The Veiled Dragon

Seven

Ruha raised her veil, blew into the tree-shaped keyhole, and whispered the incantation to her wind spell. A short blast of air whistled softly through the slot, raising a gentle clatter as it rattled the lock. The sound was not loud, but the witch cringed. After a long night of skulking through the Ginger Palace, she had worked her way deep into the labyrinthine corridors of the residential section, and the guards here were thick as ants in their hill.

The bolt slid back with a muffled clack. Ruha stood, then looked back down the long hall. Already, two sentries were stalking toward her, their bare feet sliding across the silk runner in utter silence. It was their incredible stealth that made the witch’s search so nerve-wracking. She never knew when she would meet one coming around a corner, or suddenly feel someone gliding past her as she kneeled before a keyhole.

Ruha pressed herself into a corner beside the door, moving very slowly and deliberately. Although she had rendered herself invisible with a sun spell, the mirage was not perfect. Any quick motion would cause a shimmering blur that might alert the guards to her presence.

The men stopped before the door, gesturing at the knob and whispering to each other in the lilting language of the Shou. After arguing a few moments, they tried the latch. When the door swung open, they gasped and backed away, both reaching for their square-tipped swords. One of them spoke, and the other scurried down the hall.

The remaining guard peered into the room, calling gently, as though saying someone’s name. No one answered. He reluctantly entered the chamber, still speaking softly. Though she was puzzled by the man’s alarm, Ruha followed him through the door and instantly realized she had found the personal quarters of Lady Feng.

Opposite the door was a glass window, through which spilled the pale dawn light illuminating an anteroom similar to those Ruha had found in the private apartments of both the prince and princess. Like many chambers in the Ginger Palace, this one was furnished with nothing more than a single low table and a few straw mats. The walls were covered not by the resplendent frescoes of birds and reptiles that decorated the other royal apartments, but by subtly hued paintings of symbolic portent: a snake coiled into an ascending spiral, a feeble old man sailing backward across a rainbow, a spider that had spun its web in the mouth of a singing woman, and many more images that would have put the witch into a contemplative mood, had she not been so jittery from hours of skulking about the Ginger Palace.

The guard crossed the chamber and nervously called through the doorway into the next room. When no one answered, he reluctantly inched forward. Ruha went to the window and, while she waited for the sentry to complete his search, looked out upon the rear part of the palace complex. She could not see much, for a large, high-walled enclosure sat in the middle of the grounds, blocking her view of everything beyond save the tiled roofs of the two huge buildings the witch had noticed yesterday.

Ruha could not decide what the enclosure was. Its walls were capped by a double row of barbed spikes, as though it were some sort of prison, but the gates hung open beneath a strange, scaly archway that vaguely resembled a dragon’s tail. A short, opal-paved path connected the peculiar courtyard to the mansion, crossing an arcing, multicolored bridge and snaking through a thicket of well-tended shrubbery. The witch noticed several sentries kneeling among the bushes, not hiding so much as trying to avoid obtrusiveness.

Ruha was dismayed to note that the sun had already risen high enough to kindle an iridescent glimmer in the pearly surfaces of both the walkway and the enclosure’s scaly arch. There was not much time to find Yanseldara’s staff. Soon, the breakfast servants would arrive at the guest house in the front courtyard. Fowler could probably keep them at bay, but he would be hard-pressed to explain the witch’s absence when someone called to escort them to Prince Tang’s audience hall.

Ruha cast an impatient look toward the room the guard had gone to inspect. She was tempted to start her own search before he left the apartment, but that would be very dangerous. As quietly as Shou sentries moved, he might slip into the chamber while she wasn’t looking and see her move something. Besides, if anyone in the other rooms was a light sleeper, it would be better to let the sentry disturb them.

A short time later, the guard finally returned, muttering to himself and glancing askance at the mystical symbols on the walls. Ruha had heard no conversations or startled cries to suggest he had awakened anyone, so she did not understand his anxiety. When she had inadvertently drawn the guards’ attention before, they had seemed much more confident of themselves. In one case, they had remained quite composed while they explained to a startled bureaucrat why they had awakened him. Another time, they had efficiently searched an entire apartment without disturbing the sleeping residents.

