Silver Phoenix (43 page)

Chen Yong leaned close to her. “Let me speak for us,” he whispered.

Ai Ling opened her mouth to retort that she had a voice of her own, then closed it again. For her to speak would certainly draw attention to them. A young woman outside the inner quarters stayed mute, unless spoken to.

It was soon their turn. She felt the weariness in her muscles and joints, the dust on her clothes and the travel grime on her skin. The guard studied Chen Yong’s face and then looked at hers just as intently. She knew they were not a pleasant sight.

“What business do you have in the Emperor’s city?” he asked, his voice surprisingly deep.

“I come to prepare for the imperial examinations. This is my wife.”

The guard raised his brows, and Ai Ling hoped she did not raise her own. Why hadn’t he told her? She looped one arm around his and squeezed it with her other hand. Curse the rotten turtle egg for surprising her like this.

“So fortunate to marry before you even make rank? And you a foreigner besides?” Ai Ling felt Chen Yong’s arm 244

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tense, but refrained from casting herself into the sentry’s spirit. Not yet.

“She was promised to me at birth. I’m fortunate indeed,”

Chen Yong said, and took her hand.

The blood rushed to her face, and she looked down at her feet.

“And so newly wed she does not wear her hair up?” The guard was close enough that she smelled the tobacco on his breath. She pressed her chin lower.

“My wife is from the country and lax in her ways. I have promised her a handmaid who will fix her hair each morning, once I pass the exams and receive an official appointment,” Chen Yong said.

He spoke with such ease that she almost believed him.

“Good luck on the examinations then. Move on.” The guard waved and did not bother to give either of them another glance. They walked through the gate under the curious eyes of the other sentries standing guard.

“Don’t pull your hand away,” Chen Yong said softly when they were out of earshot. She knew enough not to look back, but she pinched his arm as punishment. He chuckled under his breath as they walked hand in hand down the main street of the Emperor’s city.

The architecture of the city was elaborate. Each building rose at least three stories tall, with pillars carved of alabaster, jasper, and jade. The roof tiles were all gilded in gold. The main street was lined with merchant stores, 245

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selling everything from embroidered silk bedding to tai-lored clothing, cookware supplies, spices, wines, and sweets. The wide, tree-flanked cobbled street was mobbed with people. Not as impressive as the quartz walkways of the One-Armed Tribe, but certainly better than any Xian town she had visited.

A few restaurants were interspersed between the specialty merchant shops. Ai Ling’s mouth watered from the scent of roasted duck. Chen Yong released her hand, and her heart dropped with it as he pulled away.

“Let’s eat fi rst,” he said. “The smell of that duck is torture.”

They pushed their way toward the origin of the delicious aroma, and wandered down a small side street. Tucked in the middle was a cramped one-story restaurant, looking as if it fought for its space between two tall buildings. There was no name plaque outside the establishment.

Ai Ling and Chen Yong stepped into the dark interior.

The restaurant was small, and surprisingly empty considering the tantalizing scent that had drawn them both. Fewer than a dozen wooden tables took up the tiny space, with a dark blue curtain draped between the dining area and the kitchen behind it.

“Goddess of Mercy, I need to eat,” Ai Ling said, sliding into a wooden chair near the kitchen. They’d be served faster, she reasoned.

Chen Yong grinned at her. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a hot meal.” He sat down across from her and put 246

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his knapsack on the floor. “Order as much as you like. My treat.”

Ai Ling clapped her hands with glee, and Chen Yong laughed.

“It’s the least I deserve after the shock of playing your wife without so much as a kiss or warning,” she said.

Two bright points of color appeared on Chen Yong’s cheekbones, barely noticeable in the dim light. Ai Ling smiled, amused that she had made him blush for once.

“It worked, didn’t it? We would have had too many questions otherwise,” he said.

A girl brought them hot tea.

“A plate of the roast duck, steamed dumplings, spicy noodles with beef gravy, pickled cucumbers, stewed tongue and eggs if you have them, cold please, and sticky rice pearls, too,” Ai Ling said, before the server girl could open her mouth. “I don’t know what he wants.” Ai Ling nodded toward Chen Yong.

“I’m not sure I have enough coins to order anything more,”

he said, laughing.

Ai Ling was about to retort but couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“I’ll have fresh steamed fish, if you have it, and bean curd with shrimp and snow peas,” he said.

“We are close to the sea and have fresh seafood delivered daily, sir.” The servant girl nodded before she hurried away to the kitchen with their order.

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“We never ate much seafood. It was difficult to get, not to mention expensive. But always a treat,” Ai Ling said.

“I guess I grew up spoiled. My family had at least one seafood dish with every meal,” he said.

Ai Ling glanced at the other patrons in the small restaurant. There was a stocky man drinking wine and trying various small dishes near the entrance, and at another table close by two men slurped large bowls of noodles. Her hunger worsened.

Another patron was just entering. He blocked the doorway, the sunlight from behind him obscuring his features.

He raised one hand and pointed at her. The hair on her arms stood on end.

“Ai Ling,” he hissed.

“Chen Yong,” she said, in warning.

He did not rise from the chair, but his eyes were alert and dangerous.

The figure stepped from the doorway, and the lanterns in the small restaurant revealed his form. His white tongue lolled out past his chin, the ashen lips drawn back showing jagged teeth. Instead of hair, milk white strands thicker than noodles writhed on his head. It took a second for Ai Ling to realize that each strand was alive, with tiny gaping maws. A keening came from the hundreds of open mouths. Her teeth ached from it.

Night-worm fiends! Her mind quickly flew to
The Book of
the Dead
.

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The man dining with his friend was the only other patron facing the front entrance. He shrieked and scooted back in his chair too quickly, tipping backward in a heap.

The stocky man eating by himself rose in confusion. “Son of a cursed bitch, what’s—” He never finished his sentence as the thing lurched from behind and laid a hand on his shoulder.

The man’s eyes grew wide as they turned a filmy white, his black pupils disappearing. His lips drew back as jagged teeth erupted from his gums and his tongue fell from his mouth, widening and lengthening at the same time, until it licked his own chin. Worms sprouted instantaneously from his entire head, undulating and hissing as they grew to their full length.

“Ai Ling,” he hissed.

The metamorphosis was complete in mere breaths. The man who had fallen on the floor whimpered and struggled to rise. His friend tried to help him to his feet.

But both creatures covered the space between them in two jerky strides, each laying a hand on one of the men.

Ai Ling didn’t need to see what would happen next. She jumped from her chair and saw Chen Yong do the same, with his sword drawn.

“Through the kitchen,” she yelled.

She dashed through the curtained door, only to be greeted by the hissing of her name. Their servant girl. She crouched by the cutting table, blocking their way to the back entry.

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Ai Ling cast a quick glance around and saw two others, stumbling toward them.

“Step back!” Chen Yong pushed past her and slashed the servant girl in the neck with his sword. The pale worms on her head spat with fury. But the girl did not falter, and she extended her hand toward Chen Yong.