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“But I am talking to you.” Rin immediately looked to her left.
And saw Nezha, standing in a crowd of people wearing gowns of silver and cerulean. A massive dragon was embroidered across the back of his robe, the emblem of the House of Yin.
“Oh.” She jerked her head away. “Can we go stand over there?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Once they were safely ensconced behind Kitay’s rotund second uncle, Rin peered out to gawk at the members of the House of Yin. She found herself staring at two older versions of Nezha, one male and one female. Both were well into their twenties and unfairly attractive. Nezha’s entire family, in fact, looked like they belonged on wall paintings—they appeared more like idealized versions of humans than actual people.
“Nezha’s father isn’t there,” said Kitay. “That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“He’s the Dragon Warlord,” said Kitay. “One of the Twelve.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” said Rin. “Maybe he hates parades as much as you do.”
“I’m here, though, aren’t I?” Kitay fussed with his sleeves. “You don’t just miss the Summer Parade. It’s a display of unity of all the Twelve Provinces. One year my father broke his leg the day before and he still made it, doped up on sedatives the entire time. If the head of the House of Yin hasn’t come, that means something.”
“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Rin said. “Furious that his son lost the Tournament. He’s too ashamed to show his face.”
Kitay cracked a smile.
A bugle sounded through the thin morning air, followed by a servant shouting for all members of the procession to fall into order.
Kitay turned to Rin. “So, I don’t know if you can . . .”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. Of course she wouldn’t be riding with the House of Chen. Rin was not in Kitay’s family; she had no business being in the procession. She spared him the embarrassment of bringing it up. “I’ll watch you from the marketplace.”
After a good deal of squeezing and elbowing, Rin escaped the crowd and found a spot on top of a fruit stand where she could get a good view of the parade without being crushed to death in the horde of Sinegardians who had gathered downtown. As long as the thatched straw roof did not suddenly cave in, the fruit stand owner need never know.
The parade began with an homage to the Heavenly Menagerie, the roster of mythical creatures that were held by legend to exist in the era of the Red Emperor. Giant dragons and lions snaked through the crowd, undulating up and down on poles controlled by dancers hidden within. Firecrackers popped in rhythm as they moved, like coordinated bursts of thunder. Next came a massive scarlet effigy on tall poles that had been set carefully aflame: the Vermilion Phoenix of the South.
Rin watched the Phoenix curiously. According to her history books, this was the god whom the Speerlies had venerated above all others. In fact, Speer had never worshipped the massive pantheon of gods that the Nikara did. The Speerlies had only ever worshipped their Phoenix.
The creature following the Phoenix resembled nothing Rin had ever seen before. It bore the head of a lion, antlers like a deer’s, and the body of a four-legged creature; a tiger, perhaps, but its feet ended in hooves. It wove quietly through the parade; its puppeteers beat no drums, sang no chants, rang no bells to announce its coming.
Rin puzzled over the creature until she matched it with a description she had heard in stories told in Tikany. It was a kirin, the noblest of earthly beasts. Kirins walked the lands of Nikan only when a great leader had passed away, and then only in times of great peril.
Then the procession turned to the illustrious houses, and Rin quickly lost interest. Aside from seeing Kitay’s moping face, there was nothing fun about watching palanquin after palanquin of important people dressed in their house colors.
The sun shone at full force overhead. Sweat dripped down Rin’s temples. She wished she had something to drink. She shielded her face with her sleeve, waiting for the parade to end so she could find Kitay.
Then the crowd around her began screaming, and Rin realized with a start that borne on a palanquin of golden silk, surrounded by a platoon of both musicians and bodyguards, the Empress had arrived.
The Empress was flawed in many ways.
Her face was not perfectly symmetrical. Her eyebrows were finely arched, one slightly above the other, which gave her an expression of constant disdain. Even her mouth was uneven; one side of her mouth curved higher than the other.
And yet she was without question the most beautiful woman Rin had ever seen.
It was not enough to describe her hair, which was darker than the night and glossier than butterfly wings. Or her skin, which was paler and smoother than any Sinegardian could have wished for. Or her lips, which were the color of blood, as if she had just been sucking at a cherry. All of these things could have applied to normal women in the abstract, might even have been remarkable on their own. But on the Empress they were simple inevitabilities, casual truths.
Venka would have paled in comparison.
Youth, Rin thought, was an amplification of beauty. It was a filter; it could mask what one was lacking, enhance even the most average features. But beauty without youth was dangerous. The Empress’s beauty did not require the soft fullness of young lips, the rosy red of young cheeks, the tenderness of young skin. This beauty cut deep, like a sharpened crystal. This beauty was immortal.
Afterward, Rin could not have described what the Empress had been wearing. She could not recall whether or not the Empress spoke, or if the Empress waved in her direction. She could not remember anything the Empress did at all.
She would only remember those eyes, deep pools of black, eyes that made her feel as if she were suffocating, just like Master Jiang’s did, but if this was drowning then Rin didn’t want air, didn’t need it so long as she could keep gazing into those glittering obsidian wells.
She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t even imagine looking away.
As the Empress’s palanquin moved out of sight, Rin felt an odd pang in her heart.
She would have torn apart kingdoms for this woman. She would have followed her to the gates of hell and back. This was her ruler. This was whom she was meant to serve.
Chapter 9
“Fang Runin of Tikany, Rooster Province,” Rin said. “Second-year apprentice.”
The office clerk stamped the Academy’s crest in the space next to her name on the registration scroll, and then handed her three sets of black apprentice tunics. “What track?”
“Lore,” Rin said. “Under Master Jiang Ziya.”
The clerk consulted the scroll again. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” Rin said, though her pulse quickened. Had something happened?
“I’ll be right back,” the clerk said, and disappeared into the back office.
Rin waited by the desk, growing more and more anxious as the minutes passed. Had Jiang left the Academy? Been fired? Suffered a nervous breakdown? Been arrested for opium possession off campus? For opium possession on campus?
She thought suddenly of the day she had enrolled for Sinegard, when the proctors had tried to detain her for cheating. Had Nezha’s family filed a complaint against her for costing their heir the championship? Was that even possible?