Ruha waited until the fellow left the room, then went to the door and used the same spell she had used to unlock the latch to lock it again. A muffled cry of surprise sounded from the hall. The guard tried the door, again speaking softly. The witch turned away and crept silently into the next room, not caring that she had alarmed him further. When the other sentry returned, he would no doubt bring a superior, who would probably insist on searching the apartment again. If the witch was still here, the sound of the lock turning would alert her to their arrival.

The next room appeared to be Lady Feng’s dressing closet. In one corner stood a wooden screen decorated with the painting of a naked king and queen lying together upon a bed of purple night. In the corner opposite the screen were two dressing bureaus, each with a costly silver mirror hanging behind it. One wall of the room was lined by several wardrobes decorated with paintings of astrological constellations.

Though Ruha considered the room an unlikely place to hide Yanseldara’s staff, she paused long enough to peer behind the screen—nothing there—and open each of the wardrobes. Inside were dozens of silk gowns in many different styles, all dyed black as kohl and brocaded with the same endless pattern of open and closed eyes. The witch ran her hands over the floor and explored the corners behind the clothes. When she found nothing but sashes and slippers, she closed the wardrobes and crept into the next chamber.

Against the far wall sat the most elaborate piece of furniture in Lady Feng’s apartment, a large canopied bed surrounded by a folding partition. Each panel was decorated with the fearsome aspects of leering, grotesque monsters, such as sometimes invaded a sleeper’s dreams. In their claws, the fiends carried strange, exotic weapons like those stored in the secret armory that Ruha had discovered beneath the palace. There was a horned goat-man brandishing a two-bladed sword, a bat-winged tiger carrying a spear with barbed points at both ends, a red-eyed centaur whirling a three-chained flail, and a wide assortment of other hideous creatures to protect Lady Feng’s spirit while she slept.

They were not needed now. No clothes lay folded on the dressing couch beside the bed, and four of the partition panels hung open, revealing a black silken quilt embroidered with the same green dragon that hung beneath the prow of Hsieh’s ship. The blanket lay neatly spread over the mattress and pillows, lacking even the slightest rumple to suggest anyone had slept beneath it the night before.

Ruha’s stomach sank. She had assumed all along that she would find Yanseldara’s staff somewhere near Lady Feng, but it had never occurred to her that Lady Feng would not be at home.

The absence certainly explained the guards’ reaction to the rattling lock, but not much else. Perhaps Lady Feng had spent the night in a lover’s chamber, or communing with the spirits in some occult place Ruha had not yet discovered. There could be any number of explanations, most of which meant the staff would not be found here. Nevertheless, the witch decided to continue her search. Even if she failed to recover Yanseldara’s staff—she could hear Vaerana maligning her already—at least there was a chance she would find something to lead her to Lady Feng.

Ruha crawled onto the mattress and ran her hands over the black quilt, then felt under the pillows. When she found nothing, she crawled off and straightened the quilt, then looked under the bed and stood on the dressing couch to peer above the canopy. She went to the corner and inspected a low writing desk. On the surface sat a bottle of ink, a small calligraphy brush, and several blank leaves of rice paper. A well-worn text in ancient Dwarven sat on one corner; the witch knew just enough of the arcane language to recognize the words “alchemy” and “first materials.”

Though she could not see how it might be connected to Yanseldara’s staff, the witch picked up the dwarven text. Aside from what she had already examined, there was little else in the room. She turned to leave, and that was when she heard the scratching.

It was as gentle as the whisper of her feet across the floor, but it was steady, and there was something more: a weak, plaintive whimpering. Ruha returned the dwarven text to its place, then kneeled in the corner of the room. The scratching and the squealing grew more discernible, and she caught a faint whiff of a gamy and slightly rank odor. An animal.

