The late nesters cooed and collected the strands.

After Lan Fan helped Xiang with his hair, he held for her a bronze hand mirror he'd borrowed from their mother's dressing table. As she shaped her hair she referred to the flyer from Maddy's nightclub. She wielded the blade with such surety. Lan Fan didn't pay much mind to his attentive gaze. He let the birds do the chattering for a change.

Naturally, their mother sputtered at the sight of them at afternoon tea.

His father appraised them over the top of his afternoon paper. He remarked the short styles suited them, returned his eyes to the newsprint, and turned the page. Nonchalant, Lord Zhang asked his wife what she thought of fashions from the West interweaving with the East. The Lady of the House took the topic and ran with it, and afternoon tea carried on without argument.

Xiang returned to the present with a shake of his head.

He had an easy enough time pulling on the gauntlet; however, fastening the strap took some doing. The newly minted bodyguard slipped the strap through the buckle, pulled the leather taut, and bit down on the length to hold it tight in order to buckle it with his free hand. He had an easier time with the uniform and armor, though his sore shoulders slumped under the weight.

Young Lord Zhang traced his steps back to the Emperor's study. Two of his sister's subordinates stood at attention on either side of the doors. Xiang didn't recognize them. His heart hammered but he didn't break his stride. The bodyguards opened the doors at his approach and bowed him through. Holding his breath he passed between them. He didn't release it until he crossed the threshold.

Heavy doors boomed shut behind him.

In the study Xiang discovered the Emperor in the company of The Dowager Empress. He identified Xue Yao by the nine gold dragons and nine phoenixes of the fengguan, the so-called phoenix crown, atop her head. The traditional headgear fashioned out of gold, gemstones, and kingfisher feathers appeared weighty for a woman with such a swan like neck. Xiang couldn't begin to count the number of pearls and precious gems inlaid in the crown.

Her Royal Highness wore her hair half down like a maiden. His Imperial Majesty looked none too happy in his topknot and crown. Emperor Yao shut his eyes and scrunched his nose, while his mother blended fine powder on his face and neck.

"There," Lady Xue tapped the end of his nose with the brush. "Don't touch your face."

The Emperor blinked his eyes open, lifting the mirror from his lap to inspect the concealed scratches. Xiang wondered why the Emperor hadn't had Princess Mei heal the lacerations instead. His Majesty's demeanor brightened at the sight of Xiang.

"Hello," Ling greeted him with a wave of his free hand.

The Dowager Empress turned her head. The young bodyguard bowed before she could make eye contact. He heard the swish of silk as Her Royal Highness rose to her feet.

"Commander Liu," Lady Xue said, silverly.

Her voice reminded him of singing bowls at the temple near the Zhang Estate. His family minus Lan Fan prayed there on holidays. Lord Zhang prayed in silence, Lady Zhang in hushed, hurried tones, and Xiang spoke softly into his cupped hands like he was sharing a secret. He prayed for his parents well being, for his sister's safety, and for Prince Junjie's health.

Young Lord Zhang prayed for His Imperial Majesty, long may he reign.

The hem of The Dowager Empress's august gown appeared in his line of sight. Golden flowers and phoenixes hand painted on black silk. The toes of her vermillion slippers peeked out from the floor length fabric.

"Let's have a look at you."

After brief hesitation Xiang straightened his back. The Dowager Empress lifted his chin with her closed fan. He removed the yin mask at her bidding. Lady Xue ran her eyes over Xiang. The way his own mother did before he left the house in the morning. Bewitched by her midnight blue irises he looked right at her.

He couldn't help it.

Her Royal Highness remarked, "Those cheeks."

His Royal Majesty replied, "I know."

"Huh?"

The Dowager Empress squished his cheeks like one of his aunties. Xiang inhaled in surprise. The perfume Xue wore on her wrists conjured an image of tea blooming in a cup on the corner of his father's desk. Crackling fire brought forth fond memories of his mother reading to him by the hearth.

Xiang's heart caught in his throat.

"Don't let him get you into more mischief than you can manage," Xue warned.

"Yes, Your Highness," his voice cracked.

A wraith emerged from the shadows. It gave him a fright. Xiang hadn't sensed the other bodyguard's presence. Not even so much as a flicker. Lan Fan had taught him to play hide and seek by way of the Dragon's Pulse, but he had to focus properly to sense the flow of energy.

"'Til tea then," she said in parting.

The shadow of a bodyguard opened the door without preamble for Her Royal Highness. Xiang wondered if The Dowager Empress's bodyguard was as good as Lan Fan. Were the two of them close?

"Don't wander off," Xue warned.

The Emperor responded with a dismissive wave, "I won't, I won't."

Xiang supposed even the Emperor of Xing had to mind his mother.


"I hope you like hotcakes," Ling poured syrup over his serving of fluffy pancakes.

Xiang nodded eagerly, "I've never had them for breakfast."

Sitting on the cushion across from him, the boyish bodyguard brought his hands together, bowed his head, and thanked Ling formally for the meal. Ling noticed Xiang's use of proper table manners. He elevated his own etiquette to match.

The boy looked so like his sister, but little things broke the illusion. Half the time Ling and Lan Fan still raced to finish their food when they dined together; Xiang ate small portions at a reasonable pace. He took red tea instead of coffee with his breakfast.

Most days Ling could take or leave coffee. Today, Ling poured himself a cup and stirred in a splash of cream. He lifted the cup and saucer, inhaled the aroma, and sipped the coffee with care. Heat spread through his sternum, working at the knot in his chest that might ease, but wouldn't unravel until Lan Fan woke up.

