Silver Phoenix (15 page)

Ai Ling willed her own spirit over his wounds, glided across broken ribs, the cracked collarbone, and the punctured lung.

She knew nothing. She’d never studied anatomy or medi-cine, but she went where she felt his pain. She wrapped his injuries within her healing essence, coated and covered them until she felt his heart beating with a strong, regular rhythm.

Until he took a deep breath without wincing, even as he lay unconscious, crouched inside his own mind.

Suddenly Ai Ling was aware of hurried footsteps. The sound came to her as if through a deep tunnel. She withdrew from Fei Ming’s body, snapped into herself, and turned her head sluggishly. Master Tan approached like thunder, followed by Chen Yong and two manservants. He ran to his injured son and kneeled down beside him. Fei Ming remained unconscious but stirred and groaned.

Chen Yong dropped by her side, his dark brows drawn together. “Ai Ling, are you all right?”

“What happened here?” Master Tan demanded.

Ai Ling clutched at her torn clothing, feeling weak, depleted. Chen Yong cradled her elbow, as if afraid she would fall over otherwise.

What was there to say, except the truth?

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“He laced my tea with poison. I woke and found myself here.”

Her voice, unfamiliar to her own ears, croaked with thirst.

“What?” Master Tan shook with fury. “Beware of your accusations, Ai Ling. I know my son.”

“He—he was possessed,” she whispered.

Master Tan’s expression hardened, the color draining from his face. He pounded closed fists together and spat at the ground before her.

“Witch! Sorceress! How dare you come into my home and bring such evil on us?”

“There must be a misunderstanding,” Chen Yong said.

“We should send for the physician. Fei Ming can tell us what happened when he recovers.” There was a strain in his steady voice she hadn’t heard before. What did he think?

Who would he believe?

Ai Ling lowered her head. It was her fault that Fei Ming was in this condition. Was it her fault as well that he had been possessed?

Master Tan gingerly touched his son’s cheek. “Quickly!

Bring the litter and fetch Physician Shen. Go!”

The two manservants rushed off without a word, panic on their faces.

“Leave, before I fetch the magistrate.” Master Tan waved one arm at her and Chen Yong, his wrath unable to hide the tears of concern for his son. “I don’t ever want to see your faces again. Go!”

Ai Ling met Chen Yong’s eyes for the first time. They were 71

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unreadable, his face taut and without expression. “I’ll get our things,” he said quietly, and he turned to go.

Ai Ling scrambled to her feet to follow. Her chest ached until it felt numb—like the rest of her.

Chen Yong walked with long strides, his posture stiff.

“What happened?” he asked without looking back at her.

“It’s as I said. Fei Ming poisoned my tea. I woke in the temple.” She propelled herself forward so her legs would not buckle beneath her. “He was possessed.” It was difficult to talk and half run, to keep her gaze on Chen Yong’s rigid shoulders.

“Why is he unconscious?” he asked, again without turning. She felt like a rejected pet, scurrying after her master.

Pride and anger would have surfaced under normal circumstances, but Ai Ling had no energy for such emotions.

She walked more than a few strides in silence.

“I think I did it,” she fi nally said.

Chen Yong halted and turned to her, his features hard, his eyes dark like a stranger’s. “You mean you don’t know? Were you possessed as well?”

“No. I don’t believe so.”

“He was going to give me my father’s letters. Now I can never speak with Master Tan again—the only man who knew him.”

Tears welled in Ai Ling’s eyes.

“I can try and speak to him.” She stared down at her exposed legs, her trousers in tatters.

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Chen Yong shook his head, his mouth pressed in a hard line.

They arrived at the Tan manor just as three servants rushed out the main gate with a litter.

“Go get your things. Hurry,” Chen Yong said as he turned away from her.

Ai Ling entered the bedchamber she’d slept in the previous night. The bed was made and the silk drapes drawn back. She braided her hair with trembling fingers, picked up her knapsack and hurried back to the front gate. Chen Yong was waiting for her.

“Where to now?” she asked.

“The nearest inn.”

They returned to an inn they’d passed twice while looping back and forth in search of the Tan manor the previous day.

The building stood tall and narrow, with wide windows on each floor and a sloping red-tiled roof. Chen Yong swept aside the dark blue cloth covering the doorway, and she followed him.

The bottom floor was a tavern. Small and intimate, the room consisted of a few bamboo tables and chairs, the far side dominated by a long bar. The barkeep flicked a look toward his new patrons. His head was completely shaved except for a thick topknot of three braids that fell past his shoulders.

Chen Yong strode toward the barkeep, undeterred by the 73

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man’s scowl. “Where is the proprietor? We need a room.”

“Do you now?” He cast a knowing glance from Chen Yong to Ai Ling. “I don’t think you’ll get much wear out of her, sir.” The man snorted, his stare meandering from her tattered tunic to the ripped trousers.

“What’re you doing? Why are we here?” She colored at the barkeep’s innuendo but lifted her chin despite her embarrassment.

The barkeep propped both elbows on the bar, listening intently.

“You need to clean up and rest,” Chen Yong said. It sounded more like a command than a concerned suggestion.

“We should go.” She did need rest, but she didn’t want to take it here.

“I’ll leave. You can stay,” he said.

Ai Ling felt the blood drain from her face. “What do you mean?”

“It was a mistake to ask you to accompany me to Master Tan’s. We should go our separate ways.” He spoke without looking at her.

The numbness remained. Good. She willed her features to stay composed.

“Get her a room.” Chen Yong threw two gold coins on the bamboo counter. They clinked and rolled in opposite directions before the barkeep’s large palms stopped them both.

“Oh. She’ll get the best in the house at that price,” the barkeep said, grinning widely at them.

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“I don’t need your alms,” Ai Ling said, her heart thudding in her ears.

Chen Yong turned without saying another word. He shoved the dark blue cloth aside and vanished.

He meant nothing to her. A stranger she’d barely known for one day. And obviously she meant nothing to him.

“How long can I stay with that much?” Ai Ling nodded at the two gold coins.

The barkeep rubbed his hands together. “At least a week, miss. In our best room.”

Ai Ling plucked one coin from the counter. “I won’t be staying that long. Have someone draw me a hot bath. The hotter the better.”

The man opened his mouth to argue, but her hard-edged glare stopped him short.

“Right. I’ll get someone to do that. And show you to your room.”

A boy not older than ten years ran into the tavern after the barkeep hollered his name twice. “Bao Er, show the miss to our best room. And tell the kitchen to start a hot bath.”

“A bath!” The boy’s head bobbed with excitement. Baths were rare, it appeared.

“You heard me.”

“Yes, sir! This way, miss.”

Ai Ling walked behind Bao Er, following him up steep wooden steps to the second floor, then up another flight to the top floor. She pressed her hands against the uneven 75

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walls of the staircase, feeling the onslaught of wooziness and exhaustion she had suppressed earlier. The boy skipped down the hallway, scratching the top of his head, his queue wagging like a donkey’s tail behind him. He stopped at a wide door at the end of the cramped passage. He flung it open with a fl ourish. “Our best room, miss.”

Ai Ling entered with caution. The best room was big enough to hold a narrow bed pushed against the wall, a black wooden table set under a window, a washstand, and a chipped cobalt basin. She ran a finger along the window ledge. It came away clean. The window offered a view of the alley below, as well as a skyline of colorful tiled roofs with expansive blue skies above them.