Ruha ran her fingers up the corner and felt the seam of a door. She pulled the writing desk away from the corner, and a small click sounded inside the wall. The scratching and squealing stopped, but the gamy odor grew stronger. Resisting the urge to pull her jambiya—if she attacked anything, the sun spell would fail and render her instantly visible—the witch laid her palms on a fresco of what looked like a slumbering mountain and pushed.

A hidden panel swung open, revealing the interior of a cluttered chamber. A small, white-furred face peered around the edge of the door. At first, Ruha thought the thing was a monkey, until she saw that its black-tipped muzzle was long and foxlike. Then she noted the black mask around its eyes and thought it looked like a raccoon, save that its head was as small and narrow as that of a weasel.

The creature, whatever it was, regarded the empty doorway for an instant, and then its nose twitched and its ears pricked forward. It raised its dark eyes, which remained as expressionless as they were large, toward Ruha’s face and chittered despondently. For a moment, the witch thought the little animal could not see her and was disappointed at finding no one in the door. Then it slipped forward, revealing an emaciated body and a white-ringed tail, and gently pawed at her with two tiny black hands.

Hoping the creature was not trying to defend its territory, Ruha stepped past it into the secret chamber. Beneath a brass chandelier in the center of the room stood a worktable, the surface barely visible beneath a jumble of braziers, balances, cauldrons, and other alchemical instruments. Three of the laboratory walls were completely concealed behind rows of tall wooden cabinets, some so full of books and flasks they could not close. The fourth wall had two glass windows, beneath which were a red silk cushion, a box of fetid-smelling sand, and two silver bowls licked so clean they gleamed like mirrors.

When Ruha paused at the worktable to examine Lady Feng’s apparatus, Chalk Ears, as she was beginning to think of the black-masked creature, leapt onto the only clear corner. It fixed its expressionless eyes on her face, watching her so intently she raised a hand to make certain she had not suddenly become visible. When the witch could not see her own flesh, she regarded Chalk Ears with a wary eye, then reached toward a flask of what looked like powdered blood.

A surprisingly sinister growl rolled from the creature’s small throat. The hair rose along its spine and it lifted itself on its haunches, baring a mouthful of needlelike fangs. Ruha retracted her arm, and the little beast settled back onto its corner. The witch clasped her hands behind her back, then slowly walked around the table, studying the rest of the apparatus. Other than a fine coating of dust, she saw nothing to tell her what had become of Lady Feng. Chalk Ears watched her intently, but made no further objections as long as she did not attempt to touch anything.

Ruha went to the first cabinet. Chalk Ears jumped off the table and took a post at her heels. Keeping a careful eye on her little escort, she pulled the door open. As before, the creature watched her carefully, and any doubts about its ability to see her vanished from the witch’s mind. Whatever it was, the animal clearly had some defenses against magic, and that could only mean Chalk Ears was Lady Feng’s familiar, linked to her by a special bond of magic and love.

Ruha had never had a familiar, since the spell that summoned them had more to do with the spirit than the elements. But she had heard other witches describe the strength of the union. Sometimes, the two were so closely bound that, over relatively short distances, they could see through each other’s eyes and hear through each other’s ears.

Ruha kneeled in front of the familiar. “Lady Feng?” she whispered, looking into the creature’s big eyes. “Are you there?”

Chalk Ears blinked, but the tiny beast made no move to suggest that it understood.

“Why have you left your familiar alone, Lady Feng? It is starving. Shall I feed it for you and give it water?”

Again, Chalk Ears did nothing. The witch breathed a sigh of relief, confident there would have been some response if Lady Feng were listening. Even if the starving creature’s mistress was as cruel as At’ar the Merciless, she would share its pain and be anxious to have it cared for. In fact, it seemed unthinkable that Lady Feng would allow the little beast to fall into such a wretched state unless she had been forced to depart under the direst circumstances.

A muffled crash rumbled through Lady Feng’s apartment, and guards began to call from the anteroom. Ruha stepped into the bedchamber and pulled the writing desk back into its corner, then slipped into the laboratory and closed the secret door. She pressed her ear to the panel and heard several men rush into the room, still calling out as though they expected Lady Feng to return at any moment. Wei Dao arrived and began issuing commands. The witch listened for several moments more. When she heard no one dragging the desk from its place, she decided they did not know about the secret room and quietly resumed her search.