"Do you usually eat breakfast with Lan Fan?" Xiang broke the quiet.

Ling placed the saucer on the table. The bottom of his cup rang against it.

"Not as often as I'd like," Ling lamented.

He set his elbow on the table. Leaning forward he inclined his head. Ling nearly rested his cheek against his palm, but remembered his mother's instruction not to touch his face. Instead, he laid his arm along the width of the table.

Xiang swept a forkful of hotcakes through a drizzle of syrup on his plate.

"Because you like her?" Xiang blurted out.

Ling Yao blinked.

Xiang lifted his eyes from his plate. He froze with his fork in front of his open mouth. Syrup dripped from the tines onto his lap. He didn't seem to notice. Horror dawned on his honest face. "I-I mean, you've been friends a long time. Even before Lan Fan became your bodyguard. So, of course you like her," Xiang laughed uneasily. He shoved the fork in his mouth to shut himself up.

"Love is more like it," Ling said, as if he were remarking on the weather.

Xiang was an owl. Wide-eyed. Unblinking. Utterly quiet.

Seconds stretched in silence.

At last, Xiang licked his lips, and asked, "Are you in love?"

Ling lifted the corners of his mouth into a bittersweet smile.

"Terribly."


Peizhe had escaped far beyond the borders of the Imperial City by the time Lady Xue extracted his name from Wei. The would-be assassin traveled to the northwestern reaches of Xing. He followed a faded path deep within the woods to a stone staircase. Ascending the snow crusted steps he arrived at a crumbling castle.

A relic from before the fall of Imperial Drachma.

Part of the roof had collapsed under the weight of an uprooted sugi pine. Light from the rising sun bounced off begrimed, frosted window panes. He entered the great foyer through the weather warped doors. Rotten leaves filled the room with the odor of decomposition. High above a chandelier hung from the embellished ceiling.

A breeze blew through the entrance hall. Peizhe shuddered in the cold. Crystals chimed on the branched frame of the light fixture. He advanced farther into the room. A statuesque figure stood on the landing of the sweeping staircase at the end of the hall. From on high she surveyed the spy through translucent, smoky quartz lenses crafted into a pair of delicate wire frames.

"Mistress Kiku," Peizhe greeted.

Behind him he heard the scuffle of boots. A hard swipe to the back of his legs had him on his knees. Peizhi hissed in pain. The man who subjugated him moved into his line of sight. In his left hand, he held a single edged sword with a hairpin pattern on the blade. The spy knew the Northern Xingese man's square face, complexion warm with golden undertones, flecks of green in amber eyes.

"Nikolai," Peizhe said, through his teeth. "Nice to see you."

The swordsman forced Peizhe's head into a bow with a shove of his hand.

"There's no need for that, Koyla," Kiku chided. "We're all equals here."

Nikolai removed his hand, and Peizhe raised his head at the sound of Kiku's boots on the stairs. Mistress Kiku removed the hood covering her head. Coal black hair cascaded down her shoulders, kept out of her eyes by waterfall braids. Robed in russet under her wool coat, she showed no signs of suffering from the cold.

"Why are you here?"

"I have news. From the palace," Peizhe replied, posthaste.

"Do you?"

Kiku raised a quizzical brow at him.

"Since when are you a messenger, Peizhe?"

"I knew you'd want to hear this first hand," he answered.

"Enlighten me."

"I've crippled the emperor's information network," Peizhe boasted.

"Is that so?"

"Geon and Tae located a dead drop. I've had them monitoring it for weeks, copying messages."

He had a notebook full of decoded messages on his person. Peizhe produced the book for her review. He watched her hands as she flipped through the handwritten pages.

"You abandoned your assignment for this?" Kiku enunciated each word.

"Wei is dead.

"Dead?" monotoned Mistress Kiku.

He licked his chapped lips.

"Dead," Peizhe nodded.

"Funny. The letter I received yesterday indicates otherwise," she pulled said letter from her right pocket.

Peizhe's throat constricted. His blood ran cold. A chill ran up his spine and his teeth chattered.

"That's not possible. I cut his throat. He was bleeding out when I-" he bit his tongue.

"...when you left?" Kiku lilted.

"It wasn't my fault," Peizhe started to explain, but Kiku was no longer looking at him. Instead, she peered over his left shoulder. He followed her gaze. Silent as a doe Kiku's scout tiptoed between scattered leaves. An archer with coloring similar to the swordsman, and a thin scar over her brow. She held her longbow for balance like a tightrope walker.

"Nadezhda," Kiku acknowledged. "There you are."

"He wasn't followed," Nadezhda slung her bow over her back.

"Of course, I wasn't followed. What do you take me for?" Peizhe sneered.

"A fool."

Peizhe whipped his head around. He caught the flutter of Kiku's long sleeves out of the corner of his eye. The spy blinked in confusion before Kiku pulled his head back and opened his throat with Nikolai's sword. Fear took hold of him. Blood poured through Peizhe's fingers as he tried to stem the flow.

"If I wanted Wei assassinated I would've done it myself. I needed the emperor's intelligence compromised. Did you think you'd get away with it? Yao's dog will sniff you out. If she hasn't already," Mistress Kiku hissed.

He aspirated a mixture of blood and spit.

Mistress Kiku released Peizhe's head. He collapsed onto his front. Kiku flicked blood off the blade, wiped it clean with a cloth, and returned the sword to Nikolai. Peizhe drowned in his own blood.


"Time to go," said Kiku.

"Where to?" The scout stabbed the spy in the heart to be sure he was dead.

"To the Imperial City."