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“Be careful,” Dian utters in a low voice, recognizing me even after I changed my mask. “I’d know your hairpin anywhere.”
I curse myself for carelessness, pulling it from my head, my hair falling over my shoulders.
“I’ve arranged the lotus for you on the beach we went to once, where the seagrasses glow.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
“When will you return?” she asks.
“Soon.” An empty promise.
“If not, I’ll come and look for you again.” Her eyes are bright. “What else do you need?”
“Do you see that hooded man?” I tilt discreetly toward the masked Lord Zhu. “Would you dance with him?”
“I hate dancing.”
We’re more alike than we know. “Then spill something on him. Make it appear an accident.”
Dian picks up a cup of juice and makes her way to Lord Zhu as I weave toward him from behind. She doesn’t look my way, knocking against him, the liquid in her cup sloshing. Lord Zhu recoils as Dian apologizes. Even with his mask on I can imagine his furious scowl. While he’s diverted, I sever his tassel—thrusting the last key into my sleeve. And then I stride away swiftly, not daring to look back.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE PAVILION IS ASHEN, ILLUMINATED BY THE MOONLIGHT and a handful of scattered lanterns. Fewer soldiers are on guard tonight, many at the festival, along with the Elders. But it’s the locks guarding the treasures within that are the greatest deterrent to a thief.
I move cautiously, the mask still covering my face. If caught, I’ll be deemed a traitor. Evading the guards, I enter the pavilion with ease. A chill glazes my skin. The thrones are empty, yet the shadow of the Elders lingers. My hand closes around the keys as I head toward the back, crossing to their private quarters.
A pattern is engraved in the door, the same as on the Elders’ talismans. Setting one into place, the door slides open. I slip through it, closing the door to conceal me from the soldiers outside.
It is richly furnished within, even opulent. The floor is tiled with marble, flanked by gilded pillars with flowering vines coiled around them. Porcelain vases are filled with fresh blossoms, lanterns on ebony tables lighting the corridor. Farther in, one of the doors is ajar, revealing a rosewood bed covered in brocade.
At the soft click behind, I stiffen. “Welcome to our home,” a cold voice rings out.
I grasp my dagger from my waistband, swinging around to find Lord Hairong. His mask is discarded, his hood pushed down, revealing his bone-white hair. Terror crystalizes in my veins. But there’s only one of him and I’m still masked. If I prevent him from alerting the soldiers, I can still escape.
Silencing my conscience, I raise my dagger—not to kill but to incapacitate. But thick vines unwind swiftly from the pillars, one lashing my weapon away with startling force—others twisting around my waist and wrists, petals scattering as I struggle. These weren’t planted for beauty, but as a weapon.
I grasp my magic, though hesitant to release it. Lord Hairong is too close to the entrance. If he flees or summons the guards, I’d have to escape without the antidote or risk capture. I need him to come closer, imagining me subdued and helpless—then seize the right chance to attack.
“Why did you return?” I ask him.
“I was always more aware than the others. It will take them longer to realize their talismans are missing.” Lord Hairong doesn’t call for the soldiers, remaining a safe distance away. “Who are you? Though I have my suspicions.”
He doesn’t sound angry but almost pleased. I clamp my lips shut, wrestling with the vines around me, trying to reach for my pouch of herbs. The Elder’s ring shimmers as light streams from his fingers—the vines tightening at once, squeezing my flesh.
“If you want to know, then remove my mask,” I challenge him, trying to draw him closer.
As Lord Hairong approaches slowly, I cower in a semblance of fear. He crouches to peer at me, his hand raised to pull away my mask—and I strike then, fire surging from my fingers, burning away the vines that bind me. As more flames leap from my hand, Lord Hairong’s eyes round with shock, as I dig out the herbs to put him to sleep.
Someone seizes me from behind, knocking me down, my face slamming against the ground. My father’s ornament is dislodged from my waistband, but I snatch it back, afraid the Elder will see it. Dazed, I’m rolled roughly upon my back, my hold over my magic dispersing. As I punch out, my wrists are pinned down by a large hand, the other swiftly pressing a sword to my throat. As my assailant’s black robe pools on the ground, my mask is torn from my face.
“Yining.”
His tone is bleak, dread wrenching me. “What are you doing here, Shenming?”
“I should ask you the same.” His eyes fix on the silver ornament in my fist, widening with recognition—but his mouth clamps as he looks away, protecting my father in this way. Yet his blade is cold against my skin. “Leash your power, else I will hurt you.”
I believe him, doing as asked. This Shenming is pitiless, no longer a friend but the Captain of the Guard. And now, my enemy.