With Chalk Ears watching intently, Ruha carefully opened each cabinet and looked over the contents. To a nomad’s eye at least, they contained an overabundance of magical supplies: scrolls and tomes in many different languages, a glut of ingredients for every spell imaginable and some that were not, arcane instruments so obscure the witch could not guess their purpose. Still, she found no sign of Yanseldara’s staff, nor any clue of Lady Feng’s whereabouts, nor any hint as to why the Shou sorceress had abandoned her familiar.

Finally, Ruha came to a locked cabinet, and Chalk Ears’ long tail began to flick madly. The little beast rose on its haunches and sniffed at the doors, dripping a long stream of drool from its muzzle. The witch examined the latch and discovered that she could pop it easily enough, but Wei Dao and the guards were still shuffling about in Lady Feng’s bedchamber. Fearful of making any sharp noises that might draw their attention to the secret room, Ruha decided to move to the last cabinet.

A long, deep growl rumbled from the familiar’s throat. The fur rose along its spine, and it slunk toward Ruha with bared fangs. The witch pulled her jambiya and brandished it menacingly in front of Chalk Ears’ face. The creature’s tail rose straight into the air. It slowly backed away, then took refuge beneath another cabinet and began to whine.

Cursing the black-masked beast for a scoundrel and a blackmailer, Ruha returned to the locked cabinet and slipped her dagger blade into the door seam. Chalk Ears stopped crying and slunk from its hiding place, being careful to remain well out of reach. The witch worked her jambiya down to the latch, then twisted the blade against the jamb.

The door popped open with a loud bang and a puff of yellow smoke. Ruha cried out in shock and found herself sitting halfway across the room, hurled there more by her own surprise than the force of the blast. A scolding harangue erupted from inside the cabinet, and the image of a tall, willowy woman appeared in the air before the doors. She looked almost ancient, with coarse gray hair pulled into a tight bun and a deeply wrinkled face. Something seemed wrong with her eyes; one of them was almost closed, while the other bulged from its socket as though it might fall out. The woman wagged her finger at the floor and continued her diatribe, sending Chalk Ears yelping and skittering across the floor to take refuge behind Ruha. The illusion looked so real the stunned witch did not fully grasp that the trap had not been intended to frighten her until Lady Feng’s familiar peered out from behind her and voiced a pitiful plea for food.

The voices of several astonished Shou guards cried out from the other side of the wall, at once puzzled and frightened. Wei Dao called something out, sounding more shocked and bewildered than the soldiers.

The illusion—no doubt an image of Lady Feng herself—continued to harangue the floor. Ruha gathered herself up, forcing herself to remain calm and consider her options. Hiding was out of the question, for the Shou would certainly investigate until they discovered the cause of all the strange noises. That left only escape, and, as far as the witch could see, there was only one possible route.

Finally, the illusion faded. Chalk Ears cautiously slunk toward the doors Ruha had pried open, where two large ceramic urns contained supplies of food and water that, apparently, the familiar had been unable to reach for several days. The guards, and then Wei Dao herself, called out. When they received no answer, the princess spoke again, this time in a more commanding tone.

Ruha went to the glass windows and looked out. She was on the second story of the palace, no more than thirty feet off the ground. The sentries lurking in the shrubbery around the opal path were all looking away from the mansion, toward the strange enclosure. When they heard the glass break, they would certainly turn toward the sound, so the witch would have to take care not to reveal herself by moving too fast.

Wei Dao spoke again, this time in Common. “I know it is you, Witch! Come out now, or you go to Chamber of One Thousand Painful Deaths!”

Ruha had seen the room to which the princess referred. It was a dank, fetid place in the deepest of the palace’s sub-basements, filled with all manor of chains, hooks, and grim instruments of agony.

Chalk Ears leapt up and grabbed the rim of a ceramic urn. The whole thing toppled out of the cabinet and shattered, spilling a pool of stale water over the floor. Wei Dao hissed a command, and sword pommels began to hammer at the wall.

Summoning a wind spell to mind, Ruha grabbed the brazier off the worktable and hurled it through a window. She followed it an instant later, uttering the syllables of her incantation as she fell. A terrific gust of wind tore across the courtyard and rose up beneath her, catching her body in an airy bed as soft as a cloud. The witch somersaulted once to bring her feet beneath her, then settled to the ground as though stepping off a stairway.

The sentries in the shrubbery began to yell at each other in Shou. Several rose from their posts and started to run toward the mansion, drawing an angry shout from a young, moon-faced officer. The guards stopped where they were, but continued to stare toward the mansion, squinting and furrowing their brows as they tried to find the strange blur that had just come crashing out the window.

Ruha’s stomach had tied itself into knots. The coward in her wanted to flee as quickly as possible, but that would be exactly what her hunters expected. Certainly, a messenger was already rushing to the barracks to call out the guard. Besides, the witch had not yet found Yanseldara’s staff, and if the sentries would not leave their posts to investigate a breaking window, whatever they were protecting had to be important. Ruha turned toward the enclosure and, ever so slowly, began to creep down the opal path.

* * * **

Over the garden wall came the tintinnabulation of breaking glass. Prince Tang rose and scowled toward the palace, but the crest of the rampart rose just high enough to block the second-story windows—he himself had made certain of that—and he could not see what had happened. No matter. Windowpanes cost as much as diamonds, but this morning he was working on the problem of the ants, and he had only a short time to solve it before his officious wife fetched him to meet with some new merchant.

Tang glanced at the gate, hanging slightly ajar, and wondered if he dared close it. He had repaired only a quarter of the damage to his garden, and every day he failed to restore the delicate balance meant more dead lizards. Still, he could not hazard shutting himself off from his guards. Minister Hsieh was well overdue, which meant the fresh ylang blossoms had not yet been pressed, which meant Cypress was likely to appear at any moment, spitting acid and demanding his oil.

It puzzled Tang that the dragon had not come already. It had been seven days since the last visit, far longer than Cypress had granted him to provide the oil, and still there had been no demands or threats. The prince was not anxious for the call, of course, but he was prepared. His guards—half new, half veterans of the dragon’s first appearance—had been eating lasal leaves, a mind-numbing herb that defended against the effects of the Invisible Art. Unfortunately, it also caused tremors and disorientation, and as often as not left long-term users little better than zombies.

Trying to force all thoughts of Cypress from his mind, Tang kneeled in the sand, turning back to the problem of the ants. On a slab of stone before him, four Thornback lizards were basking in the morning sun, warming their cold blood in preparation for the day’s activities. They should have been plump and round of body, with blotchy, tan-colored hides indistinguishable from the sand of the desert quarter. Instead, they were no fatter than snakes and as white as alabaster, almost translucent at the tips of their stumpy tails. After Cypress’s attack, all of the ants upon which the lizards preyed had mysteriously vanished from the garden, perhaps destroyed or driven away by the Invisible Art.

The prince opened one of the many small lacquered boxes he had brought into the park. A pair of red ants that had survived their capture tried to escape. He killed the fugitives and returned them to the container with their ten dead fellows, then sprinkled all twelve bodies onto the stone. The tongue of a single Thornback lashed out and caught one insect in midair, but it showed no interest in the others. The remaining lizards paid the offering no attention at all.

Tang sighed and reached for the fifteenth box. After several failed attempts to feed the lizards common household ants, he had ordered his servants to capture twelve of every kind of ant that lived within a mile of the Ginger Palace. He had not realized there were so many varieties, or that even Thornbacks could be so particular about the ones they ate.

Tang opened the box and found several large carpenter ants trying to chew their way to freedom. Deciding it would be necessary to punish his servants for their carelessness, he smashed the survivors and dumped the whole box onto the stone. These plumper insects seemed to interest the lizards more than the previous offerings, as they each snapped up one or two before they stopped eating.

The prince threw the lacquered box down in the sand. “You are foolish old men! Food need not taste good to save life!”

As one, the Thornbacks lifted their bodies off the rock. They puffed out their throats and bobbed their heads up and down in the universal challenge of lacertilians. At first, Tang thought his exhortation had angered them, but then he realized they were looking past him toward the Arch of Many-Hued Scales.

The gates were closed and barred.

* * * **

Ruha breathed a sigh of relief, then braced her hands against the timber crosspiece and tried to stop trembling. The trip down the path of opals had been as nerve-wracking as it had been long. When Wei Dao appeared in the mansion’s broken window, the moon-faced officer had sent half his men down the path to see what was wrong. The witch had barely managed to creep off the trail before the sentries rushed past, and despite her caution, one of the men’s eyes had briefly drifted in her direction.

After receiving instructions from the princess, the detail had spread out in all directions to begin searching for her. In the meantime, the young officer had assembled the rest of his men at the rainbow-colored bridge, and Ruha had been forced to creep past them less than a hand’s breadth behind their backs. By the time she had passed beneath the enclosure’s scaly gate, the first guards from the barracks were arriving to join the search for her. Though they had not seemed to realize she was invisible, the witch felt certain that Wei Dao would surmise as much as soon as she emerged from the mansion to direct the search.

From behind Ruha came the metallic swish of a sword leaving its scabbard. She turned to see that the foolish Shou who was trying to feed dead ants to spiny sand iguanas had risen. The witch could not help gasping, and not because she feared the square-tipped sword he now held in his hands.

It was the man from her vision on the raft. He had the same upturned nose, smooth complexion, and silky black hair, but it was his eyes that convinced her. They were deep and dark, at once confident and self-absorbed. His jaw was set but not tense, and the stance he had adopted suggested that he was no stranger to holding a sword. Ruha realized at once that her first evaluation, made from a hasty glance at the fellow’s back, had been mistaken; this was no simple gardener.

The man studied the gates for a moment, then glanced at his lizards and opened his mouth to call his guards.

“Please, there is no need to call for help.” Ruha spoke softly and started across the courtyard, moving quickly enough so that he would see her as a shimmering column of air. “I mean you no harm.”

An expression of relief crossed the Shou’s face. He started to lower his sword, then glanced at the barred gate and raised it again.

“Do not think of crying out,” Ruha warned. She had reached the edge of the courtyard, where the stones gave way to sand. “I have no wish to harm you. Perhaps I can even be of service, if you wish to know why the spiny iguanas will not eat your ants.”

“Come no closer.” The Shou pointed his sword more or less in Ruha’s direction, holding it with both hands so there would be no question of disarming him with a quick strike. “Deliver your message and go.”

Ruha stopped at the base of a miniature sand dune. “What of the iguanas?”

“I take care of Thornbacks myself.” The man’s eyes turned cold and angry, as though he blamed his unseen visitor for the condition of his lizards. “Your message?”

“Why do you think I have come to deliver a message?”

The Shou’s jaw dropped, and the anger in his eyes changed to puzzlement. “Perhaps you show yourself, wu-jen.” The man took the precaution of retreating a step, then lowered his sword. “And I do not call guards.”

Ruha hesitated to do as he asked. Having seen him in a mirage from the future, she was determined not to leave the park without learning more about him, but her curiosity did not translate into trust. Once she showed herself, she would be at the mercy of his sword—a weapon that, from all appearances, he was quite capable of handling.

As if sensing her thoughts, the Shou retrieved a scabbard from the ground and sheathed his weapon. “Show yourself, wu-jen, or I draw sword and call guards.”

“As you wish.”

Ruha raised her hand as though to strike, and her spell evaporated in a curtain of shimmering air. The Shou’s gaze ran up her the entire length of the witch’s aba, over her orange silk veil, then lingered on her dark eyes. Slowly, his expression changed from wary to pleased to covetous, leaving Ruha uncertain as to whether she was meeting an unexpected friend or an incorrigible lecher.

“Who—who are you?” The Shou paused a moment, then continued to gaze into her eyes as he asked the second part of his question, “And who sends you to spy on Ginger Palace—Vaerana Hawklyn?”

Though Ruha was startled by the man’s deduction, she tried not to let it show. She walked toward the Thornbacks’ basking stone, being careful to hold her hands in plain sight. Then, recalling how he had originally mistaken her for a messenger and remembering how his face had changed to that of a dragon in her vision, she decided to answer his question with a deduction of her own.

“I was not sent by Cypress, if that is what you fear.”

The Shou allowed a gracious smile to cross his lips, then prudently stepped away from the basking stone. “We play at same game.” The Thornbacks followed his lead, clambering over the side to bury themselves beneath the sand. “But who is Cypress?”

Ruha locked gazes with the Shou. “He is the dragon, of course—the one I saw you with.”

“You are … mistaken.” The Shou looked away, and, for the first time, seemed in danger of losing his composure. “What you claim is impossible.”

Ruha glanced at the throng of dead ants lying upon the basking stone, then shook her head. “You have watched, but you have not considered.”

She grabbed several lacquered boxes and leaned over the basking stone, then began emptying the contents onto the sand. A cascade of ants of all sizes and three different colors—red, black, and brown—poured onto the sand. Close to a dozen of the insects bounced up on their six legs and began to scurry away. The lizards came instantly alive, scrambling from their hiding places to devour the fugitives in a flurry of whipping heads and darting tongues.

“Ants must be alive!” the Shou gasped, looking back to Ruha. “But why?”

“You have never lived in the desert, or you would know. Small creatures like lizards often pass their entire lives without seeing water,” Ruha explained. “They must take their fluids from their prey—but only from living prey. Dead bodies dry out swiftly in hot temperatures, and water is too precious to waste digesting parched carcasses.”

The Shou watched his lizards catch the last of the moving ants, then he opened another box and dumped the contents onto the sand. Again, the lizards gobbled up the live insects and left the dead ones undisturbed.

Across the little courtyard came the clatter of someone trying to open the barred gates. When the portals did not swing apart, Wei Dao’s muted voice rolled over the wall, speaking excitedly in Shou.

Ruha’s hand dropped toward her jambiya, but the Shou raised his hand to reassure her.

“Yes, the wu-jen is here with me.” He spoke in Common, so Ruha could understand him. “Not to worry. I am safe.”

There was a confused murmur outside the gates, then all fell silent beneath the Arch of Many-Hued Scales. The Shou, whom the witch now felt certain to be Prince Tang, turned back to Ruha.

“They do not disturb us. Please to accept my gratitude for saving of Thornbacks.” Though the prince’s tone was warm, he did not meet Ruha’s eyes as he spoke. “But I do not understand how feeding habits of lizards concern this dragon Cypress.”

“Is it not true that Lady Feng’s kidnappers need her alive, just as the Thornbacks need the ants alive?” asked Ruha, implying that she knew for a fact what she was only guessing at. “What will they do once she has finished enslaving Yanseldara’s spirit for them?”

Tang looked up, his eyes both betraying his astonishment and veiling something more. “You are accomplished wu-jen.” The prince spread his palms and smiled warmly. “Household of Ginger Palace has need for someone like you.”

Ruha scowled, taken aback by the directness of the prince’s approach. “We both know I am here on behalf of someone else.”

Tang shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no! I do not speak of hiring. I mean to make you Virtuous Concubine.”

“Concubine!” Ruha cried, both stunned and affronted by the offer.

Tang stumbled an uncertain step backward. A concerned murmur began to build outside the gate; then the prince squared his shoulders and stepped back to the basking stone.

“You do not understand, wu-jen.” Now he was speaking between clenched teeth. “Virtuous Concubine is honored position in house of Shou prince. Lady Feng is Third Virtuous Concubine, and you become Worthy Daughter to Third Virtuous Concubine to Emperor of Shou Lung. It is position more worthy than queen of any realm in Heartlands!”

Ruha began to feel a little embarrassed by her outburst, though she still found it strange that any man would propose such a thing without first making inquiries about her family. “Prince Tang, what you offer is clear enough. Still, I must decline.”

Tang looked as though she had punched him in the stomach. “You—you refuse me? A prince of Shou Lung?”

A muted thump reverberated across the courtyard; then the top rungs of a ladder appeared above the gates. Ruha was not overly concerned. Tang had tacitly admitted that his mother had been kidnapped by the Cult of the Dragon, and in her mind at least, that made them allies, not enemies.

“I am sorry, Prince,” Ruha said. “I cannot become your concubine. My other obligations would interfere.”

Tang considered Ruha as though he did not understand the language she was speaking. The covetous expression she had glimpsed earlier once again filled his eyes, this time stronger than ever.

“I give you your weight in gold each year,” Tang promised. “And I build you private palace!”

Behind Ruha, a familiar voice made a harsh demand in Shou. The witch looked across the courtyard and was astonished to see Wei Dao herself clambering through the narrow space between the gate tops and the archway. The princess was dressed in a simple black tunic and trousers uniform, with a row of slender daggers hanging from a black sash tied around her waist.

“Ginger Palace needs good wu-jen.” Though Tang spoke in Common, his comment was directed toward his wife.

“But not Ruha,” Wei Dao countered, also speaking in Common. She lowered her toes onto the crossbar, then nimbly jumped to the ground. “She sneaks into Lady Feng’s private chambers—and breaks window when she tries to escape.”

Ruha turned her back on Wei Dao and faced Tang. “Prince, it is not necessary that I become your concubine to serve the Ginger Palace.”

The witch heard Wei Dao’s light footsteps coming across the courtyard and realized the princess had not bothered to unbar the gate for the guards. Happy to see that her hosts did not consider her a threat to their safety, she continued to face Tang.

“Prince Tang, we all wish to see your mother delivered from the hands of her captors. Does that not make us friends?”

“No!” Tang snapped, with surprising vigor in his voice. His eyes briefly flickered past Ruha’s shoulder and returned. “I serve the Emperor of Shou Lung, and you serve … a lesser master.”

“But we all oppose the Cult of the Dragon.” Though she was aware that Wei Dao had stopped a short distance behind her, Ruha kept her attention fixed on Prince Tang, determined to win his friendship without becoming a Virtuous Concubine. “In the desert, we have a saying: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Tang’s eyes flashed in anger; then he slipped around the basking stone so swiftly that Ruha barely had time to turn around before he was standing between her and the gates. The witch found herself looking over his shoulder at Wei Dao, who was standing ten paces away with one of her slender daggers cocked to throw.

“I say no,” Tang said, speaking to his wife. “Put wasp knife away.”

Wei Dao did not lower the weapon. “Foolish Husband, you turn back on spy! Why do you place yourself in danger? What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you?” Tang countered. “Do you defy command of Imperial Shou Prince?”

Wei Dao’s eyes flared in surprise and hurt. She looked past Tang’s shoulder and shot Ruha a look as deadly as her wasp knife, then reluctantly lowered both her weapon and her gaze.

“I do not mean to disobey Exalted Prince.” The Princess bowed deeply to her husband. “I think only of your safety.”

Ruha felt herself take a deep breath; then she slipped from behind Prince Tang and executed a bow of her own, to Wei Dao. “You have nothing to fear from me, Radiant Princess. I come as a friend to Lady Feng and the Ginger Palace, nothing more.”

Wei Dao’s lips curled into a sneer. “Yes, spy always comes as friend. But do not think me stupid, Witch. You care nothing for our troubles, and I watch to make certain you do not harm Beloved Husband.”

Recognizing that it was impossible to make peace with Wei Dao, Ruha turned to the prince. “I thank you for sparing my life, Wise Prince. I assure you, I will repay the favor with friendship.”

“It is not friendship I desire,” Tang replied. Deftly, he reached down and pulled Ruha’s jambiya from its scabbard, moving so swiftly and smoothly that she did not realize what he was doing until he held the weapon in his hand. “In Ginger Palace, you serve me, or you serve no one.”